I am sending you some books and some exotic fruit, hoping to tempt your literary and physical palates, respectively.
My nephew writes me that he has seen you. I envy him! But I am more than sorry, my dear, that your first encounter should have taken place under such unfortunate circumstances. I shall be grateful to you for any kindness you care to show him, for he has not had a very happy, albeit successful, career, and he is far from his Western home and his people.
Remember me to your elderly and amiable handmaiden, whose beaten biscuit I recall with such felicity.
Write me now and then, Mavis, and if I can in any way be of service to you, you have but to command me.
Faithfully and affectionately your friend,
John Denton
P.S. How did you like The Lyric Hour?
This afternoon the fruit and books arrived. Quantities of both. Sammy Simpson, Jr., who adds the arduous duties of expressman to those of milk purveyor, staggered upstairs under the burden of them. Into this very room, with his own hands, ably chaperoned by Sarah, he brought them. We had a little conversation. It ran something like this.
Mavis: "Good afternoon, Sammy!"
Sammy: "Afternoon, Miss Mavis!"