Sore with defeat, I pulled on my coat and limped away with the jeers of the crowd echoing in my ears. Alice was not where I had left her, and after a half an hour's search I found her in a booth eating ice cream with Jim Davis, a hated rival who promptly informed me she had promised to ride home with him.
Rats, you know, Ted, leave a ship under certain conditions. Yes, I got a licking from my father when I reached home for spoiling my Sunday suit. A corker it was, too, with a hickory branch.
Oh! I forgot to say the little fellow who threw me so hard was the Champion Lightweight of New England.
Your affectionate father,
William Soule.
Lynn, Mass.
October 26, 19—
Dear Ted: