Old Josiah reached in his pocket and handed me a paper. I opened it and nearly fainted. It was a three year contract calling for an annual $1000 increase in salary.
When I hit the earth again, I looked at the old man sitting there wagging his jaws and grinning, but somehow his smile had lost its sarcasm, and he seemed less like one of these gargoyle things that the foreigners hang on the outside of their churches, and more like a shrewd kindly old Yankee shoemaker.
Ted, I learned something that year besides how to run a big shoe factory. I learned that a rip snorting bawling out doesn't necessarily mean your superior thinks you a lightweight: if he couldn't see ability, he wouldn't take the trouble to cuss you. So when your teachers, or the coach, land on you don't think of "Harry Carey", (that isn't right but it's the nearest I can come to Jap for suicide) but if they land on you twice for the same mistake, pick out a nice deep spot in the jungle. If you don't the ivory hunters will get you.
Cheer up Ted crepe is expensive, and when you get blue be glad of the things you haven't got. I will be in Exeter Saturday afternoon. Look for me on the 1:30.
Your affectionate father,
William Soule.
Lynn, Mass.
November 20, 19—