Dear Davy:—Only a line to say how d’do, and tell you that things are booming here, especially in the office. The pater asks me to say that he, as chairman of a certain committee of inflated gold-bugs, will accept your figure for the entire Lost Farm tract (survey inclosed), provided the figure is anywhere within reason, whatever that means. This is with the understanding that the present tenants vacate on or before June 1st, 19—.
The N. M. & Q. will have their iron laid as far as Tramworth by that time.
I suppose you have become quite a woodsman by this time, but I can’t for the life of me see how you can stand it up there in winter; summer is bad enough.
By the way, if it is not too much trouble, you might bring Smoke along when you come out, if you ever do. I’ve given up hoping you will. Bess seems to think she wants Smoke, although she didn’t see him once a month when he was at home.
My illustrious father has cooked up a new job for me—I’m a promoter now. Shake.
Davy, I have a surprise for you when you come; something that will make you sit up and take notice, I’ll bet. In the mean time, beware the seductions of Tramworth, and dressmakers in particular. Speaking of Tramworth reminds me of the account I saw of your accident. Congrats, old man, on your ability to dodge bullets. I intended to write sooner, but have been on the jump every minute. Smoke did the Indian up for fair, bless his little heart (I mean Smoke’s). But we can talk it over when you arrive. Regards to old Cyclops and the siren child.
Sincerely,
—WALTER E. BASCOMB.
David tucked the letter into his pocket, and closing the door of his cabin walked over to Avery’s camp.
“Pop’s down on the dam talkin’ to Jim,” said Swickey from the doorway.