In the morning, John tried to analyze the causes for his mental rampage as he drew on one toe-frayed stocking. Now that his mother had roused him for the third and final time, he felt tired enough to sleep another three hours. What had been the matter?
A love scene from that latest public library book flashed into his perplexed brain and he sighed contentedly. Had not Leander sacrificed long hours of precious slumber at the shrine of his beloved Philura? The inference in his own case was both obvious and satisfactory.
To tell Louise of his infatuation seemed the next and most logical step. He lacked the courage for a verbal declaration; therefore the message must be in writing. But in what form? Letter writing to a girl was a novel experience, and he had a horror of parental laughter if he asked for advice.
"John!" his mother called from the stairway. "Aren't you ever going to get dressed?"
He pulled on his second stocking hastily, with a call of "Down in a minute, Mother."
His grandmother's old Complete Letter Writer was in the library bookcase. That ought to help him out of his predicament. Wasn't it the Complete——"
"John!" came a second and more peremptory interruption of his thoughts. "Get down here this minute."
He started, drew on his shoes, half-buttoned them, slipped into his blouse, with boyish disregard for such matters as bathing, and scampered down the stairs to the dining-room. After a hasty meal of oatmeal and potatoes, he fled to the seclusion of the library. A moment of nervous fumbling with the lock, a rapid turning of pages, and—
"From a son at an educational institution, to his father, engaged in business at Boston, requesting—"
But he didn't want to borrow money from Louise. "Honored Parent!" Why, "Honored Louise" would sound too ridiculous for anything.