"From a merchant engaged in the hay and grain business in Baltimore, to a wholesale dealer in New York, complaining that—"
Such prosaic details as hay and grain shortages were not for him. He wanted a love letter, an epistle that would breathe the fire of adoration in every line. Didn't the old book have any? The title said Complete—What was this?
"From a young man—" He skipped the rest of the heading—such things didn't have much to do with the real contents anyway.
"Beloved—"
That sounded better.
"When first I—"
The door opened suddenly. Mrs. Fletcher gazed down at him in astonishment.
"Haven't you gone to school yet? It's five minutes of nine, now. What on earth have you been doing?"
The book dropped to the floor. A scant five minutes later, he stumbled breathlessly into the school room, only to find that roll call had been finished and that "B" class was holding its English recitation. Miss Brown frowned and made a mark in the record book on her desk, and went on with the class work. Out came his theme pad and pencil. The fifteen minute study period was his for the composition of that letter and he set to work.
What did a fellow usually say to a girl, anyway? He'd never written one before. He twisted in his seat and caught a glimpse of the adored one's graceful curls, but even with this inspiration, ideas refused to come.