Jerusha Abbott,
Author of, “When the Sophomores Won the Game.” For sale at all news stands, price ten cents.
September 26th.
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,
Back at college again and an upper classman. Our study is better than ever this year—faces the South with two huge windows—and oh! so furnished. Julia, with an unlimited allowance, arrived two days early and was attacked with a fever of settling.
We have new wall paper and Oriental rugs and mahogany chairs—not painted mahogany which made us sufficiently happy last year, but real. It ’s very gorgeous, but I don’t feel as though I belonged in it; I ’m nervous all the time for fear I ’ll get an ink spot in the wrong place.
And, Daddy, I found your letter waiting for me—pardon—I mean your secretary’s.
Will you kindly convey to me a comprehensible reason why I should not accept that scholarship? I don’t understand your objection in the least. But anyway, it won’t do the slightest good for you to object, for I ’ve already accepted it—and I am not going to change! That sounds a little impertinent, but I don’t mean it so.
I suppose you feel that when you set out to educate me, you ’d like to finish the work, and put a neat period, in the shape of a diploma, at the end.