After half an hour's desultory visit, the Hon. Cy rose to go. As the door closed behind him (I am at least thankful the child waited for that), Punch raised his appealing brown eyes to mine and murmured, with a confiding smile:
"Gee! ain't he got de hell of a mug?"
If you know a kind Christian family where I can place out a sweet little five-year boy, please communicate at once with
S. McBRIDE,
Sup't John Grier Home.
Dear Pendletons:
I've never known anything like you two snails. You've only just reached Washington, and I have had my suitcase packed for days, ready to spend a rejuvenating week end CHEZ VOUS. Please hurry! I've languished in this asylum atmosphere as long as humanely possible. I shall gasp and die if I don't get a change.
Yours,
on the point of suffocation,
S. McB.