And one reason Tom Latimer and John seldom wrote to Polly and Eleanor, was because of Anne’s suggestion—to leave the girls to plan their spare time for their very own work, and not be made to feel that they had letters to answer, all the time.
It was Tom who had begged Jim not to waste his own, or the girls’ time, in writing silly letters or in traveling back and forth from college to New York. And Tom, wise big brother that he was, took Jim into his confidence and explained how anxious John and he were to have Polly climb to the top of the ladder in her art. That she had to make good in New York those first two years or go back home and starve her artistic soul on a lonesome ranch.
But Valentine’s Day was coming, and Jim felt that on that day he would be privileged to not only write to the girls, but to send each one a fine valentine, describing his sentiments.
Polly and Eleanor could not forget Valentine’s Day was at hand, for every shop-window they passed invited sentimental people to step in and see the love cards.
“I’d like to send a perfect dear to Mr. Dalken, Nolla,” said Polly, reading the verse on a card.
“To Mr. Dalken! Why, Poll, he is an old married man!”
“But what of that! Can’t I send him a card that states how much I like him?”
“Oh, ye-es—I suppose so; but valentines are really meant for lovers, you see.”
“It’s nothing of the kind, Nolla. Dear old St. Valentine never meant all his notes for lovers; but for everyone he loved! and that is very different, I think.”
“Well, send yours to anyone you like, but I am going to buy one for Jim,” said Eleanor, searching over the piles of cards on the tray, but not finding what she sought.