Myrtle comprehended, but the candies had been delicious so she laughed: “Got a valentine to send?”
“Yes, but it is a joke. I want the receiver to believe Eleanor Maynard sent it. Can you imitate her writing?”
“Easy as pie. Get me her exercise from this noon’s class.”
And in short order the box was addressed in Eleanor’s hand-writing. Elizabeth mailed it, and the day following the 14th, Jim mailed, what he considered, a lover’s work of art—such ardent lines and such sentiment seldom entered his thoughts, but the mushy words of the valentine excused his letter.
“W-e-ll—Jim’s gone clean mad!” gasped Eleanor.
“Is the thick letter from him?” asked Polly.
“Yes, but read it, Poll, and tell me what ails him.”
Polly read, but not without giggles and many a lifted eyebrow when she came to the extra fine phrases of love-making.
“Nolla, he sure is daffy. Can you see through it?”
“Not at all. I expected a comic from him—not this.”