Allan waved the letter again ecstatically.
“It’s a letter from him!”
“Him? Who?”
“Pete!”
To attempt to describe the subsequent confusion would be absurd. Only a wide-awake phonograph could do it. Two chairs were overturned, Tommy screeched, Hal roared, Allan yelled back. The letter waved in air. Then Tommy danced an impromptu jig and, being quite unconscious that he was doing it, did it with much grace. Unfortunately none noticed it. Hal was struggling for the letter. Allan was fighting to keep possession of it. Tommy danced on. Occasionally he shrieked. His shriek was not nearly so pleasant as his dancing. After many moments comparative quiet settled and three breathless fellows gathered at the window while Allan, holding the precious document in his hands, read aloud. This is what they heard, leaving out, for the sake of clearness, the frequent interpolations of the listeners:
Hastings House, Hastings, Dec. 7, 1903.
Dear Allan—I guess you weren’t fooled, but anyhow it may be best, in case you are getting worried, to write and let you know that I am still alive and kicking like a steer. I would have written before, but only got a copy of the Purp this morning. It was fine. Tell Tommy he did nobly. I know it was Tommy wrote it because of the poetry. I’m going to have that front page framed for my descendants to look upon. They’ll know then what a noble youth I was.
I’m leaving here for New York to-night. The old man’s there. I’m not stuck on telling him about it, you can bet. He will be rip-snorting mad. I had to drown myself when I did because I got a letter saying he was going to be in New York a couple of weeks, and I knew he wouldn’t get any telegrams or things announcing my sad death. I don’t guess they’ll let me come back to college, and I don’t care very much, except that I hate to say good-by to you and Hal and Tommy. But I’ll see you again before I go home, unless they are easy on me, which doesn’t seem likely, does it?
You see, I rowed up to Harwich, turned the boat over and set it adrift, and tossed my hat after it. I had another inside my coat. Then I walked to Williamsport and took the train back to this place. I’ve been here ever since. It’s a dull hole. But I had to wait for the Purple to make sure I hadn’t slipped up. I suppose there was a lot of trouble. I’m sorry if I worried you fellows, but life was getting duller than ditch-water and something had to be done. I wish you would go down to my room and pack up the things that are lying around.
Tell Tommy I’ll come back some day for that dinner, and that it’s got to be a good one. Maybe, if you have time, you’ll write and tell me how you all are. It seems like I hadn’t seen you for a month. Address me, Care Thomas A. Burley, Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York. You fellows have got to come out to Colorado this summer and visit me if they don’t let me come back to college. If you don’t, I’ll arise from my watery grave and haunt you. Say “How” to Hal and Tommy, and don’t forget your poor old