“‘Well,’ I thought, ‘the devil take you. If you wish I will write it for you.’ And springing to my feet I sat down to the table, took some paper and said: ‘Well, come nearer; sit down and dictate.’
“She came over; sat down cautiously on the edge of the chair and looked at me in rather a guilty way.
“‘To whom shall I write?’
“‘To Boleslav Kapshat, in the town Sventsiani, on the Warsaw railroad.’
“‘Well, what shall I write? Speak.’
“‘My dearest Boless, my heart’s delight, my beloved. May the Mother of God protect you! My golden heart, why have you not written for so long a time to your sorrowing dove, Teresa—’
“I could hardly keep from laughing. A sorrowing dove, indeed! Almost six feet tall, with the fists of a prize-fighter, and a face so black that it seemed as if the ‘dove’ had been sweeping chimneys all her life and had never thoroughly washed herself. But I somehow kept my face straight and asked:
“‘Who is this Bolesst?’
“‘Boless, Pan Student,’ she replied seemingly offended because of my mispronouncing the name. ‘He is my affianced.’
“‘Affianced!’