“Robin!” I shouted.
“At your service,” he laughed. “You see, I adapt myself to the times. There’s no use playing helter-skelter pranks on systematic Americans. They get their cream by a separator, so they never put out bowls of milk for me; the chores are done by machinery; and if I prowl about the kitchen by night, I get nervous prostration for fear some one will turn on the electricity. So I went in for scientific efficiency, and studied for the professions. I have lots of fun. But you people who live in steam heat are so afraid of drafts that hardly anybody will let me put in a magic casement. I was really grateful to you for giving me the chance. Hello! Here we are at Back Bay! Good-by!”
There’s my story. Now, may I not send Robin to give you a magic casement in “Parva sed Apta”? I am sure he would not mind the journey. But I suspect you may have one already; Robin and you were always on good terms.
Lovingly yours,
Vida D. Scudder.
AN AFTER-DINNER STORY
BY BADDELEY BOARDMAN
A REMINISCENCE OF MARION CRAWFORD
MANY visitors to Rome will remember the German book-store on the Piazza di Spagna, kept by Herr S——, of whom a story is told which throws a backward light upon the apparently troublesome activities, as a boy, of a distinguished American novelist. Herr S——, who had been established in Rome as a bookseller almost a lifetime, once met in his store another elderly gentleman, who said: