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but I'd be most obliged if you'd drop in here toward eight o'clock for a
conference with the agent.
I am, as usual,
S. McBRIDE.
June 17. My dear Judy:
Betsy has perpetrated a most unconscionable trick upon a pair of adopting
parents. They have traveled East from Ohio in their touring car for the dual
purpose of seeing the country and picking up a daughter. They appear to be
the leading citizens of their town, whose name at the moment escapes me;
but it's a very important town. It has electric lights and gas, and Mr.
Leading Citizen owns the controlling interest in both plants. With a wave of
his hand he could plunge that entire town into darkness; but fortunately he's
a kind man, and won't do anything so harsh, not even if they fail to reelect
him mayor. He lives in a brick house with a slate roof and two towers, and
has a deer and fountain and lots of nice shade trees in the yard. (He carries
its photograph in his pocket.) They are good-natured, generous,
kind-hearted, smiling people, and a little fat; you can see what desirable
parents they would make.
Well, we had exactly the daughter of their dreams, only, as they came
without giving us notice, she was dressed in a flannellet nightgown, and her
face was dirty. They looked Caroline over, and were not impressed; but
they thanked us politely, and said they would bear her in mind. They
wanted to visit the New York Orphanage before deciding. We knew well
that, if they saw that superior assemblage of children, our poor little
Caroline would never have a chance.
Then Betsy rose to the emergency. She graciously invited them to motor
over to her house for tea that afternoon and inspect one of our little wards
who would be visiting her baby niece. Mr. and Mrs. Leading Citizen do not
know many people in the East, and they haven't been receiving the
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invitations that they feel are their due; so they were quite innocently
pleased at the prospect of a little social diversion. The moment they had
retired to the hotel for luncheon, Betsy called up her car, and rushed baby
Caroline over to her house. She stuffed her into baby niece's best
pink-and-white embroidered frock, borrowed a hat of Irish lace, some pink
socks and white slippers, and set her picturesquely upon the green lawn
under a spreading beech tree. A white-aproned nurse (borrowed also from
baby niece) plied her with bread and milk and gaily colored toys. By the
time prospective parents arrived, our Caroline, full of food and
contentment, greeted them with cooes of delight. From the moment their
eyes fell upon her they were ravished with desire. Not a suspicion crossed
their unobservant minds that this sweet little rosebud was the child of the
morning. And so, a few formalities having been complied with, it really
looks as though baby Caroline would live in the Towers and grow into a
leading citizen.
I must really get to work, without any further delay, upon the burning
question of new clothes for our girls.
With the highest esteem, I am, D'r Ma'am, Y'r most ob'd't and h'mble serv't,
SAL. McBRIDE.
June 19th. My dearest Judy:
Listen to the grandest innovation of all, and one that will delight your heart.
NO MORE BLUE GINGHAM!
Feeling that this aristocratic neighborhood of country estates might contain
valuable food for our asylum, I have of late been moving in the village
social circles, and at a luncheon yesterday I dug out a beautiful and
charming widow who wears delectable, flowing gowns that she designs
herself. She confided to me that she would have loved to have been a
dressmaker, if she had only been born with a needle in her mouth instead of
a golden spoon. She says she never sees a pretty girl badly dressed but she
Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor 118
longs to take her in hand and make her over. Did you ever hear anything so
apropos? From the moment she opened her lips she was a marked man.
"I can show you fifty-nine badly dressed girls," said I to her, and you have
got to come back with me and plan their new clothes and make them
beautiful."
She expostulated; but in vain. I led her out to her automobile, shoved her in,
and murmured, "John Grier Home" to the chauffeur. The first inmate our
eyes fell upon was Sadie Kate, just fresh, I judge, from hugging the
molasses barrel; and a shocking spectacle she was for any esthetically
minded person. In addition to the stickiness, one stocking was coming
down, her pinafore was buttoned crookedly, and she had lost a hair-ribbon.
But--as always--completely at ease, she welcomed us with a cheery grin,
and offered the lady a sticky paw.
"Now," said I, in triumph, "you see how much we need you. What can you
do to make Sadie Kate beautiful?"
"Wash her," said Mrs. Livermore.
Sadie Kate was marched to my bathroom. When the scrubbing was finished
and the hair strained back and the stocking restored to seemly heights, I
returned her for a second inspection--a perfectly normal little orphan. Mrs.
Livermore turned her from side to side, and studied her long and earnestly.
Sadie Kate by nature is a beauty, a wild, dark, Gypsyish little colleen. She
looks fresh from the wind-swept moors of Connemara. But, oh, we have
managed to rob her of her birthright with this awful institution uniform!
After five minutes' silent contemplation, Mrs. Livermore raised her eyes to
mine.
"Yes, my dear, you need me."
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And then and there we formed our plans. She is to head the committee on C
L O T H E S. She is to choose three friends to help her. And they, with the
two dozen best sewers among the girls and our sewing-teacher and five
sewing machines, are going to make over the looks of this institution. And
the charity is all on our side. We are supplying Mrs. Livermore with the
profession that Providence robbed her of. Wasn't it clever of me to find
her? I woke this morning at dawn and crowed!
Lots more news,--I could run into a second volume,--but I am going to
send this letter to town by Mr. Witherspoon, who, in a very high collar and
the blackest of evening clothes, is on the point of departure for a barn dance
at the country club. I told him to pick out the nicest girls he danced with to
come and tell stories to my children.
It is dreadful, the scheming person I am getting to be. All the time I am
talking to any one, I am silently thinking, "What use can you be to my
asylum?"
There is grave danger that this present superintendent will become so
interested in her job that she will never want to leave. I sometimes picture
her a white-haired old lady, propelled about the building in a wheeled
chair, but still tenaciously superintending her fourth generation of orphans.
PLEASE discharge her before that day!
Yours,
SALLIE.
Friday. Dear Judy:
Yesterday morning, without the slightest warning, a station hack drove up
to the door and disgorged upon the steps two men, two little boys, a baby
girl, a rocking horse, and a Teddy bear, and then drove off!
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