do all business with
the one at the head--and no other! This motto has saved me no end of
time which has been spent in healthy exercise under my own roof and Ma's
eagle eye, which otherwise might have wore out the seats of
outside-office chairs.

And so I concluded that I'd sit right down that minute and let Mr.
Wilson know I was on the job. I knew I had some writing paper someplace
and after I had took a lot of powder and chamois and old asperin
tablets out of the desk I dug it up:--a box of handsome velour-finish
tinted slightly pink, with envelopes to match. And I got hold of a pen
and some ink which Musette, my maid, had overlooked, she being a great
writer to her young man which is French and Gawd knows how fluent she
writes him in it, only of course being born over there certainly makes a
difference.

Well, anyways, I cleaned off the desk and rubbed the cream off my nose
and hands and set down to write that letter. And--believe you me--it was
some job. I guess I must of commenced a dozen times and tore them up
with formal openings--do you get me? And then I realized that the box of
pink tinted was getting sort of low and I had better waste not want not,
and so determined to just be natural in what I wrote but not take up his
time with too long a letter. So at last I threw in the clutch, gave
myself a little gas, and we was off, to this effect.

"My dear Mr. Wilson:--

"Many thanks for yours of the 25th inst. Will at once get busy at
helping to make the first of the month savings day instead of
unpaid-bill day.

"Cordially,
"MARIE LA TOUR."

This seemed refined and to the point, and although I was awful tempted
to put a P.S. asking did they know anything about Jim, I left off on
account of me not believing in asking personal favors of the Government
just now, as the war office was probably medium busy and the Censor
might answer first, at that. So I just sealed it up as it was, and about
then Ma left off playing on my souvenir and came in with a pink satin
boudoir cap down tight over her head. Ma just can't seem to get over the
idea that boudoir caps at five dollars and up per each is a sort of de
lux housework garment.

"I'm just going in the kitchen and beat up a few cakes for lunch," said
Ma, and withdrew, leaving me to lick on three cents and shoot the letter
fatefully and finally down the drop near the gilt-bird-cage elevator of
our home-like little flat. I felt awfully