. You know who is down there,
and--this is awfully delicate, Mumsy--but he's a nice boy, and I thought
I liked him. I guess you know he has been rather attentive. Now, I
DO like him, Mumsy, but not the way I thought I did, and I want you
to--very gently, of course--to discourage him a little. You know how
I mean. He's a dear boy, but I am so tired of people who don't know
anything but horses and motors.

And, oh, yes,--do you remember a girl named Lucille Mellon who was at
school with you in Rome? And that she married a man named Harbison?
Well, her son is here! He builds railroads and bridges and things, and
he even built himself an automobile down in South America, because he
couldn't afford to buy one, and burned wood in it! Wood! Think of it!

I wired father in Chicago for fear he would come rushing home. The
picture in the paper of the face at the basement window is supposed to
be Mr. Harbison, but of course it isn't any more like him than mine is
like me.

Anne Brown mislaid her pearl collar when she took it off last night,
and has fussed herself into a sick headache. She declares it was stolen!
Some of the people are playing bridge, Betty Mercer is doing a cake
walk to the RHAPSODIE HONGROISE--Jim has no every-day music--and
the telephone is ringing. We have received enough flowers for a
funeral--somebody sent Lollie a Gates Ajar, only with the gates shut.

There are no servants--think of it, Mumsy. I wish you had made me learn
to cook. Mr. Harbison has shown me a little--he was a soldier in the
Spanish War--but we girls are a terribly ignorant lot, Mumsy, about the
real things of life.

Now, don't worry. It is more sport than camping in the Adirondacks, and
not nearly so damp.

Your loving daughter, Katherine.

P.S.--South America must be wonderful. Why can't we put the Gadfly in
commission, and take a coasting trip this summer? It is a shame to own a
yacht and never use it. K.

THIS NOTE, EVIDENTLY DELIVERED BY MESSENGER, WAS FOUND AMONG OTHER
LITTER IN THE VESTIBULE AFTER THE LIFTING OF THE QUARANTINE.

Mr. Alex Dodds, City Editor, Mail and Star:

Dear D.--Can't get a picture. Have waited seven hours. They have closed
the shutters.

McCord.

WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF THE ABOVE NOTE.

Watch the roof.

Dodds.

Chapter IX. FLANNIGAN'S FIND

The most charitable thing would be to say nothing about the first day.
We were baldly brutal--that's the only word for it. And Mr. Harbison,
with his b