s; but, of course, I don't want him to pay
it back. He's a great fellow, but I can't tell you his name--I shouldn't
like it in his place, you know.

"The worst thing about college life is having to go to classes. If it
wasn't for that I should be all right, and, anyway, I am solid on my Greek
and Latin--but I can't get on with the higher mathematics. Mr. Bennett
couldn't drive them into my head as he did into Champe's.

"I hope grandma has entirely recovered from her lumbago. Tell her Mrs. Ball
says she was cured by using red pepper plasters.

"Do you know, by the way, that I left my half-dozen best waistcoats--the
embroidered ones--in the bottom drawer of my bureau, at least Big Abel
swears that's where he put them. I should be very much obliged if grandma
would have them fixed up and sent to me--I can't do without them. A great
many gentlemen here are wearing coloured cravats, and Charlie Morson's
brother, who came up from Richmond for a week, has a pair of side whiskers.
He says they are fashionable down there, but I don't like them.

"With affectionate greeting to grandma and yourself,

"Your dutiful grandson,
"DANDRIDGE MONTJOY."

"P.S. I am using my full name now--it will look better if I am ever
President. I wonder if Mr. Jefferson was ever called plain Tom.

"DAN."

"N.B. Give my love to the little girls at Uplands.

"D."

The Major read the letter aloud to his wife while she sat knitting by the
fireside, with Mitty holding the ball of yarn on a footstool at her feet.

"What do you think of that, Molly?" he asked when he had finished, his
voice quivering with excitement.

"Red pepper plasters!" returned the old lady, contemptuously. "As if I
hadn't been making them for Cupid for the last twenty years. Red pepper
plasters, indeed! Why, they're no better than mustard ones. I reckon I've
made enough of them to know."

"I don't mean that, Molly," explained the Major, a little crestfallen. "I
was speaking of the letter. That's a fine letter, now, isn't it?"

"It might be worse," admitted Mrs. Lightfoot, coolly; "but for my part, I
don't care to have my grandson upon terms of equality with any of that
rascal Jones's blood. Why, the man whips his servants."

"But he isn't upon any terms, my dear. He refused to shake hands with him,
didn't you hear that? Perhaps I'd better read the letter again."

"That is all very well, Mr. Lightfoot," said his wife, clicking her
needles, "but it can't