His mother assures me that he has already written a play worthy to stand beside Hamlet--but, though she is a charming lady, I'm hardly convinced by her opinion.

The fact remains, however, that he is going to New York to become a playwright, and that he has two idols in the market place which, I fancy, you may be predestined to see demolished.

He is simply off his head to meet Roger Adams, the editor of _The_--something or other I never heard of--and--remember your budding days and be charitable--a lady who writes poems and signs herself Laura Wilde.
I prepared him for the inevitable catastrophe by assuring him that the harmless Mr.Adams eats with his knife, and that the lady, as she writes books, isn't worth much at love-making--the purpose for which woman was created by God and cultivated by man.

Alas, though, the young are a people of great faith! Commend me to Mrs.Bridewell, whom I haven't seen since I had the honour of assisting at the wedding.
Yours ever, BEVERLY PIERCE.
As she finished her reading, Gerty broke into a laugh and carelessly threw the letter aside on the blue satin quilt.
"I'm glad to hear that somebody has read Laura's poems," she observed.
"But what in thunder am I to do with the chap ?" enquired Perry.

"God knows I don't go in for literature, and that's all he's good for I dare say." "Oh, well, he can eat, I guess," commented Gerty, with consoling irony.
"I've asked Roger Adams to luncheon," pursued Perry, too concerned to resent her lack of sympathy, "but there are nine chances to one that he will stay away." "Experience has taught me," rejoined Gerty sweetly, "that your friend Adams can be absolutely counted on to stay away.