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Show Love Letters of a Gossip. Dear Little Sweetheart: I had dinner with the human air compressor the other evening, the same nice old party I told you about in another letter. Compressor yes, because her hammer work demands de-mands the use of a drill on account of the steady pounding. She has reduced knocking to a precise science, and all she doesn't hear over the circuit 'phone goes through a process of incubation in her brain cells and finally she believes herself that what she says is the truth. Her latest story is about a young man in town who is worrying his family sick, he in particular, partic-ular, but of course, others are mentioned, and she is glad she hasn't any boys. She is a polite but firm old lady, and declares that she has made up her mind that she just won't let any of the wild young men she's heard about steal her ffower-eyed daughter. The growing pains of greatness produce some funny emotions. In your letter the other day you mentioned what a good time you had at the Bohemian club, but complained that ladies were admitted but once a month. Remember, dear, that that is a gentleman's club; would to heaven we had some rule like that. It is all right for ladies to appear at meals and in the ladies' parlors, but this thing of driving men out of the other rooms is, to say the least, monotonous. Allowances must be made for the fact that the club is a comparatively new one, but it isn't a public pleasure resort, with privileges priv-ileges to be abused. I understand that in connection connec-tion with a Sunday barber's chair, a hair-dressing room is contemplated, and an additional room for Kensingtons. Won't that be a peachy stunt? I saw a letter from a young lady in New York today that is certainly the limit She is an old acquaintance of yours and very much society. She is at the Waldorf, and in her letter she describes everything most minutely. Her apartments are "dreamy" and the beds are "grand" and the bath tub is the "sweetest thing she ever saw." How well she remembers her Ella Wheeler Wilcox! At any rate, she speaks particularly of the bath tubs with gilded cupids and orchids painted all over them. And she ends her letter by saying that the one in her room looked so pretty that she could hardly wait till Saturday night. You know, we always thought she was superstitious about water. All my love, dear, to you. JIM. |