Daddy-Long-Legs
with teeth or a lizard with wings. No, it isn’t either; I’ve just
looked in the book. It’s a mesozoic mammal.
I’ve elected economics this year--very illuminating subject. When I
finish that I’m going to take Charity and Reform; then, Mr.
Trustee, I’ll know just how an orphan asylum ought to be run. Don’t
you think I’d make an admirable voter if I had my rights? I was
twenty-one last week. This is an awfully wasteful country to throw
away such an honest, educated, conscientious, intelligent citizen as
I would be.
Yours always,
JUDY.
December 7th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Thank you for permission to visit Julia--I take it that silence
means consent.
Such a social whirl as we’ve been having! The Founder’s dance came
last week--this was the first year that any of us could attend; only
upper classmen being allowed.
I invited Jimmie McBride, and Sallie invited his room-mate at
Princeton, who visited them last summer at their camp--an awfully
nice man with red hair--and Julia invited a man from New York, not
very exciting, but socially irreproachable. He is connected with the
De la Mater Chichesters. Perhaps that means something to you? It
doesn’t illuminate me to any extent.
However--our guests came Friday afternoon in time for tea in the
senior corridor, and then dashed down to the hotel for dinner. The
hotel was so full that they slept in rows on the billiard tables,
they say. Jimmie McBride says that the next time he is bidden to a
social event in this college, he is going to bring one of their
Adirondack tents and pitch it on the campus.
At seven-thirty they came back for the President’s reception and
dance. Our functions commence early! We had the men’s cards all made
out ahead of time, and after every dance, we’d leave them in groups
under the letter that stood for their names, so that they could be
readily found by their next partners. Jimmie McBride, for example,
would stand patiently under “M” until he was claimed. (At least, he
ought to have stood patiently, but he kept wandering off and getting
mixed with “R’s” and “S’s” and all sorts of letters.) I found him a
very difficult guest; he was sulky because he had only three dances
with me. He said he was bashful about dancing with girls he didn’t
know!
The next morning we had a glee club concert--and who do you think
wrote the funny new song composed for the occasion? It’s the truth.
She did. Oh, I tell you, Daddy, your little foundling is getting to
be quite a prominent person!
Anyway, our gay two days were great fun, and I think the men enjoyed
it. Some of them were awfully perturbed at first at the prospect of
facing one thousand girls; but they got acclimated very quickly. Our
two Princeton men had a beautiful time--at least they politely said
they had, and they’ve invited us to their dance next spring. We’ve
accepted, so please don’t object, Daddy dear.
Julia and Sallie and I all had new dresses. Do you want to hear
about them? Julia’s was cream satin and gold embroidery, and she
wore purple orchids. It was a _dream_ and came from Paris, and cost
a million dollars.
Sallie’s was pale blue trimmed with Persian embroidery, and went
beautifully with red hair. It didn’t cost quite a million, but was
just as effective as Julia’s.
Mine was pale pink crêpe de chine trimmed with écru lace and rose
satin. And I carried crimson roses which J. McB. sent (Sallie having
told him what color to get). And we all had satin slippers and silk
stockings and chiffon scarfs to match.
You must be deeply impressed by these millinery details!
One can’t help thinking, Daddy, what a colorless life a man is
forced to lead, when one reflects that chiffon and Venetian point
and hand embroidery and Irish crochet are to him mere empty words.
Whereas a woman, whether she is interested in babies or microbes or
husbands or poetry or servants or parallelograms or gardens or Plato
or bridge--is fundamentally and always interested in clothes.
It’s the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin. (That
isn’t original. I got it out of one of Shakespeare’s plays.)
However, to resume. Do you want me to tell you a secret that I’ve
lately discovered? And will you promise not to think me vain? Then
listen:
I’m pretty.
I am, really. I’d be an awful idiot not to know it with three
looking-glasses in the room.
A FRIEND.
P. S. This is one of those wicked anonymous letters you read about
in novels.
December 20th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
I’ve just a moment, because I must attend two classes, pack a trunk
and a suitcase, and catch the four-o’clock train--but I couldn’t go
without sending a word to let you know how much I appreciate my
Christmas box.
I love the furs and the necklace and the liberty scarf and the
gloves and handkerchiefs and books and purse--and most of all I love
you! But Daddy, you have no _business_ to spoil me this way. I’m
only human--and a girl at that. How can I keep my mind sternly fixed
on a studious career, when you deflect me with such worldly
frivolities?
I have strong suspicions now as to which one of the John Grier
Trustees used to give the Christmas tree and the Sunday ice-cream.
He was nameless, but by his works I know him! You deserve to be
happy for all the good things you do.
Good-by, and a very merry Christmas.
Yours always,
JUDY.
P. S. I am sending a slight token, too. Do you think you would like
her if you knew her?
January 11th.
I meant to write to you from the city, Daddy, but New York is an
engrossing place.
I had an interesting--and illuminating--time, but I’m glad I don’t
belong in such a family! I should truly rather have the John Grier
Home for a background. Whatever the drawbacks of my bringing up,
there was at least no pretense about it. I know now what people mean
when they say they are weighed down by Things. The material
atmosphere of that house was crushing; I didn’t draw a deep breath
until I was on an express train coming back. All the furniture was
carved and upholstered and gorgeous; the people I met were
beautifully dressed and low-voiced and well-bred, but it’s the
truth, Daddy, I never heard one word of real talk from the time we
arrived until we left. I don’t think an idea ever entered the front
door.
Mrs. Pendleton never thinks of anything but jewels and dressmakers
and social engagements. She did seem a different kind of mother from
Mrs. McBride! If I ever marry and have a family, I’m going to make
them as exactly like the McBrides as I can. Not for all the money in
the world would I ever let any children of mine develop into
Pendletons. Maybe it isn’t polite to criticize people you’ve been
visiting? If it isn’t, please excuse. This is very confidential,
between you and me.
I only saw Master Jervie once when he called at tea time, and
then I didn’t have a chance to speak to him alone. It was sort of
disappointing after our nice time last summer. I don’t think he
cares much for his relatives--and I am sure they don’t care
much for him! Julia’s mother says he’s unbalanced. He’s a
Socialist--except, thank Heaven, he doesn’t let his hair grow and
wear red ties. She can’t imagine where he picked up his queer ideas;
the family have been Church of England for generations. He throws
away his money on every sort of crazy reform, instead of spending it
on such sensible things as yachts and automobiles and polo ponies.
He does buy candy with it though! He sent Julia and me each a box
for Christmas.
You know, I think I’ll be a Socialist, too. You wouldn’t mind,
would you, Daddy? They’re quite different from Anarchists; they
don’t believe in blowing people up. Probably I am one by rights;
I belong to the proletariat. I haven’t determined yet just which
kind I am going to be. I will look into the subject over Sunday,
and declare my principles in my next.
I’ve seen loads of theaters and hotels and beautiful houses. My
mind is a confused jumble of onyx and gilding and mosaic floors and
palms. I’m still pretty breathless but I am glad to get back to
college and my books--I believe that I really am a student; this
atmosphere of academic calm I find more bracing than New York.
College is a very satisfying sort of life; the books and study and
regular classes keep you alive mentally, and then when your mind
gets tired, you have the gymnasium and outdoor athletics, and always
plenty of congenial friends who are thinking about the same
things you are. We spend a whole evening in nothing but
talk--talk--talk--and go to bed with a very uplifted feeling,
as though we had settled permanently some pressing world problems.
And filling in every crevice, there is always such a lot of
nonsense--just silly jokes about the little things that come up--but
very satisfying. We do appreciate our own witticisms!
It isn’t the great big pleasures that count the most; it’s making
a great deal out of the little ones--I’ve discovered the true
secret of happiness, Daddy, and that is to live in the _now_. Not to
be forever regretting the past, or anticipating the future; but to
get the most that you can out of this very instant. It’s like
farming. You can have extensive farming and intensive farming; well,
I am going to have intensive living after this. I’m going to enjoy
every second, and I’m going to _know_ I’m enjoying it while I’m
enjoying it. Most people don’t live; they just race. They are trying
to reach some goal far away on the horizon, and in the heat of the
going they get so breathless and panting that they lose all sight of
the beautiful, tranquil country they are passing through; and then
the first thing they know, they are old and worn out, and it
doesn’t make any difference whether they’ve reached the goal or
not. I’ve decided to sit down by the way and pile up a lot of
little happinesses, even if I never become a Great Author. Did you
ever know such a philosopheress as I am developing into?
Yours ever,
JUDY.
P. S. It’s raining cats and dogs to-night. Two puppies and a kitten
have just landed on the window-sill.
_Dear Comrade_,
Hooray! I’m a Fabian.
That’s a Socialist who’s willing to wait. We don’t want the social
revolution to come to-morrow morning; it would be too upsetting. We
want it to come very gradually in the distant future, when we shall
all be prepared and able to sustain the shock.
In the meantime we must be getting ready, by instituting industrial,
educational and orphan asylum reforms.
Yours, with fraternal love,
JUDY.
Monday, 3d hour.
February 11th.
_Dear D. L. L._,
Don’t be insulted because this is so short. It isn’t a letter;
it’s just a _line_ to say that I’m going to write a letter pretty
soon when examinations are over. It is not only necessary that I
pass, but pass WELL. I have a scholarship to live up to.
Yours, studying hard,
J. A.
March 5th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
President Cuyler made a speech this evening about the modern
generation being flippant and superficial. He says that we are
losing the old ideals of earnest endeavor and true scholarship; and
particularly is this falling-off noticeable in our disrespectful
attitude toward organized authority. We no longer pay a seemly
deference to our superiors.
I came away from chapel very sober.
Am I too familiar, Daddy? Ought I to treat you with more dignity and
aloofness?--Yes, I’m sure I ought. I’ll begin again.
* * * * *
_My dear Mr. Smith_,