Daddy-Long-Legs
outfit. Your board and tuition will be paid directly to the college,
and you will receive in addition during the four years you are
there, an allowance of thirty-five dollars a month. This will enable
you to enter on the same standing as the other students. The money
will be sent to you by the gentleman’s private secretary once a
month, and in return, you will write a letter of acknowledgment once
a month. That is--you are not to thank him for the money; he
doesn’t care to have that mentioned, but you are to write a letter
telling of the progress in your studies and the details of your
daily life. Just such a letter as you would write to your parents if
they were living.
“These letters will be addressed to Mr. John Smith and will be sent
in care of the secretary. The gentleman’s name is not John Smith,
but he prefers to remain unknown. To you he will never be anything
but John Smith. His reason in requiring the letters is that he
thinks nothing so fosters facility in literary expression as
letter-writing. Since you have no family with whom to correspond, he
desires you to write in this way; also, he wishes to keep track of
your progress. He will never answer your letters, nor in the
slightest particular take any notice of them. He detests
letter-writing, and does not wish you to become a burden. If any
point should ever arise where an answer would seem to be
imperative--such as in the event of your being expelled, which I
trust will not occur--you may correspond with Mr. Griggs, his
secretary. These monthly letters are absolutely obligatory on your
part; they are the only payment that Mr. Smith requires, so you must
be as punctilious in sending them as though it were a bill that you
were paying. I hope that they will always be respectful in tone and
will reflect credit on your training. You must remember that you are
writing to a Trustee of the John Grier Home.”
Jerusha’s eyes longingly sought the door. Her head was in a whirl of
excitement, and she wished only to escape from Mrs. Lippett’s
platitudes, and think. She rose and took a tentative step backwards.
Mrs. Lippett detained her with a gesture; it was an oratorical
opportunity not to be slighted.
“I trust that you are properly grateful for this very rare good
fortune that has befallen you? Not many girls in your position ever
have such an opportunity to rise in the world. You must always
remember--”
“I--yes, ma’am, thank you. I think, if that’s all, I must go and
sew a patch on Freddie Perkins’s trousers.”
The door closed behind her, and Mrs. Lippett watched it with dropped
jaw, her peroration in mid-air.
THE LETTERS OF MISS JERUSHA ABBOTT
to
MR. DADDY-LONG-LEGS SMITH
215 FERGUSSEN HALL,
September 24th.
_Dear Kind-Trustee-Who-Sends-Orphans-to-College,_
Here I am! I traveled yesterday for four hours in a train. It’s a
funny sensation isn’t it? I never rode in one before.
College is the biggest, most bewildering place--I get lost whenever
I leave my room. I will write you a description later when I’m
feeling less muddled; also I will tell you about my lessons. Classes
don’t begin until Monday morning, and this is Saturday night. But I
wanted to write a letter first just to get acquainted.
It seems queer to be writing letters to somebody you don’t know. It
seems queer for me to be writing letters at all--I’ve never written
more than three or four in my life, so please overlook it if these
are not a model kind.
Before leaving yesterday morning, Mrs. Lippett and I had a very
serious talk. She told me how to behave all the rest of my life, and
especially how to behave toward the kind gentleman who is doing so
much for me. I must take care to be Very Respectful.
But how can one be very respectful to a person who wishes to be
called John Smith? Why couldn’t you have picked out a name with a
little personality? I might as well write letters to Dear
Hitching-Post or Dear Clothes-Pole.
I have been thinking about you a great deal this summer; having
somebody take an interest in me after all these years, makes me feel
as though I had found a sort of family. It seems as though I
belonged to somebody now, and it’s a very comfortable sensation.
I must say, however, that when I think about you, my imagination has
very little to work upon. There are just three things that I know:
I. You are tall.
II. You are rich.
III. You hate girls.
I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater. Only that’s sort of
insulting to me. Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that’s insulting to you,
as though money were the only important thing about you. Besides,
being rich is such a very external quality. Maybe you won’t stay
rich all your life; lots of very clever men get smashed up in Wall
Street. But at least you will stay tall all your life! So I’ve
decided to call you Dear Daddy-Long-Legs. I hope you won’t mind.
It’s just a private pet name--we won’t tell Mrs. Lippett.
The ten o’clock bell is going to ring in two minutes. Our day is
divided into sections by bells. We eat and sleep and study by bells.
It’s very enlivening; I feel like a fire horse all of the time.
There it goes! Lights out. Good night.
Observe with what precision I obey rules--due to my training in the
John Grier Home.
Yours most respectfully,
JERUSHA ABBOTT.
_To Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs Smith._
October 1st.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
I love college and I love you for sending me--I’m very, _very_
happy, and so excited every moment of the time that I can scarcely
sleep. You can’t imagine how different it is from the John Grier
Home. I never dreamed there was such a place in the world. I’m
feeling sorry for everybody who isn’t a girl and who can’t come
here; I am sure the college you attended when you were a boy
couldn’t have been so nice.
My room is up in a tower that used to be the contagious ward before
they built the new infirmary. There are three other girls on the
same floor of the tower--a Senior who wears spectacles and is always
asking us please to be a little more quiet, and two Freshmen named
Sallie McBride and Julia Rutledge Pendleton. Sallie has red hair and
a turn-up nose and is quite friendly; Julia comes from one of the
first families in New York and hasn’t noticed me yet. They room
together and the Senior and I have singles. Usually Freshmen can’t
get singles; they are very scarce, but I got one without even
asking. I suppose the registrar didn’t think it would be right to
ask a properly brought-up girl to room with a foundling. You see
there are advantages!
My room is on the northwest corner with two windows and a view.
After you’ve lived in a ward for eighteen years with twenty
room-mates, it is restful to be alone. This is the first chance
I’ve ever had to get acquainted with Jerusha Abbott. I think I’m
going to like her.
Do you think you are?
Tuesday.
They are organizing the Freshman basket-ball team and there’s just
a chance that I shall make it. I’m little of course, but terribly
quick and wiry and tough. While the others are hopping about in the
air, I can dodge under their feet and grab the ball. It’s loads of
fun practising--out in the athletic field in the afternoon with the
trees all red and yellow and the air full of the smell of burning
leaves, and everybody laughing and shouting. These are the happiest
girls I ever saw--and I am the happiest of all!
I meant to write a long letter and tell you all the things I’m
learning (Mrs. Lippett said you wanted to know) but 7th hour has
just rung, and in ten minutes I’m due at the athletic field in
gymnasium clothes. Don’t you hope I’ll make the team?
Yours always,
JERUSHA ABBOTT.
P. S. (9 o’clock.)
Sallie McBride just poked her head in at my door. This is what she
said:
“I’m so homesick that I simply can’t stand it. Do you feel that
way?”
I smiled a little and said no, I thought I could pull through. At
least homesickness is one disease that I’ve escaped! I never heard
of anybody being asylumsick, did you?
October 10th.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
Did you ever hear of Michael Angelo?
He was a famous artist who lived in Italy in the Middle Ages.
Everybody in English Literature seemed to know about him and the
whole class laughed because I thought he was an archangel. He sounds
like an archangel, doesn’t he? The trouble with college is that you
are expected to know such a lot of things you’ve never learned.
It’s very embarrassing at times. But now, when the girls talk about
things that I never heard of, I just keep still and look them up in
the encyclopedia.
I made an awful mistake the first day. Somebody mentioned Maurice
Maeterlinck, and I asked if she was a Freshman. That joke has gone
all over college. But anyway, I’m just as bright in class as any of
the others--and brighter than some of them!
Do you care to know how I’ve furnished my room? It’s a symphony in
brown and yellow. The wall was tinted buff, and I’ve bought yellow
denim curtains and cushions and a mahogany desk (second hand for
three dollars) and a rattan chair and a brown rug with an ink spot
in the middle. I stand the chair over the spot.
The windows are up high; you can’t look out from an ordinary seat.
But I unscrewed the looking-glass from the back of the bureau,
upholstered the top, and moved it up against the window. It’s just
the right height for a window seat. You pull out the drawers like
steps and walk up. Very comfortable!
Sallie McBride helped me choose the things at the Senior auction.
She has lived in a house all her life and knows about furnishing.
You can’t imagine what fun it is to shop and pay with a real
five-dollar bill and get some change--when you’ve never had more
than a nickel in your life. I assure you, Daddy dear, I do
appreciate that allowance.
Sallie is the most entertaining person in the world--and Julia
Rutledge Pendleton the least so. It’s queer what a mixture the
registrar can make in the matter of room-mates. Sallie thinks
everything is funny--even flunking--and Julia is bored at
everything. She never makes the slightest effort to be amiable. She
believes that if you are a Pendleton, that fact alone admits you to
heaven without any further examination. Julia and I were born to be
enemies.
And now I suppose you’ve been waiting very impatiently to hear what
I am learning?
I. _Latin:_ Second Punic war. Hannibal and his forces pitched camp
at Lake Trasimenus last night. They prepared an ambuscade for the
Romans, and a battle took place at the fourth watch this morning.
Romans in retreat.
II. _French:_ 24 pages of the “Three Musketeers” and third
conjugation, irregular verbs.
III. _Geometry:_ Finished cylinders; now doing cones.
IV. _English:_ Studying exposition. My style improves daily in
clearness and brevity.
V. _Physiology:_ Reached the digestive system. Bile and the pancreas
next time.
Yours, on the way to being educated,
JERUSHA ABBOTT.
P. S. I hope you never touch alcohol, Daddy?
It does dreadful things to your liver.
Wednesday.
_Dear Daddy-Long-Legs_,
I’ve changed my name.
I’m still “Jerusha” in the catalogue, but I’m “Judy” every place
else. It’s sort of too bad, isn’t it, to have to give yourself the
only pet name you ever had? I didn’t quite make up the Judy though.
That’s what Freddie Perkins used to call me before he could talk
plain.
I wish Mrs. Lippett would use a little more ingenuity about choosing
babies’ names. She gets the last names out of the telephone
book--you’ll find Abbott on the first page--and she picks the
Christian names up anywhere; she got Jerusha from a tombstone. I’ve
always hated it; but I rather like Judy. It’s such a silly name.
It belongs to the kind of girl I’m not--a sweet little blue-eyed