We are not going straight on to Chicago.A gentleman has invited the Sellimers,which of course includes me,to a house-party in the country not far from Kansas City.He is a very rich man of middle age,so they tell me,a widower,who is interested in our sex and particularly in Annabel Sellimer.Mr.Edgerton Compton isn't invited.You see,he's a sort of rival--a poor rival.This middle-aged man has known the Sellimers a long time,and he has been trying to win Annabel for a year or two.If it hadn't been for Mr.Compton she'd have married HIS HOUSE before now,I gather.The house is said to be immense,in a splendid estate near the river.I am all excitement when I think of going there for ten days.There are to be fifty guests and the other forty-nine are invited as a means of getting Annabel under his roof.Won't I feel like a little girl in an old English novel!The best of it is that nobody will bother ME--I'm too poor to be looked at a second time,I mean,what THEY call poor.Sometimes I laugh when I'm alone,for I feel like I'm a gold mine filled with rich ore that nobody has discovered.Remember the 'fool's gold'we used to see among the granite mountains?I think the gold that lies on the surface must always be fool's gold.The name of the country-house we are to visit is the same as that of the man who owns it--
Wilfred Compton held the letter closer to the light.
Brick Willock spoke impatiently:No use to stare at that there word--we couldn't make it out.I guess she got it wrong,first,then wrote it over.Just go ahead.
Bill suggested,I think the first letter is an 'S.'Wilfred scrutinized the name closely.
Besides,said Willock,we knows none of them high people,the name wouldn't be nothing to us--and her next letter will likely have it more'n once.
Wilfred resumed the letter:I must tell you good-by,now,for Annabel's maid has come to help me dress for dinner,and it takes longer than it did to do up the washing,at the cove;and is more tiresome.But I like it.I like these fine,soft,beautiful things.I like the big world,and I would like to live in it forever and ever,if you could bring the dugout and be near enough for me to run in,any time of the day.I wish I could run in this minute and tell you the thousands and thousands of things I'll never have time to write.
Your loving,adoring,half-homesick,half-bewildered,somewhat dizzy little girl,
Lahoma.
P.S.Nobody has been able to tell from word or look of mine that I have ever been surprised at a single thing I have heard or seen.You may be quite sure of that.
I bet you!cried Willock admiringly.NOW,what do you think of it?
She won't be there long,remarked Bill,waving his arm,till she finds out what I learned long ago--that there's nothing to it.If you want to cultivate a liking for a dugout,just live a while in the open.
I don't know as to that,Willock said.I sorter doubts if Lahoma will ever care for dugouts again,except as she stays on the outside of 'em,and gets to romancing.A mouthful of real ice-cream spoils your taste everlasting for frozen starch and raw eggs.
Lahoma is a real person,declared Bill,and a dugout is grounded and bedded in a real thing--this very solid and very real old earth,if you ask to know what I mean.
Lord,I knows what you mean,retorted Willock.You've lived in a hole in the ground most of your life,and are pretty near ripe to be laid away in another one,smaller I grant you,but dark and deep,according.We'll never get Lahoma back the same as when we let her flutter forth hunting a green twig over the face of the waters.She may bring back the first few leaves she finds,but a time's going to come....He broke off abruptly,his eyes wide and troubled,as if already viewing the dismal prospect.
Maybe I AM old,Bill grudgingly conceded,but I don't set up to be no Noah's ark.
