“DEAR MR. MERRIWELL: I suppose you will think me very foolish to write to you, but I saw you in your beautiful play ‘True Blue,’ last night, and I was perfectly charmed. It is a lovely play, and you act the part of _Dick Trueheart_ in a just perfectly splendid manner. My brother Tommy says you are a real Yale college man, and that you are just a peach. Tommy is fourteen. I am sixteen, but I’m real large for my age, so almost everybody thinks I am eighteen. I am going to see you again to-night. I wish I knew you. I think you must be awfully nice. I think actors are lovely, but papa says they are no good. He is a cross old patch. My mother is dead. I hope to go on the stage sometime and become a great actress, and wear diamonds and have flowers passed me over the footlights. I inclose a knot of blue and white ribbon. If you will wear it on your baseball uniform to-night I shall know you would like to become acquainted with me, and I will find a way to let you know my address before you leave St. Joseph. Oh, I do hope you will wear it! From your sincere admirer, “DORA.” “Waal, by gum! she’s hit hard!” grinned Ephraim. “She’s another little fool!” sneered Hodge. “Now, I am sorry for Dora,” declared Frank. “Her little head is full of false notions, and she is very liable to make a big mistake on that very account. I wish I might warn Dora.” “You can by wearing that knot of ribbon and becoming acquainted with her.” “That is the very thing I will not do. I do not believe in becoming acquainted in such a manner.” “Then yeou ain’t goin’ to wear the ribbon?” asked Ephraim. “Certainly not!” “B’gosh! yeou’d better let me wear it!” Frank looked at the Vermont youth in surprise. “You, Ephraim?” he cried. “What’s struck you? It doesn’t seem that my talk of a few minutes ago impressed you much.” “Oh, I’m only jokin’,” protested Gallup, sheepishly. Frank picked up another letter. “Now, here is one that makes me weary!” he said, with a show of repugnance. “Listen: “‘MR. FRANK MERRIWELL. “‘DEAR OLD CHAPPIE: If you want to become acquainted with a jolly girl, meet me to-morrow at 2 P. M. in front of the theater. You will know me by the white pinks I will wear. Don’t be afraid to catch on. “‘DAISY.’” “She must be gay, by jee!” gasped Ephraim. “Bah!” cried Frank, tearing up the letter and flinging it down. He took another from the table. “Here,” he said, “is the most foolish one of the lot, for it is from a person who should know better.” “How do you know whom it is from?” asked Hodge. “I saw her last night. She was the one who flung the flowers from the box.” “I noticed her. A stunning woman.” “Yes, a handsome woman, twenty-five years old, at least. Listen to this: