Please hurry up and get all the sea air you want, and go up to Boston and let them show you Milk Street and the _Youth’s Companion_ building (that’s all there is there). Oh, I forgot the beautiful men. Look ’em over! I’ve seen ’em. They all carry a black network bag with a MS. play, and Emerson, and two watercress sandwiches for lunch in it. All right for youse. Do you know I have an idea that you’ll meet your fate up there among the _Baked Beans_. I’m told those Apollo “Belvidears” always take to a girl that’s both intelligent and good looking. Get that? Well, I won’t send you a wedding present—so, there! But, speaking seriously, we’ve had rain here all day. It’s been cold, too—kind of like late of an evening when you go down barefoot in the ten-acre medder to drive the cow home, and your mind is on whippoorwills and stone bruises and Cherokee roses and hot corn-pone, and the little girl with the white sunbonnet on the adjoining farm that you saw picking cherries in the lane, and who you (I don’t mean you, I mean me) fondly imagine is going to come over to your farm some day and scold you when the cow doesn’t come home, but who really runs away with a patent churn agent and winds up by keeping a shooting gallery in South Bend, Indiana. Oh, well, what’s the _odds_? Hope you are feeling _quite well_ after your long trip from the soggy south. Now while you are up “No’th” just turn yo’self a’ loose and have a good time. Down in our country the old-time opinion is that _Liberty Jams_ everything into a bad shape, but it ain’t so. No—the real and genuine liberty sets you _Free_; it doesn’t cramp you or lower your ideals _at All_. A great many wise people have learned that; _you see Them Everywhere in Greater New York_. And I think you would like to bring your cow up here and spend the remainder of your time. You can live nicely on _fifty cents a week_; but a great deal better on _half a billion_ dollars. Since I have discovered what a help printed matter is to me, I simply love to write letters. I know a man who writes 1,900 letters a day to his _Loved One_. But don’t you think he is kind of “crowdin’” the mourners? Please ma’am write to me some more right away; I like to hear from you. P.S. I’ve had a great time chopping up the papers and building this letter. You’ll excuse my frivolousness, won’t you? BOB. Bobby, I condone your offense—time spent cutting up the papers, time worth so many cents per word, to amuse me. Times spent together when apart, how close they come. _April 29th. Morning._