Next week, Bob is going to be away more than usual, and I'm
dreading it awfully; but never mind, Aunt Mary, I don't want to
make you blue, because honestly I don't think I'm going into a
decline, even if the doctor does. And, after all, if I did sort of
dwindle away it wouldn't matter much, for I'm not worth anything,
and no one knows that as well as myself--except you, Aunt Mary. I
must stop because it's nine o'clock and time I was in bed. I've
got some socks to wash out first, too; you see, I'm learning how
to economize just as fast as I can. It's only two miles to my
work, and I'm going to walk back and forth always--that'll be
between fifty cents and a dollar saved each week. I'm figuring on
how to live on my salary and never have a debt, and you'll be
proud of me yet, Aunt Mary--if I don't die first.
Think of me all alone here next week. If I wasn't steadfast as a
rock I believe I'd do something foolish just to get out of myself.
But never mind, Aunt Mary, it's all right.
Your afft. nephew,
John Watkins, Jr., Denham.
When Lucinda returned from drying her feet, Aunt Mary had her handkerchief
in one hand and spectacles in the other.
"Saints and sinners!" cried the maid, in a voice that grated with
sympathy. "He ain't writ to say he's dead, is he?"
"No," said Aunt Mary; "but he isn't as well as he makes out.
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