Dear Old Man:—

You’ll see me soon, perhaps sooner than you want. But there’s no help for it; I shall be turned out of here. Otherwise I should stay a month longer. Never had such a good time in my life. Oh, yes, I remember I’ve grumbled some; and I’ve lost six pounds and worn out two pairs of shoes. Never put your shoes near the fire or on a stove. But for hardening of the muscles and toughening of the hide, give me Plattsburg. If you have any complaints to make to me at any time, think well of them beforehand.

Our David that I’ve told you about, he turns out to be a true sport after all. Marches with the best of us, lives as dirty as we, enjoys it all. The young cuss, I’ve grown fond of him. What do you think his latest is? He’s kept hammering at me till he’s made me stop buying pies and things! Good for the pocket-book, but particularly good for my little insides. The last three days I haven’t even had a hankering for something sweet. Tell Nelly she needn’t bother to make chocolate layer cake when I come home, like I asked her to.

I swear I feel sorry to leave the squad. I’ve scarcely enjoyed this last night at all, and though I’ve made as much noise as anybody, it was so as not to show how bad I feel inside. I hate the idea of not seeing the captain again, and the Professor who bunks with me, and especially David who marches side of me. So I’ve come away from all the cheering and singing to write to you. David has asked me to write to him. And he meant it, too.

I’m not gloomy at coming home, you know. Really I’m crazy to see you all again. But if once in a while you see me sitting kind of lonesome, you’ll know why.