“Jimmy” has been relating more of his troubles to the gardener. Last night it was so unusual that I will record it, as he seems to be a part of our life in a way. Pa and Levey Cohen say he is naturally a good foundation to build on—and they must know. “Say, Mr. Gardner, what you tink, de boys are calling me Mr. Jones, since de Governor sold dem rocks and got fifty thousand dollars for de lump, and I have had my picture in de Boston ‘American.’ Say Hearst is a pretty good man; he would be all right if he was a Republican, but Dick says he’s on de wrong side of de pump in politics. Anyway he treated me white—made a very decent picture of me. It looks a sight better any day, than I does, Peg says, and she has good eyes, she has. Well, as I was saying, fancy me being called Mr. Jones. Hully gee, it made me sick to me stomach. I wonder if de push tinks I am going to swell up and bust ’cause I’ve got a few dollars now? I ain’t seen it, de Governor says I’se got it, all right, but I don’t feel no different than I did before, except I have de faith dat if I gets a college ice once a week I won’t miss de five cents when I needs a pair of shoes, or a handkerchief. Say, mister, I notices some charge ten cents for dem college ices. I had one what cost ten cents de other week and ’tween you and me I couldn’t see a might of difference in de two, except de price. Dick says I’m like de Irishman. Said all de taste I had was in me mouth. I’ve got on fine at de night school—de teachers say I must drop my slang, but, hully gee! I don’t use any slang, much. I told de Professor to go oil his lamps, and he got mad and kept me after school. I be hanged if I notice that I use much slang. Wouldn’t it bust de buttons off your vest how perticular some folks be? Hully gee! I don’t want to be mean, nor nothing, but I must have time to git my own lamps trimmed, ’cause I’se always had to bump up against it hard, ever since I was born. I would like awful well if I could run up on de silver rays of de moon to dat planet Jubator; it must be a fine place up dare. Just tink, no rivers, and seas, to git drownded in, just deep wells, thick as peas in a pod, but no boats, or ships. Hully gee! only land, land everywhere. I would feel lonesome without de oder of de Charles River here. Sometimes it smells pretty bad, but I could even stand that than no smell at all. Oh, I want to tell yer before I forgit it. I went out in de country last night with Dick, to see his granny what lives out to Salem Willows. Well, they have a little patch of land there behind the house and Dick’s granny keeps a few hens, and she had some nice custards in old cups and we had a feast, let me tell you. Dick’s granny keeps a goat, and a male sheep with big horns. He’s an awful ugly cuss, and we saw ample proof of his ugliness. Dick went out to feed him and he broke his chain and came for Dick lickety slap bang and bunted Dick all over the yard. He tried to get up, but every time he moved the old he sheep would draw back and knock him down. He kept him there for more than an hour, I guess. Last his granny missed him and went to the door and Dick yelled for me to come out and drive the old he sheep off. I got the poker and went for Mr. Sheep. I gave him a good clip over his nose and he didn’t feel like bunting any more; then I turned to Dick and said, ‘Button, button, who got the button?’ and Dick said, ‘Well, if you had been here when I first came out you would have seen plain enough who it was.’ Then we came back home and Dick says he’s no friend to that he sheep any more. I don’t blame him at all. That he sheep ought to have had more sense, but he didn’t. Dat he sheep seemed to have a heap of respect for me after I gave him a rap over his nose. I reckon he would have called me Mr. Jones, if he could talk, with the accent on the Mr.

“The Governor told me if I wanted to get ahead I must get the bulldog grip. I told him I never seed one, and he said, ‘Jimmy, didn’t you ever see an old maid in the country set the bulldog on a tramp and see with what a grip the dog held on to the seat of the tramp’s trousers as he tried to get over the fence?’ I said I had, and he said that was what a bulldog grip means. Just get a strong, good hold and hang on. He said the Mason’s grip wasn’t so strong; said I ought to see a Mason ride the lodge goat. He said it was more fun to see the other fellow do it than to ride yourself.”

We are planning for the Automobile Magazine Cup race. The cup is a stunner; it cost five thousand dollars, the most unique cup ever offered for a race. Pa says I can enter my Franklin Flyer as I am set on it so much. Levey Cohen says I’ll win, so does Jimmy. I hope I do, then folks would have to say a girl can do some things, too, as well as boys and men.

Oct. 15, 1907. Say, but I am excited, for I have won the race. Fifteen hundred miles with not one bad mark—a perfect score for a kid is rather good, I think. I feel more pleased than I can tell. They had a plate made with brilliants that spelled “Franklin, Model G,” and put on to the space left for the name in the cup. It’s a dandy, let me tell you that. Jimmy Jones yelled himself sick shouting for the Franklin at the end of the tournament when the trophy was awarded. He said it took a live fish to go up stream and the Franklin car was it. I never saw a boy so crazy before. He said he would like to see the maker of the Franklin car President of the United States, but I told him I guessed he would rather turn out fast cars than to be president of anything but his own company. There’s only one President ever got rich while sitting in the Presidential chair and he ought to have been in better business, Pa says. Jimmy says we have a bully President now, and I guess that’s right, anyway, Pa and Levey Cohen say so, and they know. Jimmy was telling our gardener more yarns and I will write what I can hear: “Say, mister, wouldn’t de new style of trousers put a feller on de bum, though? I never seed such big wide trousers. Be gosh, I believe dey are trying to git skirts on to de men. When I put me new suit on de Governor got me last week, I thought it looked mighty queer, yet I never gave it much thought till Peg got her peepers on them. She jest hollowed and she says, ‘Git on to de dude, trying to be a womens; almost petticoats,’ says she, ‘not yet but soon. See de crease warble when ye walks. Hully gee! Jimmy, if yese can walk and keep dat crease straight de cops will pull yese in for talking too much boose. Ye will walk like a streak of greased lightning to keep up wid ye pants, bet ye life, it will be more work for ye than for a womens to keep her hat on straight, see?’ Well, I did see, and I asked de Governor to send dem to de dressmakers and git de seam took in, but de Governor said, ‘Jimmy, dat’s de style,’ but I says, ’Scuse me, sir, but I want me pants to look like they were cut for me and not for John L. Sullivan.’ Peg says all de swell guys look like a pole wid de cloth draped on to cover up dar slimness. Now what I want to know is what de fat man can do wid all dat extra cloth around his pegs. He will look like he was sent for and didn’t come at all. De tailor what made dat style must have been down East somewhere, perhaps down to Wonderland or Lynn, and got too many drinks, so he thought everyting went, even to de cloth for de trousers. I don’t know whether he gits his money by de week or per. Oh, I saw dat fine actor, Mr. Edmund Breese, in de ‘Lion and de Mouse.’ Say, dat Breese man is a peach. He is mighty good actor, mister. I wish you would go and see him. Peg says she wishes I could make love like he can on de stage. She says she saw him at de Castle Square, Boston, and he was de handsomest lover on de stage—so de papers said, but you see I ain’t it for polished manners. De Governor says I’ve got to watch out all de time so not to git throwed down. I am doing the best I can to stand on both me pins at once, but it must be mighty find to be really born a gentleman like Mr. Breese. He bought a paper of me several times when he was at de Park Theatre and he’s a good sort, all right. Got lots of good sense in his head, and he’s popular. Oh, I say, mister, did you ever hear one of them vaudeville fellows what talks down in his boots and then yer think somebody’s under the stage, or in a trunk, or something awful. I mean one of them ventriloquists. Well, mister, I have seen ’em all from Dan Harrington to dat English chap what dey call Charlie Prince, but dey can’t any of dem fellows hold a candle to Harry Kane. Kane he styles hisself on de bill at de theatre. He does de best act wid dem dummies I ever seed. Peg says all de others are dead slow, but Kane makes his Irishman mighty mad at de nigger boy he has. Dat Irish doll boy nearly gits alive, really, mister, he is so mad at being near a nigger. Gosh, I never seed such a fight as dey gits into. Makes ye wish you could go right down on de stage and give dat black nigger a big punch in de eye, so if ye wants to see a good A1 ventriloquist see Kane. Say, you will miss me gab ’cause de Governor has given me three weeks’ vacation. Me salary goes on just the same. I feel like a bank clerk or a cashier of a swell bank. So long, now, till Christmas, which is not yet, but soon.”

I reckon I’ll say good night, too, little book, for my eyes are heavy with sleep.

ELSIE.

I am a pupil of the International Correspondence School of Scranton, Pa., in Complete Advertising, and am very much pleased with their course of instruction. It is plain, thorough, and meets every need of the student. I am sure it’s the “Open Sesame” to a successful business life if one is in earnest and willing to study. Study is the only password to success. This school is a mighty ally with one when willing to work to reach the very top of the tree of knowledge, and have a part in the world of successful men and women. The prizes in life are only for those that work for them, and I am heartily in the race, and advise earnestly any one wishing to gain knowledge and position, to come with us. Your highest ambition can be attained if you will only work, and the teachers of this school will show you how and aid you in your desire to better yourself, and the world, by your work.

A grateful student,

ETHELLYN GARDNER,

Author of “The Letters of the Motor Girl.”