A great
many gentlemen here are wearing coloured cravats, and Charlie Morson's
brother, who came up from Richmond for a week, has a pair of side whiskers.
He says they are fashionable down there, but I don't like them.
"With affectionate greeting to grandma and yourself,
"Your dutiful grandson,
"DANDRIDGE MONTJOY."
"P.S. I am using my full name now--it will look better if I am ever
President. I wonder if Mr. Jefferson was ever called plain Tom.
"DAN."
"N.B. Give my love to the little girls at Uplands.
"D."
The Major read the letter aloud to his wife while she sat knitting by the
fireside, with Mitty holding the ball of yarn on a footstool at her feet.
"What do you think of that, Molly?" he asked when he had finished, his
voice quivering with excitement.
"Red pepper plasters!" returned the old lady, contemptuously. "As if I
hadn't been making them for Cupid for the last twenty years. Red pepper
plasters, indeed! Why, they're no better than mustard ones. I reckon I've
made enough of them to know."
"I don't mean that, Molly," explained the Major, a little crestfallen. "I
was speaking of the letter. That's a fine letter, now, isn't it?"
"It might be worse," admitted Mrs. Lightfoot, coolly; "but for my part, I
don't care to have my grandson upon terms of equality with any of that
rascal Jones's blood. Why, the man whips his servants."
"But he isn't upon any terms, my dear. He refused to shake hands with him,
didn't you hear that? Perhaps I'd better read the letter again.
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