“ON BOARD S.S.  “WESTERWALD,” OFF GREATER INAGUA

“August 21, 19—­

“DEAR DOROTHY BROUGHTON:  The first time I saw you was the day you came to school for the first time.  You wore a blue sailor dress with a white emblem on the sleeve, and your curly black hair was tied with red ribbons.  You did not see me that day—­nor any other day for a long time.  I was simply not in your field of vision.  That year I was wearing my older brother’s suit, and I had pressed him rather closely in inheriting it, so that it was none too large for me.  I remember that the sleeves were a bit short.  Anyhow, whether it was the fault of the suit or not, I had a very indefinite idea what to do with my feet when they were not in action, and even less at times when they were.  I recall vividly that there seemed to be a sort of ground swell between my desk and the blackboard, so that I never could walk confidently and evenly from one to the other.  When by any chance I imagined your eyes were turned my way the ground swell became a tidal wave.

“Once, just once, I was allowed to help you with a lesson.  You were unable to make head or tail of a problem in fractions; I don’t think figures were your strong point!  Miss Edgewood began to show you; an interruption came along.  I happened to be at her elbow—­I had a sort of reputation for figures—­she called on me to help you out.  I remember that at the summons my heart turned over twice, and its action after that was irregular, affecting my breathing and making my hand shake.  Luckily it did not upset my brain, so that I was able to make the thing clear to you.  I dared not look at you!  You did not get it at first and you stamped your foot and said:  “But I don’t see any sense to it!” I replied with a tremendous effort at lightening the situation:  “Plenty of cents, and dollars, too!” At which you turned and gave me a look—­at first of pride and anger, then melting into appreciation of my wit, and ending by blinding me with the beauty of your laughter!  We went on from that famously, and you saw the thing clearly and thanked me.  I thought I knew you then—­had made myself a friend of yours.  Next day, alas! you passed me with a nod.  But I never forgot what it might be like to know you.

“We are four days out from New York—­shall call at Matthew Town to-day.  Another eight days will bring us to Puerto Colombia; then for the river trip which will take me within thirty miles of the camp in the mountains.  When I am up at the mines I shall write again.  My address will be Puerto Andes, Colombia, the port of the Company.  If some day, when I go down the trail to send off my report, I should find a letter from you, I should go back the happier.

“Meanwhile I am,

“Faithfully yours,

“KIRKE WALDRON.”