Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of diplomacy to achieve the scheme we planned last summer, which would be creditable to Palmerston at his palmiest and have made Bismarck even more marked than he is.  But the deed, the mighty deed is done, and June twenty-ninth will see chum and me at the Shrubberies “if it kills every cow in the barn,” which is merely another way of saying that in the bright lexicon of youth, there’s no such word as fail.

Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet.  I have talked to you so much about him, that you will probably laugh at my attempting to tell you anything new.  I’m not going to try, and you are to consider all I say as merely a sort of underlining to what you already know.  Please remember that he will never take a prize for his beauty—­nor even for his grace.  He has a pleasing way with girls, not only of not talking himself, but of making it nearly impossible for them to talk.  For instance, if a girl asks me if I play croquet, which by the way, is becoming very passe (three last lines verge on poetry) being replaced by a new game called tennis, I probably say, “No.  Do you?” In this way I make croquet good for a ten minutes’ chat, which in the end leads up to some other subject.  Peter, however, doesn’t.  He says “No,” and so the girl can’t go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject.  It is safest to take the subject-headings from an encyclopaedia, and introduce them in alphabetical order.  Allow about ninety to the hour, unless you are brave enough to bear an occasional silence.  If you are, you can reduce this number considerably, and chum doesn’t mind a pause in the least, if the girl will only look contented.  If she looks worried, however, Peter gets worried, too.  Just put the old chap between you and your mamma at meals, and pull him over any rough spots that come along.  You, I know, will be able to make it easy for him.  Neglect me to any extent.  I shan’t be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect as an excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my innings.  I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really nice girl can be, so do your prettiest to him, for the sake of

    Watts Clarkson D’ALLOI.

When Watts and Peter saved the “cows in the barn” by stepping off the train on June 29th, the effect of this letter was manifest.  Watts was promptly bestowed on the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while Peter was quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat.  Of course an introduction had been made, but Peter had acquired a habit of not looking at girls, and as a consequence had yet to discover how far Miss Pierce came up to the pleasant word-sketch Watts had drawn of her.  Indeed, Peter had looked longingly at the seat beside Mr. Pierce, and had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one which seemed to him the essence of tact and most un-apparent, to have it assigned to him.  But two people, far his superior in natural finesse and experience, had decided beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could not resist their skilful manoeuvres.  So he climbed into place, hoping that she wouldn’t talk, or if that was too much to expect, that at least Watts would half turn and help him through.