I am sitting in the dearest old chair that I bought yesterday at a little store on the North Side. That is my one extravagance, buying furniture and things for the house, but I always say it is economy in the long run as I will always have them and have use for them and when I can pick them up at a bargain I would be silly not to. Though heaven knows I will never be “poor” in regards to furniture and rugs and things like that as mother’s house in Toledo is full of lovely things which she says she is going to give to Sis and myself as soon as we have real homes of our own. She is going to give me the first choice as I am her favorite. She has the loveliest old things that you could not buy now for love or money including lovely old rugs and a piano which Sis wanted to have a player attachment put on it but I said it would be an insult to the piano so we did not get one. I am funny about things like that, a specially old furniture and feel towards them like people whom I love.
Poor mother, I am afraid she won’t live much longer to enjoy her lovely old things as she has been suffering for years from stomach trouble and the doctor says it has been worse lately instead of better and her heart is weak besides. I am going home to see her a few days this fall as it may be the last time. She is very cheerful and always says she is ready to go now as she has had enough joy out of life and all she would like would be to see her girls settled down in their own homes before she goes.
There I go, talking about my domestic affairs again and I will bet you are bored to death though personly I am never bored when my friends tell me about themselves. But I won’t “rattle on” any longer, but will say good night and don’t forget to write and tell me how you come out with the song and thanks for sending me the words to it. Will you write a song about me sometime? I would be thrilled to death! But I am afraid I am not the kind of girl that inspires men to write songs about them, but am just a quiet “mouse” that loves home and am not giddy enough to be the heroine of a song.
Well, Mr. Man, good night and don’t wait so long before writing again to
N.Y., Sept. 8.
Dear Girlie: Well girlie have not got your last letter with me so cannot answer what was in it as I have forgotten if there was anything I was supposed to answer and besides have only a little time to write as I have a date to go out on a party with the Sears. We are going to the Georgie White show and afterwards somewheres for supper. Sears is the boy who wrote the lyric to my song and it is him and his sister I am going on the party with. The sister is a cold fish that has no use for men but she is show crazy and insists on Paul takeing her to 3 or 4 of them a week.
Paul wants me to give up my room here and come and live with them as they have plenty of room and I am running a little low on money but don’t know if I will do it or not as am afraid I would freeze to death in the same house with a girl like the sister as she is ice cold but she don’t hang round the house much as she is always takeing trips or going to shows or somewheres.
So far we have not had no luck with the song. All the publishers we have showed it to has went crazy over it but they won’t make the right kind of a deal with us and if they don’t loosen up and give us a decent royalty rate we are libel to put the song out ourselves and show them up. The man up to Goebel’s told us the song was OK and he liked it but it was more of a production number than anything else and ought to go in a show like the Follies but they won’t be in N.Y. much longer and what we ought to do is hold it till next spring.
Mean wile I am working on some new numbers and also have taken a position with the orchestra at the Wilton and am going to work there starting next week. They pay good money $60 and it will keep me going.
Well girlie that is about all the news. I believe you said your father was sick and hope he is better and also hope you are getting along OK and take care of yourself. When you have nothing else to do write to your friend,
Chicago, Ill., Sept. 11.
Dear Mr. Lewis: Your short note reached me yesterday and must say I was puzzled when I read it. It sounded like you was mad at me though I cannot think of any reason why you should be. If there was something I said in my last letter that offended you I wish you would tell me what it was and I will ask your pardon though I cannot remember anything I could of said that you could take offense at. But if there was something, why I assure you, Mr. Lewis, that I did not mean anything by it. I certainly did not intend to offend you in any way.
Perhaps it is nothing I wrote
