Perrysburg journal. (Perrysburg, Wood Co., O. [Ohio]) 186?-1965, 1915-04-29
The Love Letter
Of His Life
Copyright, The Frank A. Munsoy compnn
BY HELEN ROWLAND

Bobby Dale sat on the veranda of
| tho Princess Anne, writing letters.
| Bobby Dale was young and blonde and
| good to look upon. His straw hat
| rested on lot of yellow hair, and his
| blue serge coat outlined fine pair of
| shoulders.
Bobby's mouth was set in firm, hard
lines, and his eyes looked hollow and
tired, as though he had not slept much
the night before. He was writing on
a sheet of hotel paper with a gold-tip.
ped fountain pen. You would never
have imagined he was writing love
letter; but he was-the love letter of
his life. With hurried scrawls and
spasmodic scratches, he was pouring
out his soul-in ink.
1t is needless to mention that Bobby
had been refused-twice-by the girl
to whom he was writing. No man
nowadays ever reaches such frenzy
of devotion and passion as he was in,
or fancied he was in-at the moment;
no man in this era of common sense
ever commits himself so unreservedly
and fervently to paper, except in pur-
suit of the unattainable
Mr.. Dale finished his letter and
signed it, cogitated moment with the
handle of his pen in his mouth, and
finally, with desperate determination,
ADDED these words:
will you marry me? | am going to
give you just three weeks to answer
this question-for the last time. If, at
the end Of three weeks, | do not hear
from you def1nitely-and affirmatively,
l am going to marry little girl up in
York state"
Bobby read this postscript through
carefully, and with feeling of salts
letter in one of his own business en-
velopes, addressed it, and dropped it
into the mailbox at tine corner of the
veranda Then, like man who has
got something weighty off his soul, he
strolled off the piazza, where dozen
girls in fluffy frocks were chattering
maddeningly, made his way to the
beach, where a lot of stiffly dressed
hotel children were toddling and dane
ing in the morning sun, and was soon
cheerfully smoking a cigar.
A month later he walked up the
aisle of village church with the little
girl from York state, and six weeks
thereafter-such is the inconsistency
of mamie sat contentedly on the
small veranda of his own suburban
cottage, reading the morning paper
and putting idly at comfortable pipe.
But in spite of his apparent con.
tent, there was cloud on Bobby's life
You might have noted it in his restless
eye and in the furtive way in which
he glanced eagerly up and down the
tree-lined village street, where nothing
more alarming than the dancing lea
shadows, the gold and red of blowing
autumn leaves. and the shuffling fig
ure of an occasional boy truant me-
his vision. The day after his marriage
he had heard inadvertently that "tht
other girp' had sailed for Europe quite
suddenly a month before. Might she
not have missed his note, and might
not her answer, at any moment
He always shuddered and shut his eyes
when he reached this point
Bobby had been at first ineredulous
then astounded, then charmed at the
happiness he managed to derive from
his marriage, in spite of his blightet
passion. And the way in which tina
passion had faded made him blink will
wonder. But there still remained tn,
unanswered letter-the love letter o
his life-with its telltale postscript
following a girl around Europe Bobb,
could merely sit and torture himsel
with pictures of the consequences
some morning his wife should find
little blue scented note in his mail.
isn't exactly conducive to matrimonial
felicity for woman to discover tha
she has been married "for spite" Tha
was the cloud over ~Bobby's life.
Bobby" called little Mrs. Dale from
inside the tiny French window, "hoy
do you spell indigestion? I'm tellin
Aunt Agatha all about that terribl
attack YOU"
indigestion" spelled Bobb
carefully. He always had to spell TO
his wife. why do you suppose
Edith" he went on, bitterly, that W
ever decided to live in place wher
the postman takes his morning ma
between houses?"
The scratch of little Mrs. Dale
pearl and gold pen stopped suddenly
blue dress fluttered through tn
French window, and dainty vision O
village girlhood stepped out upon tn
veranda.
why, If it's only the postman yo
are waiting for, Bobby?" she sal
sweetly, do go now and let me brin
the mail down to you the moment
comes. You should have been at you
office half an hour ago."
"Nonsense!" remarked Bobby, III
gratefully. Wouldn't think of tro,
bling you, What's half an hour. an,
way?"
Between the fine brows of Mrs. Dal
b there appeared little pucker. Sh