The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1938-10-06

you've had thrift dinned into you from
early childhood it's hard to throw it
off completely no matter how much
you read the Washington dispatches.
That's why Pm not telegraphing
you. A stamp costs only three cents
and the right sort of telegram would
cost at least fifty. l have enough of
father in me to realize that the diff
ferential is forty-seven cents. Not
much money, you will say, and in a
sense you are right. Yet even under
present conditions, forty-seven cents Is
worth about thirty cents, and thirty
cents will take care of the hat-check
girl in one of the best places with a
nickel to spare.
l can remember just when l first
thought of practicing little economies
like this. Last year, after father left
town, l decided to have his mattress
made over, and what do you think l
found, Mrs. Plamondin? Money, quite
a bit of money. 1t was the money that
made the mattress so hard.
uC(luCu " lhfCSl III anu So L WGuL
downtown and called on one of IA
theirs old banking friends who is still
banking although scared to death, and
asked him about investments.
At first he wouldn't tell me anything.
He kept trying to change the subject,
wanting to play tick-tack-toe and show
me card tricks. When l kept asking
him about investments he said bankers
weren't allowed to give advice about
such matters. Bishops, bartenders,
musicians and masseurs can give all
the investment advice they want to-
but my understanding Is that bankers
can be put in jail for doing such a
thing. l told him l had come to him
not as a banker bur as a friend, so at
last he sent his secretary out of the
office, locked the door, pulled down the
shades and whispered tip.
And what do you suppose he told
me to buy, Mrs. Plamondin? He said
to buy Chateau Latour 1929, or Gil
quot 1923. ! am passing the tip on to
you, dear lady, because it comes from
one of the most conservative and able
bankers in the country, and it may re-
pay you for any slight inconvenience
caused by this tardy reply to your in
vitation.
Now as to the invitation, l am aw-
fully sorry to say I shall not be COM
ing to you for the weekend. 1 could
easily pretend that l had a previous
engagement, but / like you, Mrs. Pla-
mondin-I really do, in spite of your
painting your fingernails red-and l
much prefer to be candid with those l
like, red fingernails or no red finger
nails. The plain truth is that l just
don't want to come. Let me add,
though, that this is in no way your
fault.
Why don't want 10 come? Because
of the way I'm made. Because your
household is so well ordered. Because
you like to have everything planned
and running on schedule, and I don't.
So there you are, dear Mrs. PlamOn-
din; and do ring me up some day when
you're in town-nOt too early, mind
and invite me to lunch.
1t is odd, now that l have made this
simple statement of the case, to reflect
on how 1 dreaded doing it. 1t really
wasn't so difficult after all. All. how
often life is like that. How often we
dread something we must do, only to
find, when we do it, that it isn't really
so bad. For two weeks your letter has
been kicking around my desk, unan-
swered. among the bills, also unan-
swered-another Of my little econO-
mics. The longer it lay there the worse
it looked. There's a cigarette hole
burned in it, and it is all streaked and
bulgy where someone used it as a mat
for a wet glass. Is there anything
more repellent, I ask you, than a
rumpled, messy letter, with cigarette
hole in it, staring up at one and de-
handing to be answered?
Now, thank heaven, / can tear it up
Always sincerely yours,
p. FOTHERINGAY OTIS.