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 _passé_
(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 encyclopædia,
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.