idols of wood and glass and silver and china, and images in old gilt
frames, but they do, and the steel trust hasn't money enough to buy
them. It's a pity they won't sell a few and put the money in some new
clothes, for those they wear are a sight to behold. As we were
leaving, Mother Eppes invited us to take dinner with her on Sunday in a
way that was more a command than an invitation and we accepted in a
manner to match, though inside I was raging to think we'd have to go.
And then I remembered it would be a regular thriller to be eating at
the table with Whythe and his family and my family, and I hoped I'd
remember to call him Mr. Eppes, as down here they do that up to the day
of the marriage, the first name being thought too familiar until after
the ceremony, and even then in public. Grace Marvin, who is engaged to
Richard Clarke, calls him Dick, but that is because she isn't
ancestral; just accepted, Mrs. Grump says, and she knows, being
familiar with the history of everybody in town.

They were perfect days, the four Father spent in Twickenham Town, and
he was made over when he went away. Every morning Mr. Willie Prince
sent him up a mint julep that started the day so cheerfully he was
happy through its every minute; and Major Roke, who makes the best ones
in town, would come for him at twelve o'clock and take him to his
house, and Mr. Letcher always managed to get hold of him about six in
the afternoon, and at bedtime some one else would send one in. And
poor Father, who never drinks anything at home, it not being good for
him, was in an awful state of mind at first, and then he decided he
would rather die than hurt the feelings of the senders and he'd take
the chance on his health. He took.

I'm a fighting disbeliever in whisky, and if I had any say I'd say it
couldn't be made except for sickness, but you couldn't get certain