dear, it is not even filtered.--Some of us, no doubt for want of
practice, were rather slow about perfecting, but finally we all caught
on, and when O'Brien, no longer fat and florid, and the elder Miss
Dooley, no longer scrawny, moved out to start the dance, there was only
one who had not assumed an astral personality. Poor fellow, though I
pitied him, I did admire his spunk in holding back. It seems that as an
editor he took to telling falsehoods on his own account so often that
the Syndicate is packing him off as Special Correspondent to a tailless
comet.

Tuck never came at all; either he realizes how honest people must regard
him and his opera, or else the elementals at the Astoria are still
detaining him.

We had a lovely dance, and while we rested Marlow called on some of us
for specialties. Mrs. Mopes did a paragraph by a man named Henry James,
translated into action, which seemed quite difficult, and then a person
called Parker externalized a violin and gave the Laocoon in terms of
sound. To me his rendering of marble resembled terra-cotta until I
learned that the copy of the statue here is awfully weatherstained.
After this three pretty girls gave the Aurora Borealis by telepathic
suggestion rather well, and then I sang "Love Lives Everywhere"--just
plain so.

--I know this must all sound dreadfully flat to you, quite like
"Pastimes for the Rainy Season in Neptune," but Bloomer says she doesn't
know what would happen if we should ever give a really characteristic
jolly party.

We wound up with an Earth dance called the Virginia Reel, the quickest