already I'm in possession of not a little Blaisdell data for my--er--
book. I've seen Mr. and Mrs. James, their daughter, Bessie, and their
son, Benny. Benny, by the way, is a gushing geyser of current
Blaisdell data which, I foresee, I shall find interesting, but
embarrassing, perhaps, at times. I've also seen Miss Flora, and Mrs.
Jane Blaisdell and her daughter, Mellicent.

There's a "Poor Maggie" whom I haven't seen. But she isn't a
Blaisdell. She's a Duff, daughter of the man who married Rufus
Blaisdell's widow, some thirty years or more ago. As I said, I haven't
seen her yet, but she, too, according to Mrs. Frank Blaisdell, must be
a gushing geyser of Blaisdell data, so I probably soon shall see her.
Why she's "poor" I don't know.

As for the Blaisdell data already in my possession--I've no comment to
make. Really, Ned, to tell the truth, I'm not sure I'm going to relish
this job, after all. In spite of a perfectly clear conscience, and the
virtuous realization that I'm here to bring nothing worse than a
hundred thousand dollars apiece with the possible addition of a few
millions on their devoted heads--in spite of all this, I yet have an
uncomfortable feeling that I'm a small boy listening at the keyhole.

However, I'm committed to the thing now, so I'll stuff it out, I
suppose,--though I'm not sure, after all, that I wouldn't chuck the
whole thing if it wasn't that I wanted to see how Mellicent will enjoy
her pink dresses. How many pink dresses will a hundred thousand
dollars buy, anyway,--I mean PRETTY pink dresses, all fixed up with
frills and furbelows?

As ever yours,