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Updated: June 21, 2025
In one of grannie's letters there was concerning my sister: "I find Gertie is a much younger girl for her age than Sybylla was, and not nearly so wild and hard to manage. She is a great comfort to me. Every one remarks upon her good looks." From one of Gertie's letters: Uncle Julius came home from Hong Kong and America last week, and brought such a lot of funny presents for every one.
Making an estimate of the total cost, he again referred to his suggestion in regard to a series of similar entertainments later on. "If you find you can afford it," agreed Gertie. "If I can afford it!" he echoed surprisedly. "There's no question of me affording it. Why don't you talk sense? You'll be earning the same good salary after we're spliced as you're earning at the present moment."
Wonder if I am a good socialist as a matter of fact, I do know that most governments, maybe all, permit most children to never have a chance, start them out by choking them with dirt and T.B. germs, but how can we make international solidarity seem practical to the dub average voters, how! Letter from Gertie to-night, forwarded here.
Then she began to cry softly, lying on her face with her head between her arms. The cold cream and the salt tears mingled and formed a slippery paste. Gertie wept on because she couldn't help it. The longer she wept the more difficult her sobs became, until finally they bordered on the hysterical. They filled her lungs until they ached and reached her throat with a force that jerked her head back.
To be perfectly honest, it seemed to me more in the nature of a nightmare, but wild horses wouldn't have dragged any such hostile criticism out of me. "I think it will suit you very nicely, Gertie," I said. "It's got just that dash of colour which Edith Terrace wants." "Yer reely mean it?" she asked eagerly. "Yer reely think I'll look orl right in it?
My eldest brother, Horace, twin brother of my sister Gertie, took it upon himself to honour me with the following letter: Why the deuce don't you give up writing those letters to mother? We get tongue-pie on account of them, and it's not as if they did you any good. It only makes mother more determined to leave you where you are.
How long since my company was a bother to you, Gertie? It never used to be." "It isn't now, and you know it. But, as I say, I am very busy. Business first, pleasure afterwards." "Humph! I'm glad I'm a pleasure, even if it's the kind that comes after everything else. What have you and your ma been talkin' about upstairs for the last hour?" "Want to know! What were you and Azuba talkin' about?"
But he answered her loudly, so that lurking robbers might overhear: "I know a great big man over there, and he's a friend of mine; he's a brakie on the M. & D., and he lets me ride in the caboose any time I want to, and he's right behind us. More conversationally: "Aw, Jiminy! Gertie, don't cry! Please don't. I'll take care of you.
It was raw woman, with all the proprieties of Joralemon and St. Orgul's cut away, who spoke, her voice constantly rising: "Oh, Carl Carl! Oh, why, why, why! Oh, why don't you want me to go walking with you, now? Why don't you want to go anywhere with me any more? Have I displeased you? Oh, I didn't mean to! Why do I bore you so?" "Oh Gertie oh gee! thunder!" whimpered a dismayed youth.
"Look here, Gertie, I don't want to butt in, and I'm guessing at it, but looks to me as though one of these artistic grafters was working you. What do you know about this Deitz person? Has she done anything worth while? And honestly, Gertie By the way, I don't want to be brutal, but I don't think I could stand 'Eltruda. It sounds like 'Tottykins." "Now really, Carl " "Wait a second.
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