"It's a nice letter," said Fosdick, after reading it. "I should like
to know Frank."
"I'll bet you would," said Dick. "He's a trump."
"When are you going to answer it?"
"I don't know," said Dick, dubiously. "I never writ a letter."
"That's no reason why you shouldn't. There's always a first time,
you know."
"I don't know what to say," said Dick.
"Get some paper and sit down to it, and you'll find enough to say.
You can do that this evening instead of studying."
"If you'll look it over afterwards, and shine it up a little."
"Yes, if it needs it; but I rather think Frank would like it best
just as you wrote it."
Dick decided to adopt Fosdick's suggestion. He had very serious
doubts as to his ability to write a letter. Like a good many other
boys, he looked upon it as a very serious job, not reflecting that,
after all, letter-writing is nothing but talking upon paper. Still,
in spite of his misgivings, he felt that the letter ought to be
answered, and he wished Frank to hear from him. After various
preparations, he at last got settled down to his task, and, before
the evening was over, a letter was written. As the first letter
which Dick had ever produced, and because it was characteristic
of him, my readers may like to read it.
Here it is,--
"DEAR FRANK,--I got your letter this mornin', and was very glad to
hear you hadn't forgotten Ragged Dick. I aint so ragged as I was.
Pages:
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181