He immediately seized upon pen and paper. It had, perhaps, been his fault. He would conduct the correspondence on a more serious tone. He would be a little--daring.
At the start he fell into the usual inky deliberation. "Dear Josephine" was so inadequate. "My dear Josephine" had--or did it not have--just an extra little touch of tenderness, a peculiar claim to possession. But if so, would it be too bold or too sentimental? He wrote boldly:
Then he considered. Unfortunately, at that time the late lamented Pete Daly, in the halls of the likewise lamented Weber and Fields, was singing dusky love songs to a lady likewise entitled "My Josephine." The connection was unthinkable. Dink tore the page into minute bits and, selecting another, sighed and returned to the old formula.
Here another long pause succeeded while he searched for a sentiment or a resolve that would raise him in her estimation. It is a mood in which the direction of a lifetime is sometimes bartered for a phrase. So it happened with Dink. Suddenly his face lit up and he started to write:
DEAR JOSEPHINE: Your letter came to me just as I was writing you of a plan I have been thinking of for weeks. I have decided not to go to college. Of course, it would be a great pleasure and, perhaps, I look upon life too seriously, as you often tell me; but I want to get to work, to feel that I am standing on my own feet, and four years seems an awful time to wait,--for that. What do you think? I do hope you understand just _what_ I mean. It is very serious to me, the most serious thing in the world.
Don't write such nonsense about Miss Dow; you know there's nothing in that direction. Do write and tell me what you think about my plan.
P. S. When are you going to send me that new photograph? I have only three of you now, a real one and two kodaks. I'm glad you're having a good time.
No sooner was this letter dispatched and Stover had realized what had been in his mind for weeks than he went to Tough McCarty to inform him of his high resolve.
"But, Dink," said Tough in dismay, "you can't be serious! Why, we were going through college together!"
"That's the hard part of it," said Dink, looking and, indeed, feeling very solemn.
"But you're giving up a wonderful career. Every one says you'll be a star end. You'll make the All-American. Oh, Dink!"