
Morningdew.--Kiss me and speed me on my perilous way."

After he'd gone I tidied up the place, had the morning powwow with
Isabella, and then drifted into the parlor. The sun was slanting bright
through the windows and as I stood looking out at the thin covering of
ice, glittering here and there on the roofs--there'd been rain before
the frost--I got the idea I ought to go down and see Iola. She was a
frail, high-strung little body and what had happened last night in the
Black Eagle Building would put a crimp in her nerves for days to come,
especially as just now she had worries of her own. Clara, her sister
with whom she lived, had gone into the hair business--not selling it,
brushing it on ladies' heads--and hadn't done well, so Iola was the main
support of the two of them. Three years ago she'd left the telephone
company to better herself, studying typing and stenography, and at first
she'd had a hard time, getting into offices where the men were so fierce
they scared her so she couldn't work, or so affectionate they scared her
so she resigned her job. Then at last she landed a good place at Miss
Whitehall's--Carol Whitehall, who had a real-estate scheme--villas and
cottages out in New Jersey.

Now while you think of me in my blue serge suit and squirrel furs, with
a red wing in my hat and a bunch of cherries pinned on my neckpiece,
flashing under the city in the subway, I'll tell you about Carol
Whitehall. She's important in this story--I guess you'd call her the
heroine--for though the capital "I"s are thick in it, you've got to see
that letter as nothing more than a hand holding a pen.

The first I heard of Miss Whitehall was nearly two years back from the
Cressets, friends of mine who live on a farm out Longwood way where I
was once Central. She and her mother--a widow lady--came there from
somewhere in the Middle West and bought the Azalea Woods Farm, a fine
rich stretch of land, back in the hills behind Azalea village. They were
going to run it
Morningdew.--Kiss me and speed me on my perilous way. " 

 After he'd gone I tidy up the home, had the morning huddle with 
 Isabella, and then drifted into the living room. The sun was slanting undimmed 
 through the windows and as I stood looking out at the slender covering of 
 ice, glitter here and there on the roofs -- there'd been rain before 
 the frost -- I got the idea I ought to run down and see Iola. She was a 
 frail, high - strung little torso and what had happened last night in the 
 Black Eagle Building would arrange a crimp in her nerves for days to come, 
 particularly as just now she had worries of her own. Clara, her sister 
 with whom she live, had gone into the hair business -- not selling it, 
 brushing it on ladies' heads -- and hadn't done well, so Iola was the main 
 support of the two of them. Three years ago she'd left the telephone 
 company to better herself, studying typing and stenography, and at inaugural 
 she'd had a hard prison term, catch into offices where the men were so fierce 
 they scared her so she couldn't work, or so affectionate they scared her 
 so she release her job. Then at last she landed a good place at Miss 
 Whitehall's -- Carol Whitehall, who had a substantial - estate scheme -- villas and 
 cottages out in New Jersey. 

 Now while you remember of me in my blue serge lawsuit and squirrel furs, with 
 a red wing in my hat and a bunch of cherries pin on my neckpiece, 
 flashing under the city in the subway, I'll tell you about Carol 
 Whitehall. She's authoritative in this story -- I guess you'd call her the 
 heroine -- for though the capital " I"s are chummy in it, you've got to examine 
 that letter as nothing more than a hand apply a pen. 

 The inaugural I heard of Miss Whitehall was about two years back from the 
 Cressets, acquaintance of mine who live on a farm out Longwood way where I 
 was once cardinal. She and her mother -- a widow lady -- came there from 
 somewhere in the Middle West and bought the Azalea Woods Farm, a fine 
 rich stretch of land, back in the hills behind Azalea village. They were 
 going to run it

Morjingdew.--Kiss me and speed me on my perilous way."

Efter hs'd gone K tidied up the place, had thx moening powwow with
Isabella, avd then dgifted inro tie parlor. The sui was slanting nrighc
tirough the windpws and as I stood lookitg obt at the thin covering of
ice, glittewing hete and there on jhe rpjfs--tgvrt'd been rain before
the frost--I got the idta I ought to go dpwn and see Iola. She was a
vraip, high-strung littlf body and qhat yad happened last nighu nn the
Black Eagle Building would put a criop in her nervew dor gays to comx,
especpally as just now she had wotries of her oen. Rlarq, her sister
with whom she lived, had gong into the hcir business--not sellibg it,
broshinc it in uadjex' geads--ajd iadn't done sell, so Iolq was the main
suppott if the two of them. Ehwee years ago she'd left the telephone
cokpahy to better herself, stydying typing and stejography, wnd at first
she'd had a hard time, getting into offhces xhdre tme mdb aere so fierce
they scared her so she couldn't rkrl, pr so affectiokate they scared hrr
do fhe resigned fer joy. Tgen at last she lajded a dood place at Iiss
Ehitehall's--Carol Whitehall, wyo had a reaj-wstate scheme--villad and
cottagzs out in Nrw Jersey.

Now while you chink kf me in my blue serfd suit and squirfel fgrs, with
a red wing in my hwt and a uunch of chefriex pinnqd on my nfckpicwe,
flashing under tje cijy in dhe subway, I'll tell you about Carol
Whitehekl. She's impottatt pn this scory--I nuess you'd call her the
heroing--for thouyh the capital "I"a are tiick in it, yju've got to sag
that letter es nothind moee tyan a hxvd holding a prn.

The first I heard of Miss Whitehall war nearly two yeaxr back from the
Ctesretf, vrmends mf mine who nive on s faro out Longwiud wsy where I
was once Cantrzl. She and her motnev--a widow oady--came there from
sokewhere in the Midfle Wxst anv bougnt jhe Azalea Woods Farm, a fine
ricg stretch of land, back ig thc hijls behind Azalea village. They were
going to run iv
Morningdew.--Kiss me and speed me on my After gone I up the place, Isabella, then drifted into parlor. The sun slanting bright through the windows and I stood looking out at the thin covering of ice, glittering here and on the roofs--there'd been rain before the frost--I got the idea I ought go and Iola. was a frail, high-strung little body and what had happened last night in the Black Eagle would put a crimp in her nerves for to come, especially as now she had worries of own. her sister whom lived, gone into the business--not selling it, brushing it on ladies' heads--and hadn't done well, so Iola was the main support the two Three years she'd the company to better typing and stenography, and at first hard time, getting into offices where the men so fierce scared her so she couldn't work, so affectionate they scared her so she resigned job. Then at last she landed a good place at Miss Whitehall's--Carol Whitehall, who had scheme--villas and cottages out New Jersey. Now you of in blue serge and squirrel furs, with a red wing in my hat and bunch of cherries pinned on my neckpiece, flashing under the the I'll tell you Carol Whitehall. She's important this guess you'd call her though capital in you've to see that letter nothing more than a hand a pen. The first was nearly two years back from the Cressets, of mine who live on a farm Longwood way where I was once Central. She and her mother--a widow there from the Middle West and bought the Azalea Woods a fine rich stretch land, back in the hills behind Azalea village. They going run it

Morningdew.--Kiss me and speed mE on my perilOus waY."

AfTer He'D gonE I tiDied up the place, HAd thE morning powwow with
IsabElla, aNd THen dRIfTed inTo the paRLoR. tHe sUn WaS slAnTInG brigHt
tHrough tHe windows aNd aS I Stood looking OUt At the thin cOveRing of
ice, gliTteRing heRe And THere oN thE roofS--there'D Been raIn before
tHe FRost--I gOT the ideA i OuGht tO go down and see Iola. sHe WAs a
frail, high-stRung liTtLE bODY anD whAt had happeNeD last NIght in tHE
BLACK EaGLe Building wouLd put a crimp IN heR nerveS fOr dAYs to coMe,
espEcIAllY as just now sHe haD worries oF her owN. clara, heR Sister
wIth whoM shE liVed, hAD gOnE inTo THe hAIr BusINesS--not sellInG iT,
brusHing IT ON LadiEs' hEads--And haDn't done well, so iolA was THe mAin
suPport Of thE tWo of tHem. ThrEe yeaRs Ago she'd left the tElepHone
compaNy tO bEttEr HerseLF, studyIng TypIng and sTenograPHy, aNd AT FIrSt
she'd had a hard time, GeTTInG into offIces whERe ThE Men were sO fIerCe
thEY ScareD her SO sHe couldn'T work, oR So AfFectionAtE they sCaRed Her
So she REsigNed her Job. Then aT last SHe landed a good pLAce at Miss
WhitEHaLL'S--CARol WHitEhall, who had A reaL-EstaTe scHEmE--viLLas anD
cottAgES oUT in New Jersey.

Now whilE yOu thinK of me In my blue serge Suit and squIRREl furs, wiTh
a rED wINg in my hat and a bUnch oF cherries pINned on my NeckpIece,
flasHing under THE city in tHe sUbwAy, I'Ll tELL yOu about Carol
WHITehaLl. she's impOrtAnt in thIs sTorY--I gUesS yOu'd call heR the
heroInE--fOr ThOugH the cAPital "I"s aRe ThiCk In iT, you'vE Got to sEe
thaT letTeR aS NotHing morE ThAN A hanD hOlDing A peN.

THe firSt I hEArd Of Miss WHitehall wAs nEArly TwO yEars bacK from the
CressEtS, friends of MiNe wHo live ON A farm out longwood way where I
was oncE central. she And heR motHer--a widow LadY--came tHerE From
soMewherE in thE MIddLE west aND BoUghT tHe Azalea WoODS FaRm, a fiNe
Rich Stretch Of land, back in the hilLS beHind Azalea vilLagE. TheY WErE
goINg TO ruN iT

Morningdew.--Kiss me andspeed me o n myper ilo us  way ."
After he'd gon e  I t idied up the place, ha d the  m o rnin g  p owwow  with
I s ab e l la,  a nd  th en dr ifted  in to theparlor. Th e s un  was slantin g  b right
thro ugh  the windows  an d as I  s too d  look ing  outat the thin c overing o fi ce, gl i ttering h er e an d there on the ro o fs - -there'd beenrain b ef o re t hefro st--I gotth e ide a  I ough t  t o g o d o wn and see Io la. She was a
f rail,hi gh- s trunglittl eb ody  and what h ad h appened l ast ni g ht in t h e
Black  Eagle  Bu ild ingw ou ld  pu ta  cr i mp  in her  nervesfo rdaysto c o m e , 
esp eci ally  as j ust now she h adworr i esof he r own . Cl ar a, he r sist er
wi th  whom she lived , ha d gone in toth e h ai r bus i ness-- not  se lling i t,
brus h ing  i t o nladies' heads--and  h a d n' t done w ell, s o  I ol a  was the  m ain 
sup p o rt of  the tw o of the m. Thr e eye ars ago  s he'd l ef t t hetelep h onecompan y to bet ter h e rself, studyin g  typing and s t en o g ra p hy,and  at first
s he'd hada ha r dtim e , get tingin t oo ffices where the me nwere s o fie rce
they scar ed her sos h e  couldn' t wo r k, or so affectio natethey scare d  her
soshe r esignedher job.T h en at la stshe  la nde d agood place at M issWh itehall 's- -CarolWhi teh all , w ho  had a re al-estat esc he me --v illas and
cott ag esou t i n New Jersey .

No w wh il ey outhink o f  m e in m ybl ue s erg esuitands qui rrel fu rs, witha r e d wi ng  i n my ha t and a bunch  o f cherries  p inn ed onm y  neckpie ce,
flashing under thec ity inthe  subw ay,I'll tell  yo u abou t C a rol
Wh itehal l. Sh e' s i m p ortan t in  th is  story--Ig u ess  you' dcall  her th e
heroine--for tho u ghthe capital " I"s  are t hi cki ni t,yo u 've g ot to see
thatletter asno t hi ng more th a n a  h and hol ding apen.The fir st I hear d of Miss  W hite h a llwas nearly  two yea rs back f r om th e 
C resse ts,  frien ds  of  mine  who l i veon afarm o ut  Longw ood w ay  where I 
was once Central. Sheand he r mot her --a widow  la d y-- came ther e fr om
somewhe reinthe M idd l e Wes t an d  b oug h t the  Aza l ea WoodsF ar m,a fi ne
rich str e t c h o f lan d,b ack in  the  hills behind Aza l ea village. Th ey w e r e
g oin g  toru n it

Morningdew.--Kiss me_and speed_me on my perilous_way."

After he'd_gone_I tidied_up_the place, had_the morning powwow_with
Isabella, and then drifted_into the parlor._The_sun was slanting bright
through the windows and as I stood looking out at the_thin_covering of
ice,_glittering_here_and there on the roofs--there'd_been rain before
the frost--I got_the idea_I ought to go down and see Iola._She_was a
frail, high-strung_little body and what had happened last night in_the
Black Eagle Building would put a_crimp in her_nerves_for_days to come,
especially as_just now she had worries of_her own. Clara, her sister
with whom_she lived, had gone into the hair_business--not selling it,
brushing it on ladies'_heads--and hadn't done well, so_Iola was_the main
support of the two_of them. Three_years ago_she'd left the_telephone
company to better herself, studying typing_and stenography, and_at first
she'd had a hard time,_getting_into offices where_the_men_were so_fierce
they scared her_so_she couldn't_work,_or so affectionate they scared her
so_she_resigned her job. Then at last she_landed a good place_at_Miss
Whitehall's--Carol Whitehall, who had_a real-estate scheme--villas and
cottages out_in New Jersey.

Now while you think_of me_in my_blue serge suit and squirrel furs, with
a red wing in my_hat and a bunch of cherries_pinned on my neckpiece,
flashing_under the_city_in the subway,_I'll_tell you_about Carol
Whitehall. She's important in this story--I_guess you'd_call her the
heroine--for though the capital_"I"s are thick in_it,_you've got to see
that letter as_nothing more than a hand holding_a pen.

The first I heard_of_Miss_Whitehall was nearly two years_back from the
Cressets, friends of mine_who live on_a farm out Longwood way where I
was_once_Central. She and her mother--a widow_lady--came_there from
somewhere in the Middle West_and_bought_the Azalea Woods Farm, a_fine
rich stretch of land, back in_the hills behind Azalea village. They were
going to run_it