Daddy-Long-Legs

7th April

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Mercy! Isn't New York big? Worcester is nothing to it. Do you meanto tell me that you actually live in all that confusion? I don'tbelieve that I shall recover for months from the bewildering effect oftwo days of it. I can't begin to tell you all the amazing things I'veseen; I suppose you know, though, since you live there yourself.

But aren't the streets entertaining? And the people? And the shops?I never saw such lovely things as there are in the windows. It makesyou want to devote your life to wearing clothes.

Sallie and Julia and I went shopping together Saturday morning. Juliawent into the very most gorgeous place I ever saw, white and gold wallsand blue carpets and blue silk curtains and gilt chairs. A perfectlybeautiful lady with yellow hair and a long black silk trailing gowncame to meet us with a welcoming smile. I thought we were paying asocial call, and started to shake hands, but it seems we were onlybuying hats--at least Julia was. She sat down in front of a mirror andtried on a dozen, each lovelier than the last, and bought the twoloveliest of all.

I can't imagine any joy in life greater than sitting down in front of amirror and buying any hat you choose without having first to considerthe price! There's no doubt about it, Daddy; New York would rapidlyundermine this fine stoical character which the John Grier Home sopatiently built up.

And after we'd finished our shopping, we met Master Jervie at Sherry's.I suppose you've been in Sherry's? Picture that, then picture thedining-room of the John Grier Home with its oilcloth-covered tables,and white crockery that you CAN'T break, and wooden-handled knives andforks; and fancy the way I felt!

I ate my fish with the wrong fork, but the waiter very kindly gave meanother so that nobody noticed.

And after luncheon we went to the theatre--it was dazzling, marvellous,unbelievable--I dream about it every night.

Isn't Shakespeare wonderful?

Hamlet is so much better on the stage than when we analyze it in class;I appreciated it before, but now, dear me!

I think, if you don't mind, that I'd rather be an actress than awriter. Wouldn't you like me to leave college and go into a dramaticschool? And then I'll send you a box for all my performances, andsmile at you across the footlights. Only wear a red rose in yourbuttonhole, please, so I'll surely smile at the right man. It would bean awfully embarrassing mistake if I picked out the wrong one.

We came back Saturday night and had our dinner in the train, at littletables with pink lamps and negro waiters. I never heard of meals beingserved in trains before, and I inadvertently said so.

'Where on earth were you brought up?' said Julia to me.

'In a village,' said I meekly, to Julia.

'But didn't you ever travel?' said she to me.

'Not till I came to college, and then it was only a hundred and sixtymiles and we didn't eat,' said I to her.

She's getting quite interested in me, because I say such funny things.I try hard not to, but they do pop out when I'm surprised--and I'msurprised most of the time. It's a dizzying experience, Daddy, to passeighteen years in the John Grier Home, and then suddenly to be plungedinto the WORLD.

But I'm getting acclimated. I don't make such awful mistakes as I did;and I don't feel uncomfortable any more with the other girls. I usedto squirm whenever people looked at me. I felt as though they sawright through my sham new clothes to the checked ginghams underneath.But I'm not letting the ginghams bother me any more. Sufficient untoyesterday is the evil thereof.

I forgot to tell you about our flowers. Master Jervie gave us each abig bunch of violets and lilies-of-the-valley. Wasn't that sweet ofhim? I never used to care much for men--judging by Trustees--but I'mchanging my mind.

Eleven pages--this is a letter! Have courage. I'm going to stop.

Yours always, Judy