Letter Written on Nov 20, 1921

[Paragraph breaks added for ease of reading]

November 20, Sunday.

Dear Ruth,

I received the fudge you sent me about a week ago. Ma sent me a picture of her. I suppose she sent you one. You wrote in a letter a while ago about sending a picture of yourself in Senior gown. Have you had your picture taken in it yet? I didn't want to write you a letter because I haven't got anything to say, but as I had no postcard and the day being Sunday so that I couldn't go and purchase one, I am now compelled to do so in virtue of the fact that I must thank you for the candy. You havent [sic] sent me any skeletons of short stories as yet. I wrote to Charlie about two weeks ago, but I have not heard from them at all.

I am going to eat my Thanksgiving Dinner with Uncle Frank. I hope you'll have a good time at home. Colgate got beat again, - by Brown, 7-0. Williams certainly did whallop Wesleyan.

Some little boys caught the little skunk that was wont to abide under Uncle Franks [sic] back porch and ruthlessly slew it. His body may be mouldrin' neath the ground but at least his 'soul' goes marching on. Such a strong little soul it had! You see our house is almost in the heart of Hamilton's business section. Not far from us is the back end of Hamilton Hotel where the skunks live on the doo garbage and sit under the stairs with the cats. This one got too ambitious and set forth by himself to set up a kingdom of its his own. But this skunk soon went a sinning, he forsook his true god which had ever smiled upon him, and set up his tabernacle unto fat Baal, of goodly countenance, yet of fickle intention. Soon Baal tired himself of the faithful devotion sent up by this Skunk and insidiously allied himself with the Imps, for he had set his face again[s]t the Skunk. Yea verily he sought favor among the Imps and did shewed he 25 sheckles in silver that they might make way with The Skunk.

Chapter II. Now it came to pass that as the Skunk rose from meat at his father's table, a gush of blood flowed forth from the food. It might have been pickle-juice, yet the old Skunks held consultation 'mongst themselves for surely did it not show the wrath of Allah? But the Small Skunk went off on his business. As he drew nigh unto to fence having crawled out from under the lumber pile, a small Boid addressed him. "Small Skunk, beware thou of the snare and the pitfall!" But the small skunk took it not kindly the woids of the boid for he was big within himself but he took himself about and looked upon the small boid "Who art thou that thou would'st speak to the king's son? Go thy way, in piece [sic] ere my wrath is kindled against thee."

So the Small Boid took up his bed and walked while the Small Skunk journeyed forth far across the lawn. But as he entered the door of his tabernacle, fell he into the snare of the Imps. Soon came forth Jabel Abner and plunged (smote) his jacknife under the fifth rib of the Small Skunk. - - But when the Old Skunk was heard of these things, he was he filled with grief and threw himself upon the floor smiting it with his greasy paw. "O Absalom my son my son, wouldst I have croaked for thee" and saying these words he sent forth the essence of his soul, that his presence be known for blocks around.

I have managed to fill out a sheet of paper so I will bring my letter to a close. I hated to send an empty page to you so I found myself compelled to amplify a detail!

Goodby
Stuart.

If you want a good short story - "They" by Kipling.