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Dear Tucker: I’m sorry for what I said this afternoon. I didn’t mean it because you are the only fellow at this place who has been decent towards me since I came here. I got mad and I wish I hadn’t and I’m sorry. I wish you’d forgive me, please, Tucker. I guess what you said was true about the Navy, I mean, and maybe I’ll do like I said. Every one here shows plain that I am not wanted at this school and I guess the sooner I beat it the better. If more fellows were like you maybe I could stick it out. I am not afraid of the studies. It is not that, but the fellows here are not my kind I suppose. You are not either, but you acted like you did not think much about that. I am just writing this because you were decent to me in the train that day, more than any other fellow has been, and I do not want you to think I am no good at all, with no gratitude. If I do not see you again, good-by and good luck, from Yours Truly, Geo. W. Tubb.

Toward the end of the queer epistle Toby’s frown disappeared, and when he had read it once he read it again. After that he laid it down and looked out over the woods below the railroad cut, at the foot of the Prospect, and so to the blue expanse of Long Island Sound. A sail boat dipped slowly along the shore and afar out a cocky tug was leading a draggled parade of three coal barges. Presently the frown crept back again, and he lifted the letter, folded it and put it back in its envelope.