MOLLY RANDOLPH TO HER FATHER
Amboise
November Something-or-Other
Dear old Lamb,
Did you know that you were the papa of a chameleon? An eccentric combination. But Aunt Mary says she has found out that I am one—a chameleon, I mean; but I don't doubt she thinks me an "eccentric combination" too. And, anyway, I don't see how I can help being changeable. Circumstances and motor-cars rule dispositions.
I wrote you a long letter from Blois, but little did I think then—no, that isn't the way to begin. I believe my starting-handle must have gone wrong, to say nothing of my valves—I mean nerves.
Last night we broke down at the other end of nowhere, and rather than desert Mr. Micawber, alias the automobile, I decided to stop till next morning at a wayside farmhouse—the sort of place, as Aunt Mary said, "where anything might happen."
Of course, I needn't have stayed. The Frenchman I told you about in my last letter offered to take us and some of our luggage on to Amboise on his little car; but I didn't feel like saying "yes" 'to that proposal, and I was sorry for poor Brown, who had worked like a Trojan. Besides, to stay
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