or heard of Crabtree or Sobber, for which all were thankful.
"Here's a letter from William Philander Tubbs," said Tom. "I sent him a letter just for fun, asking him the style in socks this fall. Listen to his reply." And he read the following:
"I have been making diligent inquiries about the shades in socks, my dearest Thomas, but the storekeepers seem to be a little undecided. Some think that Rambler Red will prevail while others favor Nile Green and a new shade called Baby's Breath. Personally I favor Baby's Breath and have purchased one dozen of that shade. If I get any more definite news about shades I will wire you, because I know what a dreadful thing it is not to have the shade that is really and truly fashionable."
"Three cheers for William Philander and his Baby's Breath socks!" cried Sam. "He's the true and only artist!"
"Baby's Breath!" murmured Tom. "Now wouldn't that get your scalp-lock?" And then there was a merry laugh all around.
There was likewise a letter from Max Spangler, and another from Stanley Browne, stating they were already on their way to Brill. Then, just
