among. Burr seldom leaves Elsie. Since that one sweet stolen year of his after college, Burr has never stepped foot outside of the United States. It's queer how things work out.
It is I, now, who send home the bright-colored post cards and glowing descriptions of tropical nights and dark-skinned people; Burr, I suppose, who thrills at my words as he closes his dry old law books for a moment and rests his gaze on the picture of a laughing Samoan girl with big, black, merry eyes and shining white teeth. It is I who am free to wander the sweet world over, Burr whom the family have gloatingly bound up inside their morocco covers, proud of any career that adds honor to their volume.
I have just returned from an eighteen months' trip around the world. When I reached San Francisco two weeks ago, there was among my mail a package addressed to me in Father's old-fashioned hand. I discovered it to be an uninteresting-looking book on "Banking and Currency Problems," by Burr Guthrie. As once my eyes had glowed over Burr's foreign post cards, now they filled with tears over a dry old book on law, addressed to me in Father's proud hand.
I stopped off to see Burr and Elsie in New York before I went home. They're living in one of those hundreds of conventional, stone-fronted
