"Dear Gritty," he scribbled.
"I'm running away to sea. School was driving me crazy. You know how I mean. Gritty be a sport and tell Dr. Wilcove for me. I haven't got the nerve to. He's kind and I'm grateful for what he did, but I don't know how to explain to him. The music teacher was the worst, she was something fierce, and the French teacher too. They picked on me like the Principal used to pick on Wilfrid Fraser and if you'd of been here you would have bitten them. But it was my fault because I didn't obey the rules. So I picked back on them. I can't tell you where I'm going, but I'll write when I arrive. You won't get the letter for months and months, because I'm going as far as you can see on the geography. I'm only running away because I want to see everything, and hate school. Break it as nicely as you can to Dr. Wilcove. Thank your mother again for me. And good-bye, old Gritty. Don't ever forget me. I won't you. And don't you dare say coffin out loud.
