A hurried letter was despatched to David's doctor, asking endless
questions, pledging him to secrecy, and urging him to wire an answer C.
O. D. Little Julia was instructed as to her mother's charms and her
father's virtues far beyond the point of her comprehension. And Jerry
spent long hours with Connie in the car, explaining its mechanism, and
making her a really proficient driver, although she had been very
skilful behind the wheel before. Also, he wrote long letters to his
dealer in Denver, giving him such a host of minute instructions that
the bewildered agent thought the "old gent in Des Moines had gone daft."
Carol wrote every day, pitifully, jubilantly, begging Connie to hurry
and get started, admonishing her to take a complete line of snapshots
of every separate Starr, to count each additional gray hair in darling
father's head, and to locate every separate dimple in Julia's fat
little body. And every letter was answered by every one of the family,
who interrupted themselves to urge everybody else not to give anything
away, and to be careful what they said. And they all cried over Julia,
and over Carol's letters, and even cried over the beautiful assortment
of clothes they had accumulated for Carol, using Lark as a sewing model.
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