I suppose, Wellington Frobisher thought to himself, one should write a letter. Back in his Thayer Hall room after a Christmas vacation in Muncie, Indiana, Wellington reflected upon his two weeks in the hinterlands and upon his experiences with one Eugenie Schwartz. I'm sure the girl expects a communication of some sort, Wellington mused, and I really should write to her--after all, she was very nice to me. He chuckled to himself.

Wellington thought back to the vacation. It was only after considerable study that he had invited Eugenie to Annie's Christmas party. Later, in a calmer mood, Wellington had shuddered at what lay ahead; he remembered Annie as a loud little harridan.

Nevertheless, Wellington had arrived at Eugenie's home at the appointed hour. He was met at the door by Eugenie's mother, who said, "Eugenie's not ready yet. You can come in, if you want."

"Thank you," Wellington said.

"Now let's see, which one are you?" Mrs. Schwartz asked. "Bruce?"

"No. I'm Wellington Frobisher. Gee, Eugenie must have a lot of guys chasing . . . uh, calling on her, for you to get them mixed up like that."

"Yeah. What's in the box?"

"Oh, this. It's a corsage."

"Aren't you the big spender. Let's see it. . . Wrong color. Phew. It stinks."

"Well, let's just say it smells. Heh heh."

"It stinks."

Eugenie's mother led Wellington into the living room. Seated in a large overstuffed chair was a smoking lump. "This is Eugenie's father," Mrs. Schwartz said.

"Grump," said the lump.

Fine," Wellington replied.

"Grump, grump," the lump offered.