Their grandfather
built the house and ran it as a tavern back before the Civil War.
When he died his son carried on the business. And now his two
daughters run the place. They have built on a couple of wings and
it is really an interesting old shack. Clean as a pin, and they say
the grub is good. It will be, as I said, a little more expensive
living here than with the Vicks but not enough to amount to anything.
The Dowds ask only fifteen dollars a week for room and board, which
is cheaper than the Ritz-Carlton or the Commodore, isn't it?...Here
is my new address in the Metropolis of Windomville-by-the-Crick:
Dowd's Tavern, Main Street.
Her reply was prompt. She wrote from Bar Harbor, where she was
spending the summer:
...perfectly silly of you, dearest, to speak of repaying me. All
I possess will be yours some day, so why begrudge you a little of
what should be yours now? Your dear father perhaps thought he was
doing the right thing for both of us when he left everything to
me during my lifetime, but I do not believe it was fair....There
will not be a great deal, of course. You understand how heavy my
expenses have been....In any case, you are in wretched health, my
dear boy. Nothing must stand in the way of your complete recovery.
When you are completely recovered, well and strong and eager to take
up life where this cruel war cut it off, I shall be the happiest
mother alive.
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