February 13.
SO THEN, yes. As I have said, I find that I am quite, quite odd. My various acquaintances say that I am funny. They say, "Oh, it's that May MacLane, Dolly's younger sister. She's funny." But I call it oddity. I bear the hall-mark of oddity.
There was a time, a year or two since, when I was an exceedingly sensitive little fool—sensitive in that it used to strike very deep when my young acquaintances would call me funny and find in me a vent for their distinctly unfriendly ridicule. My years in the high school were not years of joy. Two years ago I had not yet risen above these things. I was a sensitive little fool.
But that sensitiveness, I rejoice to say, has gone from me. The opinion of these young people, or of these old
