February 19, 1913 - Wednesday

19 - Mae wrote to Bonny Babcock and told her what I had told her (Mae) about Don's diary. I had told in a sort of offhand way, as if I didn't care a snap, how Don used to be in love with Bonnie. I just did it to let Mae think that I had no personal feeling about it. Bonnie wrote to Don about it and I suppose he just loves me for telling, though I never said I wouldn't. I heard all this from Dan who was at Don's last night. Talk about sieves! Mae is next to the worst I ever saw (myself being the worst).

The girl who sits at my desk part of the time at school is certainly training to be a sure-enough stenographer. She chews gum by the lb. and leaves it all over. When I found the forty 'leventh piece hermetically sealing my table drawer, so that I had to use a knife to pry it open, I got peevish. She opens my drawer and sticks the gum on the top. I patiently peeled it of with my knife and then hung a little sigh ("Post no Gum.") right where she could see it if she opened the desk. She did see it all right, for when I came back I found a post-script added to my sign, "Nothing the matter with you," and a fresh wad of gum. I underlined the no in my sign and added "this means you". That should hold her. Miss Bartlett told Miss Sherman of a little sarcasm I passed on our few-and-far-between pencils. Let us hope the day of my artless confidences is almost past.

Dan felt extra gay and Mae, very glum to-night. I felt in between, with a slight leaning toward glumity. Played checkers with Ruth when I got home, but it wasn't very exciting. She's too easy to beat. Told Ruth and Norma a fairy story before bed.