Jack was not sure what he was staring at. When Doyle placed it onto his desk one afternoon, the Little Master struggling to maintain focus on his schoolwork, it offered a reprieve to what his father had already assigned him. As soon as he picked it up, the words “response letter” falling from the butler's lips, that initial motivation dropped. He groaned and wondered why he should bother opening it at all. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Jack asked, but the butler said nothing. Jack tossed it to the side once Doyle left, eyeing it every so often when his mind wandered.

When he asked his father, he was told to write back, “on the simple grounds that it is the right thing to do.” His father did not look at him. A melancholic frown hung on the man's face, hidden underneath clear dismay of what to do with his son.

It irked him.

The letter was astoundingly simple, the handwriting worse than his own but matching the letter's contents in that regard. It only reinforced his idea that it was all a great laugh at his expense. Jack could not recall the application with that name, either. Still muddled and mixed together, the applications sat in a corner of his room, now collecting dust after the New Year.

He wrote back a few days later, the contents brief and succinct.

January 17, 1894

Dear B. Price,

Thank you for the response, but please do not concern yourself with thanking my family or myself for this decision; it proved relatively simple, and your application supported the choice without any hesitation. The Byrd family, myself included, are more than pleased to be representing you for higher education, and we hope to meet you soon.

If you have any further questions, please do not hesitate to write back and ask. I will ensure any, and all questions will be answered as punctually as my schedule will allow.

Thank you for the holiday wishes; I hope you and your family had a lovely celebration as well.

Sincerely,
J. Byrd