Dear Folks:
Again at my nocturnal duty of writing you but afraid it won’t be bulging with much news. Again today received another package and from Wylma—some cigarettes and high tone, sweet smelling soap in her very practical vein. Is she fanning a dying ash or did I ask for it when I wrote her? Suppose by the time you get this, the tribe will be recuperating from the ceremonies—and I’ll be waiting for the photographic version of it all. And by this time suppose Gram is with you hustling about whooping it up in her sweet way.
And I don’t want to fail to mention the card I got from the Chambers in Alliance with a letter attached. With the nine boxes I’ve received I have everything from Bibles to fruitcake. I think I top the list in boxes.
I couldn’t forestall the chowhounds any longer so tonight we mauled our molars over the fruitcake. It was so darned good I hated to eat it.
Convalescing from our rhumba attempts last night we took a hand at banking over a megaphone for this evening’s routine. We’ve got one corporal in the barracks that could double for a Barnum tutored protégé. And this to a grating recording machine and grab a corner for some rare entertainment.
This is about the fourth letter from Dick’s pen tonight and it’s about time to laps so here’s the end of another one. I’ll be back again in a few hours.
Love,
