Dart’s letter today is accompanied by one of his cute little cartoon drawings. It features a dog house, clearly labeled with a rooftop sign that says “Dottie’s Dog House.” From the shadowed recesses of the opening, all one can see is two eyes. The caption reads “Kin I come out now?”  Any guesses what the attached letter might be about?

Dearest Dot,

My face is still stinging from the well-deserved slapping I got today. It’s too bad you weren’t here to do it yourself instead of doing it by letter. You showed remarkably poor judgement in choosing me for a fiance, for I am no more worthy of you than I am able to jump the Moon. If ever I deserved a slapping it was for the reasons you gave to me in your letter today. It would do no good to say I’m sorry, for I’ve said those words so many times that they have no meaning for you.

Your ideas that I didn’t trust you cut me more deeply than anything else. If I didn’t trust you, Dot, there’d be not one thing for me to believe in. You are engaged to one of the world’s most childish people, and now you know it. An old maid? That sounds familiar.

Maybe I should stick to the facts: offer no comments, ideas, or humor. There are no reasons to give for my conduct. I realize that it has been at times the most scurrilous, reprehensible, utterly damnable, of all methods of human action.

My pen has taken me into trouble before. If you dare to take back a single thing you said in that letter, you should be spanked by your father, for to take back any of the things you said, or to talk yourself out of them, would be making amends to me and I deserve no such thing.

I am a cynic, a hypocrite. I condemn others for doing what I have done. In others whom I criticize, I see my own faults. Your statistics of a few decent men in the world sure don’t include me.

You know me now, which is perhaps better than knowing me after our wedding. My head is unbowed, but my fists have been clenched till my knuckles turn white ever since I received your letter this afternoon. I’m not eating humble pie. I don’t intend to, for I’m mad, not humbled. I hope I’m mad enough to do something about my maladjustment, instead of succumbing to it as I have done before.

If you think for one minute that I ever doubted your character, or compared you with some of those pseudo-humans I’ve seen some places, you are far mistaken.

I guess the little twisted lines that form words upon paper can surely convey plenty but the intended meanings. Especially when two ideas are placed end-to-end. To blazes with the twinkling eye, the tongue in cheek. Eternal perdition awaits the author of the thoughtless word. (What did I say about Fred’s humor coming too close to cynicism? Or was it I, who didn’t recognize his humor?) Maybe it was funny, only I wasn’t in the mood to make it so. Maybe it wasn’t. But funny or not, it was a damned poor thing for an allegedly decent young American man to write to the young lady in which he has placed his entire hopes, trust, and faith for the future.

In spite of all, you end your letter with the affirmation that you trust me and my actions without question. What a wonderfully loyal person you are, Dot, to launch a volley like that one, then end it with such a statement. You are not wrong, Dot. I feel the same way.

This should end here.It would have more force if it did. Since I read your letter I have been composing my response, and the material I’d prepared would fill five such letters. Some of it would be repetition. Some would be defense. (There might be some truth in it, too.) There are thousands of ideas that might be pursued in answering your letter. My crusade in the letter is over, but I’m still thinking.

He tells her he still feels like writing more on this topic but decides answering her other letters might be a good tactic at this time. He fears her response to his letter from last night might be as violent as the one he just answered.

His psych test had 79 questions, and he’s not too confident about the outcome.

He, too, is not in favor of threats and bribes as ways of controlling children. From what the psych books say, it all boils down to “Some people got it, some ain’t.” He assures Dot that she’s “got it,” where child rearing is concerned.

“If I can still come with you to Sunapee, I’ll bring my hiking shoes, my no-doze pills, my water wings, a hunting knife (any bears up there?), and a pocket compass. Also a camera. I hope we can do most of what El plans.”

He should arrive in Greenwich around lunch time on Saturday, allowing time to rest up from his train trip before leaving for Sunapee on Sunday.

He hopes she can make the trip back with him. He’d rather not surprise his parents with her arrival, lest they think he was returning home with his bride. Anyway, he’s already told them that she might be coming for a visit.

“Good night, Dot. There’s a great pressure of amorous feelings inside me, but even though I might be in the mood to write them, I think they’d be inappropriate tonight. I love you very much and trust you to the end of the world. Please believe me.”

#          #          #

Eleven months ago, Dart gave Dot her beautiful diamond ring. In spite of today’s rain and gloom, that little diamond has been sparkling to beat the band, keeping Dot’s spirits from getting too damp.

The playground was closed due to the weather, but the never-idle Dot worked at the Miller’s house instead. Now she is hosting her six-year old niece Gale for a sleepover.

Dot made the family dinner tonight, with Gale’s help. Then they played beauty shop and Gale can’t wait until tomorrow to see how beautiful she’ll look after Dot set her hair.

Dot stopped by the Pecsok’s today and had a great visit with the kids. Mr. and Mrs. P are going out of town on Wednesday, so Dot will be spending the night with the kids.

Although Dot got two letters from Dart today, she’ll take a page from his book and not try to answer them now, due to extreme tiredness. She was tempted to go to bed when Gale did because the tyke will be up at dawn, begging for a story. Instead, she’s writing this letter and listening to Fred Waring on the radio.

“They say, and I hope ‘they’re’ right, that it’s going to rain for four days. Saturday is Island Beach Day and I’ll be run ragged. There are all kinds of swimming, diving, and land events. All the kids from the 13 playgrounds in town attend the shindig. I’m to be one of the judges and have already had my life threatened if I don’t judge the way “my gang” wants me to.”

If she goes to bed now it’ll be the first time in months that she got to sleep before 10:30. She likes the sound of that, and so she signs off, with all her love.