As another month comes to a close, Dart writes a playful, funny letter to his favorite girl. A huge bull session has formed in his corner, threatening to draw his attention away from the letter he’s writing. He blames the three boxes that arrived today from the USA; cookies from Aunt Elizabeth, a baseball cap from his mother, and “that swell assortment of cookies, candies, fruitcake and games” from Dot.
The cookies are in remarkably fresh and unbroken condition. Much of what arrives from home is a “hopeless and unrecognizable mass of salty, soggy, moldy crumbs and bugs.”
He warns her that if his future letters are too short, she only has herself and her wonderful family to blame because he’s spending too much time with his Readers’ Digest, but it makes the time fly mighty fast.
He asks Dot for an update on Harriet, George and Gale’s cat Fifi and her expected litter. He tells about a stray cat his family once took in who blessed them with five kittens. After the feline family stunk up the basement and drove his relatives from their door, his parents took the cats to the ASPCA. He recalls the most robust kitten was called “Blitzkrieg.”
In her letter, she mentioned the long-ago ice-cube incident. “Ordinarily I am not given to holding grudges. But this is one time I feel morally obligated to get even. You know that you owe your miraculous escape from that same spine-chilling torture you inflicted on me solely to the rebuke I received from Mother, who said, ‘Dartie, don’t put that ice cube down Dot’s neck.’ When I heard that, I relaxed my grip, allowing your escape. Remember the Alamo. Remember the Maine. Remember Pearl Harbor. And remember that ice cube, Darling. Another one’s on it’s way.”
“Well, Tempus keeps on fugitin’ faster than I can write, so I’ll have to stop.—————–. There, that space was used by me dreaming that I was kissing you goodnight. Wish it were real.”
Dot has lots of news, but no time to write. Nancy has been keeping her so busy this week that she’s wrung out.
She got a sweet note from Dart’s father the other day, thanking her for the cigarettes. She thinks he’s a swell guy, and she’s sure Dart agrees.
Her head is hung in shame because she hasn’t written for several days. Of course, she blames Nancy. There’s no time to write anything else, except that she loves him and all reports indicate the condition is permanent.
