Dart missed writing last night because of too much school work, and it’s very late now to be starting a letter, but he can’t go two days without writing to his sweetheart.
The Spanish test came as predicted yesterday. If he gets above a C he’ll be shocked. “I’m no Spaniard, senorita.” He feels great relief that he is caught up in three of his five subjects, but his glow of satisfaction may fade tomorrow. He expects to get slapped around in journalism class tomorrow. The teacher read his masterpiece to the class yesterday and picked it to pieces.
He’s eager to hear how her first two days of work have gone. There’s a good chance he won’t write tomorrow because he’ll be going to the new member supper at church in addition to reading the 30 pages of required text for American Lit. He wishes he could read and work faster, but “The only things I do fast are fall asleep and get hungry.”
Friday night is the model railroad club at Homer’s house and Dart plans to go early to help Homer with his hosting duties.
Lately, Dart’s been daydreaming a lot about the future when he and Dot are living on the third floor in their little made-over apartment. He wonders what the furniture arrangement will be and where they’ll buy their furniture. He likes to picture her in the cozy little place, holding a coffee pot and a plate of sandwiches. (“See, I’m always hungry.”) “I, too have a good feeling when I awake and think that I love you and that my love is returned in good measure. I’m glad about us, Dot.”
He wonders how she liked “Peter and the Wolf.” He thinks it’s a nice treatment of an old folk tale and he’s heard several versions of it.
What’s he supposed to think about her pie? Was it really good, or is her father a biased judge? He certainly gets mixed signs about her cooking skills and he reminds himself that nobody’s an expert at things right from the beginning.
I got a little chuckle out of his next paragraph. “The Finkelstein brothers are prospecting our house for an investment. The ownership of this joint sounds like the roster of the Notre Dame football team; Durata to Gervaras to Finkelstein. I hope we’re not the ones to go ‘out’ on that triple-play.” Need I point out that I learned my sports vocabulary from my mother? She would have known that “triple-plays” occur in baseball – not Notre Dame football!
In his final sentence, he writes, with tongue firmly planted in his cheek, that he won’t check this letter for errors because he never makes any.
# # #
Once again, Dot’s trying to work on her longhand technique and she’s not at all pleased with the results. Her hand is cramping and she thinks the writing looks more like scrawl. She declares that Dart has such nice handwriting for a boy and hers is “particularly atrocious” for a girl.
“Why are you always afraid I won’t like the examples you give about something you learned in psychology? You once told me, not so long ago, that you didn’t think I was very eager to learn new things. Do you really think that? I don’t mean to give that impression. Sometimes I guess I act completely dumb about a subject that I really know something about, but that’s only because listening to someone who knows more about it, I can learn more. I’m always interested in your work at school and am flattered when you share it with me.”
She’s happy Pop sold a lamp. She wishes she’d had some money while she was in Cleveland because that was her favorite of his lamps, and she would have loved to buy it.
Regarding those crazy fashions in “Life,” she assumes someone wears them, or they wouldn’t be in a magazine. It must be a small number, though, because they are so expensive and so impractical. She assures Dart that he’ll never see her “in any such rig.”
Did she tell him she was trying to make time go faster by keeping busy? Well, it seems to be working. She gets up every day at 8:00 to wash dishes, do laundry, mending, and ironing. Then she goes to work. From there, she rushes off to either shorthand or choral club, often getting home after 10:00. She stays up until 1:00 or after every night, trying to stay caught up.
She has come to the conclusion that J.S. Bach must have had it in for altos. “In the opening chorus of his ‘Requiem’ we have to sing 28 notes in one breath. Then, I find it hard to know whether to concentrate on hitting the right notes or pronouncing the Italian words correctly. Much as I love to sing, I must admit I wasn’t sorry to see 10:00 roll around tonight!”
She’s tired, but not too tired to tell him that she loves him very much. She misses him to the hurting point. She tells Dart she’s going to enter every contest she can find and if she wins any money, she’ll put it toward a trip east for Dart at Christmas time.