Dart types all but the last paragraph of this brief letter. He just has time for a quick one before wolfing down some dinner and heading off for an evening class.

This morning he received Dot’s letter telling him about her evening with the girls. He’ll comment a little more about that later on.

He found out that his boss submitted his time sheet for the two days of work that he missed last week. All he has to do is tip the guy who covered for him $4.50, and the rest is his to keep.

He drove the old green dragon out to visit Pop yesterday and found that his dad continues to improve. Because someone else on his floor was in much worse shape, they moved Pop out of his private room and back onto the ward so the sicker guy could benefit from the peace and quiet of a private room.

His mother helped him study for Spanish last night, but as much as he appreciates her assistance, he couldn’t help but wish all the while that it was Dot who was helping him instead of his mother.

Although he hates the thought, he knows he’ll have to take advantage of of their agreement not to write if doing so would interfere with his school work. He’s calculated that he has just 13 more weeks of classes, and what letters there are will probably be short.

He notes that today marks the first anniversary of his discharge from the Navy. His memories of that time are fading into a dim dream, while his thoughts of the wedding and married life are a beautiful dream from which he hopes he’ll never awaken.

He’s happy to hear of her love for lemon pie. “You can have mine almost every time we have it. That will mean that none of the stuff will go to waste, or to an unappreciative stomach, which is almost the same thing.”

As for her outing with the girls, he writes, “Aw, stop this stuff. Maybe the girls did enjoy looking at my pictures, but you (or they) didn’t have to pile it on so thick.”

He promises he’ll try to honor her request that he take better care of himself. He doesn’t like the idea of frequent colds, either. The last one seems to be mostly gone now.

He writes the last paragraph by hand because he wants to tell her he loves her, and it feels more like he’s whispering it in her ear if he abandons the typewriter. “I wonder if I’ll have a chance to tell you that sometime during the ceremony. I’d like to!”

No letter tomorrow.