Tonight, because there was no mail for me this afternoon, and because there is nothing worth writing about from this end, I hope to catch up to you by answering those letters I haven't, as yet, gotten around to. They are: 7, 23, 24 March.
The letter of the seventh contains that “financial statement” I had asked for. Thanks for enlightening me, Chippie. You want to know how “that makes (me) feel.” Frankly, it makes me wish we had twice as much, although I'm far from taking exception with the amount you were able to save. It's just that we’ll need so much more in order to put our plans into action immediately once I am home again. However, we mustn't forget that the “demob” pay is not to be sneezed at, and there's still another source of potential revenue, which, while it isn't yet assured, promises to be the biggest factor in determining whether or not we shall be able to do those things we want so very much to do. Never fear, Chippie, I know you too well to divulge our financial status to anyone at home. Your warning was entirely ambiguous, I assure you. If I seem to take the very creditable total as a matter of course, it is only because I long ago ceased to be amazed at your penchant for doing the seemingly impossible with the limited sums you had available. Just because I don't get excited about it, don't think I'm ungrateful. If I take your talents in this direction for granted, take it as a tribute to the faith and confidence I have in your ability. I'm especially proud that you saw fit to convert the bulk of our savings into war bonds. As you know, Sweet, I'm not the guy to preach patriotism in any form—yet I feel nothing but contempt for those who are so narrow, self-centered and unthinking as to ignore the interests of their country to concentrate wholly on making certain they can get their hands on their money quickly by doing nothing more constructive with it than taking it to the nearest bank. I know I don't have to encourage you to keep up the good work, Baby, I know you will!
Glad to read that you finally sent off the Milky Ways (my mouth is watering already) and another package of toys for the British kids. That last reminds me—I didn't tell you about “our” little girl, did I? Remember I told you the company was chipping in to help a British kid attain some of the advantages that wouldn't ordinarily fall to her lot? Well, the other day “our” little girl paid us a visit to sorta get acquainted. As I understand it—she is one (the youngest—I think) of six children. Her daddy, a British merchant seaman, was lost a few years ago. The tragedy hit the mother pretty hard both physically and economically, and she found herself unable to care for her rather large brood. I'm not sure how many of her children she had to relinquish, but certain it is that “Pearly” was committed to an institution. The Red Cross are doing great work, ferreting out the worthier cases. The American soldiers all over the ETO are contributing handsomely so that these underprivileged waifs may have the best start possible. Pearly was brought to us by a Sgt. of one of the organizations who contributed with us toward her welfare. She is a lovely little tyke of six years, small for her age, but well-formed and possessed of lovely blonde hair. Naturally, she was shy before strangers (who themselves were at a loss as to what to do or say to make her welcome), but she managed to tell us her name and age. She was dressed very handsomely in a light blue silk dress, a warm aqua-colored coat with black-velvet trimmed collar, hat to match the coat, white anklets, black sandals and everything brand-new. She was a kid for anyone to feel proud of and one for whom nothing we shall be able to do for her in future will be too much. We are to be informed as to her progress and she will visit us on the holidays. Altogether, a very good idea, don't you think, Chippie? The toys, of course, will be for her.
Sorry to hear that Milt Brown is headed for the Pacific Theater, but I wouldn't worry too much just because he's in the Infantry. He has had plenty of good, tough training and will be able to take damn good care of himself. Save your sympathy for the dirty little japs—they'll need it when Milt puts his oar in—mark my words!
Tell Goldie, I'm very sorry I ignored her on her birthday 18 March, but I really didn't know the date until now and it's too late for even a belated greeting. Anyway, you may tell her for me that I'm wishing her all the best—all the time.
Mom's idea that Adele has my temperament is a little premature, isn't it? How in the world can once distinguish temperament in one so young? It beats me! On second look, I see I have it backwards—seems she takes after you. It still beats me!
That was quick service on my request for Mr. Silvers address. I'm still hunting the opportunity to write to him.
What's all this about Dot being “broken up”? You don't give any information why she should be. I don't remember hearing that Snuff had been called in—why, then?
In the last paragraph, you ask two questions that I don't rightly know how to answer. First, you want to know all about that dirty trick I played on myself. Delicacy forbids it. Secondly, you want to know what the asterisk really stood for. That, my Sweet, is a real honest-to-goodness military secret which will have to wait ’til I get home. Your guess that it stood for “home” was just what I thought you would guess, but the fact that they only occurred at intervals should have tipped you off. You were wide of the mark. Baby, don't you know I think of “home” all the time? Sorry I can't grant your request to “come out with it” (and you better be good!), but some day I will come out with all of it—and then you'll know all my secrets. (Now who's bein’ funny?)
That's all I have time for tonight, Sweetheart. I'll answer the others tomorrow. All my love to the dearest Chippie in all the world—except, of course, the goodly quantity I keep in reserve for her runner up, Miss Adele Bara of the Strongin clan, and the rest of the family. My love to all the Pallers, and our good and kind friends—the neighbors.