December 8, 1943
This is some of the stationary that came with the portfolio from S&D [Sharpe & Dohme]. I like it ’cause it doesn't take so many words to fill the page. I’m only kidding, Sweet. I only wish I could think of things to say—I would not mind writing ten-pages just like this. Speaking of writing, Honey, I'm up to my old tricks again. The other night I dreamed a swell plot for short story. This is the second time since I’m in England that this has happened. If I can find enough time and quiet (which is almost impossible to attain around here) I'll write it up. If not, I'll probably forget it like the last one. Today I was busy on the typewriter all day. Last night, I saw “Johnny-Come-Lately”—an interesting picture— nothing to rave about—but that damn projector got my goat. Every 10 minutes it broke down and the soundtrack was so blurred as to be almost indistinguishable. This evening we got Dottie’s marshmallows out and toasted them over a coke stove. Yum-Yum! Most of the guys are gone from the Barracks tonight, but the few that are left are arguing about China and making enough noise to wake the dead. You'd be surprised, Chippy, how easy it is to start a discussion around here. You just make a remark about any subject at all and immediately—if not sooner, someone disagrees; in a few moments, six guys are talking at once trying to press home a point as seriously as if their life depended on it. Uust between you and me, I have the rep around here of being the most argumentative guy around here. I won’t deny the rather dubious honor. I love to argue just for the sake of argument, and rarely pass up an opportunity. Well, Darling, since there was no mail today and since this brings me up-to-date—I'll kiss you good-night.
My love to all from