. .
When I get the new note back in the correct amount, I will cancel
the old one that is all gummed-up with Intangibles.
Respectfully,
IT'S NO PICNIC
November 15, 1939
My dear Miss Robbins:
About the time you are perusing this tender missive, we and our
oversized family will be on the "Southwestern" en route New York
City and Joan's wedding, which latter will occur at St.
Bartholomew's at 4 p.m. on the afternoon of the eve of Lord's Day
next.
Let me tell you about another trip on the same Southwestern that
happened about 14 years ago. Joan was 13 and Sugar Foot still
getting regular eye doses of boric acid, and Ann Drew just out of
the boric acid period, and so on up the line, when the Fair
Calantha, as was her custom from time immemorial, started on
safari via New York to Milford, Penna. She had passes--but what
passes! Not good on Number this, and not good on No. that. In
desperation I went to the General Superintendent, good old B.C.
Byers, told him my troubles, and asked if he would make them good
on the Knickerbocker. He looked at the passes, then at me, and
said: "Why, you've only got walking passes." He thought a minute,
then: "A woman with six little children has no business getting
into New York City at 3 or 4 p.
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