(xx) A Letter from Mr. Buller

Well sir, it's late afternoon as we enter the small house halfway up in the next block now, and here in the kitchen we find Vic, Sage and young Russell. Sage is seated in her little rocker beside the sink, sewing rapidly and efficiently, while a gentleman, newly arrived home, stand near the guest, over moving straw hats and

loosening neckties, and the master of the menage is saying, It's a warm day, City, honey. I'll say, cool as a cucumber in the YMCA swimming pool. Letter for you and on the library table. From some beautiful woman, no doubt.

From Mr. Borer? Oh? Why did he dress you here instead of at the office? And this latest idea? Something of a confidential nature, probably. He desired to avoid the pry and eyes of inquisitive. In a library table you say Dr. Sleep?

Uh-huh. You have to go at the grocery store, Mr. Fellow. Well, I mean, I put Mr. Borer's letter in the drawer, babe. I think I did. I find it. You say you were in swimming?

Yeah, YMCA pool. Well, I wonder how wise that was. Why? You sneezed this morning. Yeah, what a horrible thing. By Georgia, I hope I don't die. People have died with summer colds. Aw, summer colds.

I haven't gotten any summer colds. That's what Grandpa Gogler said. And then he more made the remark and he fell over backwards or rigid car. Oh, that's funny about it. Yeah. I've got a pencil and scratch paper right down what I want from the store.

I got a pencil right here in my pocket. Why on earth do you carry pencils in your pants pocket? Mom, I'm glad you asked that question. I'm glad you asked that question because... I was a dad yourself.