(xx) A Box of Letters

Well sir, it's late afternoon as our scene opens now. And here in the living room of the small house halfway up on the next block we find all our friends and samplers. Vic is newly arrived home from the office and he stands beside the library table, removing his hat.

So you defeated on the Davenport with his sewing basket. And your ruffler is just this moment drifting in from an afterschool football workout in Tackmans vacant lot. Listen. Bye, George. I aching every muscle. You don't ask very miserable?

No, it's kinda relaxing naked every muscle. What's in the shoebox stuff to switch? Oh, that's the present for Russell. What is the present for me? Library table there. Uncle Fletcher just left 10 or 15 minutes ago.

What's new to him? Oh, busy as a being important as Michoud. Just more than strutted around, and waved his arms and laid down the law. Still up to his neck and his man ate his marriage plans, huh?

Oh boy, can I open the shoebox, Mom? Oh, so, aren't you? What's inside? Letters. Letters? Just like him to give somebody old letters for a present. Like making somebody a gift of a bucket of old snow or a saucer of old rainwater.

Are there any new developments to this stuff in nature occurring with Mrs. Keller and her bridegroom? Oceans, I guess. Uncle Fletcher was mysterious as a horse. He scowled and frowned and winked and muttered. Dear Grace, I am sorry if you are about the two missing courts of crankcase oil.

Is it an operator William seemed to be interested? I don't know if I care to go on living. Perhaps you'd better burn this. Margaret, is that one of the letters? Yes. Oh, elegant present to that.