1100 Grand Concourse
New York 56 New York

16 September 49

Dear Velma,

I�ve owed you this letter for so long, and have thought about it so many times, that I'm half-convinced I have already written it and wonder at times why I haven't received an answer. I think this whole business of extra-sensory perception etc. ought to be gone into a little more thoroughly. It would certainly save the mechanical labor of writing out messages.

What a summer we have had! You remember the weather during the days just around the pageant? Well, it was worse than that � because more muggy and humid � all summer long, without any interruption or relief. It does seem to be that if we are to be tried in the crucible etc. it doesn't have to be raised to quite that temperature. On the whole, Velma, things are so badly managed.

And yet, I find that I am able to contemplate this cosmic inefficiency (to say nothing of the flourishes and refinements that human beings can add to it) a little more cheerfully these days. As a matter of fact, I feel just fine. And although by this time the prospect of starting a new term is somewhat less than deliriously exciting, it is at least nothing to scream about. If you'll settle for a bad pun, it may pall, but it no longer appalls.

On all fronts, things seem quiet. My family is well. The war didn't start this summer. I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

I see Lafe regularly. OD has had a sudden burst of activity these last two weeks, as people have returned from vacations and got started on things again. From him, I always get whatever news he has of Morganville and you, and I hope he remembers to give you my best when he writes to you. Clare and the boys are still at the Cape, planning to stay there until school starts for them, Clare being unwilling to run the chance of the polio scare here (we've had one of those, too, this summer).

And Morganville? And you and your family? What are you doing? What are you writing? What are you thinking? Let a fellow know.

And remember me to anyone you think might remember me (clumsy sentence, but that's what happens when you write on a typewriter).

Yours,

(signed) Robert