Chère Pat,
Of all things! Columbia Players are presenting "Camino Real" in December, and there are tryouts for acting tonight, and a meeting for all who would be interested in designing scenery tomorrow night! So guess where yours so very truly will be. Alice Gilbert, a very pretty, tall girl who is an English major and a member of Wigs & Cues, is going to try out to[o], so be wishing us luck. How I'd love to do the sets for this baby! And "Crimes" will be out of the way week after next, and then there are 3 nights of Gilbert & Sullivan to light, and then here's hoping. I've just got to be in it, if only to hear "Jack O'diamonds, you've robbed my packets of silver & gold!"
Two more gems from the home front. Yesterday a Toby-Joe-made card with a purple cat, moon, pumpkin and blob against a green background. Open a little door in the blob, and there is a minute witch. Then a certain sorceress we know has written, "To Jane, who stole my birthday." Then today I got an envelope containing another Toby-letter typed in small letters and capitals, no less (He's learning fast, that boy.) Gist thereof: they went to the Tuskaroras again and took Brutus and Caesar and slept in bunk beds, and he likes my letters, and he thanks me very much for the little animals I sent him. (?) Animals? Something has gone awry. I bought two little animules to take them when I go home, but I haven't sent anything yet. I wonder what goes? Either Doorthee got confused, or else - or else. And it was addressed in my Tabinsky's own inimitable style, sprawling all over the envelope in green ink. You know, it's been five weeks, and that's a long time for small boys to remember people whom they haven't known very long.
Did you know that it takes a lot of Pete to make a little bit of Cole? Prof. Sharp came up with that the other day. (I'm sitting here in Geology, so if I start including notes on the mesas in Monument Valley, you must forgive me.)
Have I told you about my cadet, Gary? If I haven't, tell me, and I will. He's very nice.
I have to go build a s-o-b- bench this afternoon. Pat says she can't come, so I'll have to construct it myself. Frank says it's supposed to look like stone, and it's so darn heavy it might as well be the real thing. I am sick to death of Frank and Adolphus J. gives me a most excruciating pain. I saw Houghton from afar the other day; looks interesting.
I'll write more later.
Love,
J. Thornton, esq.