Dear Folks,

Again I’m sorry that my letters are so few and far between. It almost seems that one or tow might be missing, and if you find that dates are more than two weeks apart, you can be pretty sure that such is the case. Even that is a maximum far beyond my aims. One trouble is that it seems foolish to write if you know no mail is going out, but then comes the time when you don’t get enough warning; or if there is enough, then you are too tired to make use of it. From now on I’ll try and record the dates of my letters to you so I’ll know definitely how things stand, a system I should have started back in November. It does seem strange not to have gotten an answer yet for the letter telling of our first visit to Japan! And your latest word (Pa’s of April 4) is that Ma is on her way to Great Neck for a nine day junket, which I figure is now two weeks past!

Too bad about Dorothy. It certainly is tough on poor old Harry, whom I’ll try and write to soon. Sad too as Uncle Bob’s funeral must have been; there must have been quite a few old friends to see, as you suggested—one of the few nice things usually true of funerals.

That weather at home is really hard to believe. zImmediately I wonder, not at first about crops, etc., but of the possible effect on bird migration! Mr. Wharton seems to have made a good haul of ducks. It’s unfortunate, Pa, you weren’t up to going along, especially because of the hoodeds, a male of which you’ve never seen, have you?

So they’ve joined up in Germany. I certainly think we did well to get as afr as we did even if it’s only half the distance the Russians have come. The boys on the “forgotten” front are finally getting a share of glory I’m glad to see. To think that we were there eighteen years ago!

Out here there wouldn’t be so much to tell of even if it were permitted. It’s rapidly getting warmer, and we’re looking forward to some more beer and perhaps steak parties, more movies and, above all for me, another chance to see white terns and flying foxes. Speaking of birds a small one was caught on the hangar deck the other day and presented to me. Of course it dies very shortly, and I ruined the skin trying to make a specimen of it, though the remains have been kept for future identification. The body was about the size of a chickadee, though the tail feathers, pulled out in the process of catching him, are over eleven inches long. He may be a trogon (see description of family in Encyclopedia Britt.—condensed bird vol. of mine—or Birds of Panama Canal Zone, and could you make a little sketch, including detail of bill, Ma, and note down measurements and range of family, Pa?!), though he is more likely a member of a family unfamiliar to me. This specimen has a blue bill and eye ring, blueish legs, mostly blackish plumage, but with a maroon back, brownish to black wings and a white lower belly. Soon after he died, I saw what looked even at close range like a barn swallow circling and flying low over the ship!

I just finished “Vanity Fair,” which I found not “without a hero” at all. Old Dobbin was a real man even if his weak little girl was hardly worthy of him. The book dragged in spots, but had a nice finish. Another book also recently read and even indexed is “A Short History of the Army and Navy,” by Fletcher Pratt, former commander-in-chief of the. He critically analyzes the action of every battle of every war since 1775 to 1918, and I found myself amazed at how much I never knew, and also found myself quite fascinated. In case you’re interested it’s a “fighting forces—penguin special,” a pocket book.

Next on my program is a Patricia Wentworth and then along with it “A Pocket History of the World,” history “suddenly” being found so interesting.

A band concert wound up to-day, which up above was very calm. Flying fish were in evidence.

Love to all,

Toots

P.S. Am in excellent health as usual.

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