569 Yonge St., Toronto, Ontario
My dear Bill:
I'm stuck for words already. I mean there really isn't anything to say. Nothing of importance ever seems to happen around here.
Beverly had her birthday party, she must have had a grand time, ‘cause I was trying to do my work in the office below the room where the kids were playing games, & the light kept swinging back & forth, gosh I thought any minute the ceiling was going to fall. She was so excited and she looked so cute I just wish you could have seen her.
Dorothy was telling me she hasn't heard from you for a long time & she can't figure out why.
I'm glad to hear your getting a commission & I'm quite proud of you.
How is Len and all the fellows you chum around with? Tell them I was asking for them.
I got your sweaters Bill (at least I mean the ones you sent to me) and I'm simply crazy about them. I'm afraid to war them they're so nice. You really can't but anything as good as them over here. In fact nothing's worth what you pay for it.
It's getting quiet at the "morque" now. The exhibitions are all over until next September, and really I'm not sorry. It's grand working there in the summer. It's so peaceful you'd honestly think it was a "morque." (But then I couldn't really say what it was like in a "morque" cause I've never been there) Logical eh? Oh well that's all for now.