rren has been
married to a musical comedy soubrette with ringlets of red-brown hair
(Istra's hair is quite bright red, but this woman has dark red hair,
like the color of California redwood chips, no maybe darker) and she
wears a slimpsy bright blue dress with the waist-line nearly down to
her knees, and skirt pretty short, showing a lot of ankle, and a kind
of hat I never noticed before, must be getting stylish now I guess,
flops down so it almost hides her face like a basket. She's a typical
wife for a 10 h.p. aviator with exhibition fever. She and Tad go joy
riding almost every night with a bunch of gasoline and alcohol sports
and all have about five cocktails and dance a new Calif. dance called
the Turkey Trot. This bunch have named Tad's new Wright "Sammy," and
they think it's quite funny to yell "Hello Sammy, how are you, come
have a drink."

I guess I'll call mine a monoplane and let it go at that.

* * * * *

_July 14_: Quebec. Lost race Toronto to Quebec. Had fair chance to win
but motor kept misfiring, couldn't seem to get plugs that would work,
and smashed hell out of elevator coming down on tail when landing
here. Glad Hank Odell won, since I lost. Hank has designed new
rocker-arm for Severn motor valves. All of us invited to usual big
dinner, never did see so many uniforms, also members of Canadian
parliament. I don't like to lose a race, but thunder it doesn't bother
me long. Good filet of sole at dinner. Sat near a young lieutenant,
leftenant I suppose it is, who made me think of Forrest Haviland. I
miss Forrest a lot. He's doing some good flying for the army, flying
Curtiss hydro now, and trying out muffler for military scouting. What
I like as much as anything about him is his ease, I hope I'm learning
a little of it anyway. This stuff is all confused but must hustle off
to reception at summer school of Royal College for Females. Must send
all this to old Forrest to read some day--if you ever see this,
Forrest, hello, dear old man, I thought about you when I flew over
military post.

_Later_: Big reception, felt like an awful nut, so shy I didn't hardly
dare look up off the ground. After the formal reception I was taken
around the campus by the Lady President, nice old lady with white hair
and diamond combs in it. What seemed more than a million pretty girls
kept dodging out of doorways and making snapshots of me. Good thing
I've been reading quite a little lately, as