"Well, it's not because he's my father that I want to write. It's because I haven't anybody else to write to and I'd like to write to somebody."
"I didn't know you were so crazy about writing letters."
"I just feel like it."
Eddie shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want to say that he'd probably have to bust her brother in the nose some day if she went and stirred up sleeping dogs. No use in telling her that.
Dot got out her stationery. It was pink stationery, and so far only two envelopes had been used and none of the sheets. The envelopes had gone with money orders to the gas and electric companies. The ink was in the kitchen cupboard. There was a little difficulty in connecting with a pen, but finally Dot sat down to write.
Eddie found a man who was singing the much-derided, much-sung "Yes, We Have No Bananas."
"Crazy thing," he muttered.
"What?" asked Dot.
"That song. Say, haven't you started to write yet?"
"No."
"How come?"
"Well, I decided not to write to my father. I'm tryng to think of somebody to write to."
"Must you write?"
"I feel like it."
"What have you got to say?"
Dot looked at Eddie uncertainly. What had she to say? Was he kidding? There was no confirmation of her suspicion on his face. He meant it.
"Well, I just thought I'd try to think up some girl I used to know and tell her I was married and about my apartment and all."
