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and a half so you see I have improved my speed since those first efforts for Ingersoll-Rand, when it took me an entire day to do one. One week more in AC Engineering! Can it be possible. Christmas isn't far away now.

[[underline]] To Willie, November 8, 1925: [[/underline]] What you said in your letter about synthetic sugar and the possibility of eventually making other synthetic foodstuffs that now are grown, is certainly most interesting. It is just another evidence of the fact that we are living in the most wonderful age the world has even known and yet most of us don't even realize it except at occasional odd times, and some of us never. I have felt a desire to have lived say one or two centuries ago before all this complication of modernism existed. Ah, then was romance, then was history in the making, then was life more worthwhile than now. And probably there were people in that day who wished the selfsame thing, not realizing that there is always romance, always history in the making, always the opportunity to make life glorious and worthwhile. Who can say that these days we are living in now are not more revolutionary, are not bringing forth more marvel than any others in the world's history. And most of us live placidly on, ignoring it all, coming to the day's end with nothing to distinguish the last 24 hours from the next. This noon when I was downtown for lunch and breakfast (2 in 1) I noticed an advertisement for the Radiola in a window. It was in colors and showed a picture of desert and mountains with a great yellow full moon rising in the sky above the peaks in the background. In the foreground beside a little campfire sat two men in plainsmen's outfits. A little distance away, their horses were tethered. And in front of them was a Radiola, trim and compact, with a small rectangular loop sitting on top of it. And there they were, supposedly listening to a concert perhaps two thousand miles away in a great city. Once it would have been a lovely fairy story, wonderful but utterly inconceivable. Now it is an accepted reality and no one even gets a thrill out of thinking of it. In other words, they haven't imagination, they aren't getting the most out of life. To have an imagination is to be blessed indeed, I think. ...... I'm glad you like "Beatrice" and I'm also glad you approve of "Forman." Well, I love "Willie" too.

[[underline]] To Mother, November 8, 1925: [[/underline]] I went to church this morning and sat with Tania. There was a Mr. Trone (it sounds that way although I presume it is smelled [sic] some other way) there and he seemed to know everybody. Tanis told me he had just returned from several years in Europe and other places scattered over the globe, where he has been in connection with GE business. Tania introduced me when he came and said good morning to her. Well, who should appear at the Nikiforoffs this afternoon than Mr. Trone, and this time speaking fluent Russian. He is rather stout, has a smooth face, and also head, his hair being entirely