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By 7:30 PM everyone was in a rosy glow and ready to go places. I was a little disappointed that I had told [[underline]] Dick ^[[29]] Packard [[/underline]] last night I would have dinner with him tonight because it would mean abandoning a big crowd of old friends for people whom I had never met. But I went with him, even though he gave me a release, evidently appreciating the situation. Out in the lobby, we met Mrs. Packard, Mr. and Mrs. Norris of Baltimore, the latter Mrs. Packard's sister, and Miss Barbara (Bobby) Waddell, either engaged or almost so, to the Norris son, in the army in India. I kept feeling sorry for myself as we drove to the Balalaika but did my best to throttle the idea and finally succeeded. And it proved to be as good an example of it paying to do the right thing I've ever seen. The girl, Bobby, proved to be a charming, fresh, wholesome youngster - a beautiful dancer, full of life and energy, who lives on a 500 acre farm in Maryland and commutes about 20 miles each way to a job in the Maritime Commission in connection with ship losses. Although she is only 21, we hit it off in fine style. Dick told me later, her father died several years ago; her mother remarried and last winter, the step-father died; her mother couldn't get adequate help for the farm, so Bobby spent all of last summer working on the farm like a hired hand - milking, running the tractor, haying - everything. And she was the picture of health as a result, with a magnificent young body, solid as a rock but graceful as could be and interesting to be with.

The Balalaika floor show, long shunned by the gang because Mat has insisted it was terrible, proved to be the exact contrary - full of Russian music, singing and dancing that was delightful including a strapping baritone billed as Pushkin but whose name was probably Casey or Kelly. In

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