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John S. Lewis, Publisher
L. A. Nixon, Editor
J. L. McGoldrick, Bus. Mgr.
John E. Stewart, Adv. Mgr.

Air Transportation
The Weekly Trade Journal of Commercial Aviation
1265 Broadway, New York, N.Y.
Telephone: Longacre 2329

Subscription
One Year, $5.00
Two Months, $1.00
Single Copy, 20 Cents

Monday July 29/1929

Dear Hattie:

Sorry I haven't gotten around to writing a little more promptly. The truth of the matter is that I'm really as busy as the proverbial one-armed paper-hanger. I'm handling about seven features a week, not to mention the departmental stuff, and it has kept me up to the ears----

Women, as a whole, have me all up in the air. The older I grow, the less I understand women. Two years ago I willingly would have posed as a seer on the gentler sex. Today I feel that they present a greater mystery than the construction of the Pyramids. For instance---"(you see, I can't believe anyone can love me so much.)" Why in the name of all that's logical, not to mention romantic, shouldn't he. You speak as if you were a bewhiskered old crone, a witch or else. When in truth you rather bowl one over with your natural charm and, well as I said in my last letter, men get sorta of blaah.

Anyways I hope it's a success. I know that if you love him, and I think you do, you'll make him very happy and HE is a lucky chap.

Myself, I don't know. Sometimes I'm not so hot for Truth. After a lot of aimless wandering among the brambles of metaphysics, I oftimes doubt that such a thing as Truth exists. My real self is prone to romanticise everything possible. In that way a lot of ugly and sordid crap can be covered up and forgotten. At other times I feel a strong yearning to upset apple-carts, to humble the presumptious, to kick up my heels and toss words about. Naturally one can't escape facts. If you want to call facts Truth, that's all right. But I'm not sure facts are Truth.

You know it takes all kinda of persons to make up the whole, and if we were all sweet and high-minded and sincere and determined things would be awfully flat and uninteresting. For we would have no comparison, and sweet darlings like yourself would be immersed in the pattern of sameness. That would be a little chaotic, don't you think?

You see, I think you've been deluded all along. I'm not the clean---sometimes I wish I were---being that you think. I have my narrowness and smallness and faults in measure. But you notice, I said sometimes I wish I were clean. By that I don't mean physically or morally. Physical and moral cleanliness is, after all, only the result of systematized