Volume 2 — Our Rural Mail Box

Dear Bill—Did you hear that they traded Manhattan for 24 cases of whisky and that now they want to trade it back? Yours till the Statue of Liberty shimmies up the Hudson, Flo.

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Dear Captain Billy—I live at 268 W. Rayen Ave., Youngstown, Ohio, and the other evening I saw this question and answer in your July issue:

Dear Bill—What does my brother mean when he speaks of the “depth bombs” and “submarine chasers” in army hospitals?—Miss Curiosity.

Send a self-addressed, stamped envelope for reply.

I am sending same and hope to hear from you. Resp. yours, John Wilson.

(Editor’s Note—Dear Mr. Wilson: I have referred your letter to Miss Curiosity, who undoubtedly will answer you personally.)

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Dot—A. is right. Get out and walk.

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Rhoda—Yes. You are old enough to wear what you please. That is as far as your parents are concerned. But the police will not respect your age.

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Madge—The Doctor was correct. After an operation for appendicitis the cut shouldn’t show.

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Alden M.—Can give you no advice about free love. Always thought love very expensive.

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Hazel—Do not marry the sixty year old millionaire. He’s too old and too young to bring you happiness.

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Jacqueline—Jackie, for short, you said you wanted to write me the worst way. You did, I can hardly read your letter. Try again.

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Ima Flirt—Yes, love is blind, as the old saying goes—but the neighbors are not. Pull down your shades after this.

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Mable—If the day be muddy and the boys will stand on the corner it’s up to you to make good. Will speak to the cashier about sending you silk stockings.

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Jim—If you are dancing with another man’s wife it is proper to let him see light between you.