186 Sunday November 8, 1917. Sunny and dark. I intend to make no more prophecies or observa-tions concerning future weather; it is a mystery and a most illogical one at that - that is to me who at present doesn't care greatly what weather does come. Jerome and I went in according to schedule, we arrived in time to enjoy an argument; I mean a dispute x The subject happened to be the Cook-Pole-Party morsel; a tasty one it is to some. But at each sub-ject and topic are of minor importance x The vital incentives and objectives of the daily disputes are indigestion (mental and physical) and personal entities x At least such is my private and unexpressed opinion - may proceed simply because I value it more highly than I put it to the passions of the fighting fours or the chilling indifference of the Philosophers - There! I am getting on dangerous ground x I can do better; the puppits knew me which helps always, The children smiled the real smiles of real children - That which is next to sunshine in the world's beauty; and Phdaka-chiquah poured some new woes into my sympathetic ear. Indeed, Wallace must speak some truth when he says we do not progress x These uncultured and really uncivil-ized people act almost instinctively in ways we think pre-culic to our own state of dumb parents along far higher lines. And I played the Victrola x