Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

handed over a dollar. When I saw that, I retrieved my dollar which was now heavily coated with dust, as if it had lain there for weeks. . . . . . . ; B-; In New York, talking with S.G.—I told him I was sending the painting, for the greeting card group-and our whole conversation was moved & to the point just as it would be if it was actually taking place. i.e. we discussed the size & shape, and when I told him it was 27x40, he said he wished I could make them smaller—that it cost more to reproduce large things. I complained about his thinking the picture so big, and asked if he could possibly return it in late winter etc etc.; C-; A social gathering in a house (vague as to character & location)—as I came in Edith Giener came in and I said to her with exaggerated heartiness “Why hills Waldo, old kid”—she blushed but greeted me and kissed me. There were several strange women there, who seemed to be Emma K’s friends. We were interested & one of them said, looking us over, said “Why, not one of you resembles Emma the least bit”—“Oh thank you thank you” I said, waggishly, for Emma’s benefit, who I thought was somewhere about. “By the way” I said where is Emma, anyway [sic]. The woman indicated with her thumb, and then I saw her on the far side of a dinner table (set for buffet lunch) a huge coffee urn, filling cups. . . . . . ; ; ; ; ; _________________; Letters from M.A.—Catherine Emma, Lois Fisher. All is well with M.A. but C thinks she will have to move.; In the mail was B’s copy of the L.H. Journal, battered & torn. We both were angered by it—on the