_N.Y.C._ _Nov. 5th, ’19_ Dear Charmion: Here are the rest of your poems; I think they are all there. _The Modernist_ took one of the Egyptian sonnets, I cannot remember the exact name of it, and hopes you will send more soon. I leave for Cleveland tomorrow night, and am very anxious to get off. Packing all the truck I have accumulated here has proved a delirious task. Let me thank you and Hermann [Habicht] again for the evening last week and the many other treats of the summer. Let’s write occasionally and be as metropolitan as possible. You know I’m now out in those great expanses of cornfields so much talked about and sung, and you can’t very well dispense with me even though you do live “in the big city.” I am beginning something in an entirely new vein with the luscious title: “My Grandmother’s Love Letters.” I don’t want to make the dear old lady too sweet or too naughty, and balancing on the fine line between these two qualities is going to be fun. I hope that living close to her in the same house won’t spoil it all. P.S. Much to my surprise I got yesterday a very friendly letter from Sherwood Anderson thanking me for the _Pagan_ art[ic]le. 29: TO GORHAM MUNSON [_Cleveland_] _Nov. 13, 1919_ My dear Gorham: It begins to look as though my work was to be confined to the hours between midnight and dawn,--that is, in writing. I go to Akron, O., next week to take up a position in my father’s new store there and my own hours are to be from six in the morning until eleven at night. I was down there with him yesterday, and find that he has a wonderful establishment,--better than anything of its kind in New York. It’s too bad to waste it all on Akron, but there seems to be a lot of money there that the rubber tire people have made. The place [is full of] fresh growth. A hell of a place. The streets are full of the debris from old buildings that are being torn down to replace [with] factories, etc. It looks, I imagine, something like the western scenes of some of Bret Harte’s stories. I saw about as many Slavs and Jews on the streets as on Sixth Ave. Indeed the main and show street of the place looks something like Sixth Ave. without the elevated. The size of my father’s business has surprised me much. Things are whizzing, and I don’t know how many millions he will be worth before he gets through growing. If I work hard enough I suppose I am due to get a goodly share of it, and as I told you, it seems to me the wisest thing to do just now to join him. He is much pleasanter than I expected him to be, and perhaps will get around after awhile to be truly magnanimous.