I am letting my diary slide for a few days and writing letters
instead.... I do not care how often you people write to me. It doesn’t
matter much what you say—it is just the sensation of receiving letters.
I had a letter from my _marraine_ (godmother) yesterday. Some of the
fellows sent their names and mine to the doctor who made introductions
by correspondence to some of the well-to-do Parisians, and as a result I
now have as godmother a lady of about fifty who has two married
daughters. She is of French family, but was born in Illinois. She
married a Frenchman. Her home is in Paris, but she is now in their
country villa at Croix-de-Brie.
We have had much rain in the last week, and there has not been much
doing. I now have seven of the necessary sorties required in the Penguin
class. The classes are large, and the machines break quite often. That
is why progress is slow. I think I am doing somewhat better than the
average, but it is too early to tell much about it. I am anxious to
progress faster, but one must wait his turn, and they say it is better
to go slow. There is no reason why I should not make a good flyer.