27 August 1922

6 Pond Street, Hampstead, London

Dearest Father,
   I cannot understand why you have not received my book. I gave it Ida to post days ago. As far as I can make out, she seems to sit on the book and parcels I give her rather like old Amina (of Pelorus Sounds fame) used to sit on the peaches to ripen 'em.
   I meant to draw your attention, if I may, to one little sketch, "The Voyage", which I wrote with dear little Grandma Beauchamp in mind. It is not in any way a likeness of her, but there are, it seems to me, traces of a resemblance.
   Here we are tasting a good old fashioned London fog: it's very nearly dark (11.30 a.m.) I am thankful to be in Hampstead and not down in London proper.
   I wonder where little Jeanne will settle down finally? I suppose intensive bulb and mushroom growing or any novel form of farming of that kind, to be practised in England, would be too tame for her. I feel there is more money to be made out of new ideas on a small scale nowadays (especially when followed up by some one with little J's brains) than in large and more risky schemes. Poultry, according to Ida, is fascinating, especially if blended with the illusive runner duck. But I expect nothing smaller than a full-sized gee-gee will satisfy her. I am all for concentrating on brains rather than physique if brains are the strong point. But its no business of mine, as the little dear would no doubt tell me, gently. [To Harold Beauchamp, 28 August 1922.]