New York, N. Y.
Dear Wet Blanket (and aren't you a little old for that?)
Respectfully nuts to you. After proper browbeating I think I'll try the yarn on Lowndes ... it's no masterpiece, but I think it's got a chance; he likes an off trail bit, now and then. I made a carbon, natch, so your ditching of the original comes to naught.
Funny thing ... every time I read it over I get the doggonedest déjà vu feeling. Real dynamic thing ... almost lifts my hair. Hope it does the same for the readers, them as can read. Maybe Joe didn't quite do the job of making me forget what happened that night, ha, ha. Say! ... maybe that could explain the narrator's remembering what happened ... or maybe—hey! A real idea!
Remember Joe's kidding us about monsters?—remember, you got a little sore because he was holding up the game, you money-hungry son? I think I'll rewrite the ending to include that! ... which oughta take care of the narrator's remembering: Joe can be sort of a dopey slizzer, a blat-mouth, and his screwy theory (which is true in the story, or will be when I write it in—say, isn't this involved!) can trigger our hero's memory just a bit, shake the block a mite, undiddle the synapses etc ... and then I'll have you, platinum-butt, step in to head Joe off, under pretense of a poker itch.
You know, it's wonderful the way there are hot story ideas in plain old everyday things! S'long ... gonna revise.
Jerry
Oct. 23, 1952
Mr. Robert W. Lowndes