Darling,
In the last two days fortune has smiled on me surely, for I have gotten three letters from you in that time—one yesterday morning, another yesterday afternoon, and the third today at noon. And they give me so much pleasure, although your dear self would be incomparably to be preferred. Please try not to have the pleasure of your vacation diminished sweetheart, I shouldn’t want that at all. Aren’t you the same girl who was telling me that September was just next door—and June only next door to that? But it does seem such a long time dear, although we can afford to wait a little for the long, happy years to come when we shall always be together. I like to think of that, my darling.
Dr. West is leaving at 11 tonight, and it is now 10. He is getting everything together as I write. The place will surely be lonesome without him—or you either.
I should certainly like to see the mountains with you, but then I’m really afraid that I should see very little of the mountains—by preference—with you.
Tell your dad that his idea is an excellent one. He is a real friend. And it is so nice that both Margaret and your parents think as they do about things. Everything is so much more pleasant when there are no objections.
Hope it is real cool there, for we are again sweltering to the tune of up to 100° here. Dr. West is leaving at a very appropriate time.
Work is progressing slowly, and study has been absent for the last few days, but will start again now that the Boss is leaving.
I want to take this down and mail it as the Dr. goes to the train so shall stop for this time, yet not before I tell you that I love you more than I can say.
Goodnight dear heart,
Harold
D – – – ! tall, dark, and handsome miners. If this keeps up I’ll have to counter with a bevy of wild and wicked nurses (like heck I shall, for the comparison with you would make them seem distastefully plain). Seems that I still have difficulty in saying a final,
Goodnight darling,
RHS