My darling Ruth,
Your letter about the offer from Dr. West came this morning, and it made me feel ashamed of myself. If your letter meant what I think it meant you are anxious and worried, feeling that you should do one thing and wanting to do another. Please don’t let Dr. West know I double-crossed him, but I can’t bear to have you worried, so here goes. Dr. West thought it would be a great joke to offer you a job starting next June 1, and then to see your reaction. I promised not to tip his hand, but only because I had told you he knew about our plans (but he didn’t know I had told you) and thought you—knowing him—would see through his trick at once. Of course I shouldn’t tell you this even now; however, he has had your letter sent to him and so will have his joke, while you must not (I beg you) write to him before you hear from him again—then don’t tell. Please forgive me for ever promising not to tell.
In spite of the rain we are having today there is a song in my heart, for two of your letters came this morning, and though the second made me rather ashamed, it also told me again that you love me—the thing which means more than anything else to me.
Of a certainty we shall chop wood next fall. My entire youth was spent wielding an axe—just so, I discover, that it would be possible for me to do a good job of supplying wood to keep a fire blazing in our fireplace—if and when we ever have one. In the meantime the one, or ones, in your parents’ home will serve as substitutes—this winter at least.
I’m really terribly busy this afternoon. Artie & Adler are disrupting the place, it is now 2:30, tonight is clinic night, and I have 12 tubes acetylating which have to be titrated, etc. yet. In spite of this I had to take time out to tell you what I did. Did you ever think that I should have let Dr. West offer you a job which would have taken you away this winter? Silly, if you did. And what is more there is a great difference of opinion about such a thing probably being desirable—I take the negative, now and forever after—just because
I love you,
Harold