Sweetest darling,
The weather must surely follow my moods (such ego), for it has been gloomy the last three days, as I was gloomy, for there was no word from you, but this morning there is a glorious sun—and I’m happy with three letters all at once. Life does have its compensations, and we won’t talk of death; I was just in one of my gloomier moods when that other letter was written. We’ll have to try to avoid them if possible. And anything else I may have said at the same time and which is of a doubtful nature is to be disregarded entirely. Yet I want to ask one question—just who wants to be entirely sensible when he, or she, is in love? (Isn’t that the condition in which we find ourselves?). You ask if you are bold in saying you look forward to next June. Sweetheart, if you didn’t look forward to that time the whole thing would be a cheat and a mockery, and, as for the telling, we must always be entirely frank and open with each other. I know it isn’t a particularly desirable trait, but it does something to me and destroys a lot of my trust in a person if I find they have deceived me intentionally. But I’ve never doubted your honesty or faithfulness in the slightest. Don’t ever think I have.
Herman is a louse! I never meant that you should discover that particular one of my bad habits—I’m even gradually weaning myself from it. However, I do believe his description of my ability was much more vivid than true. It is fine though that he thinks the developments are pleasing. I still wonder how I was able to fool all the members of so clever a family.
Your girl friend was very nice to compliment me by as she did, but I’m sort of suspicious of her, “you and Harry both have rather exceptional taste.” That unqualified word exceptional could have a dirty meaning—as applied to half of us anyway. But we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
I did write to Mother and give her your present address. Her answering letter came this morning, and, as I suspicioned, Waterman became Westminster when I wrote her before—so you can see the state of mind I must have had at the time.
You ask if I’m getting worried, or cold feet, over our plans. Sorry I talked so much about the money—or lack of it—as I hadn’t realized that was true. No, I’ll never get the cold feet—not over our plans—but I do wish I were in a better financial shape. I don’t like for you to have to put up with what you will have, or not have rather. If it were not for that I could be entirely happy with you and nothing else.
You leave all the black-moustached and side-burned Coloradans alone or I’ll feel constrained to launch a counter-attack on the nursing staff—and I don’t want to do that (really doubt that I should, only don’t tell Ruth I said so).
The enclosed clipping ((attach comic)) was given to me by a friend. He rather startled me for I thought he had discovered what is almost a secret, but a few remarks brought out the fact that it was just a whim. Thought you would appreciate it.
Received a note from Mrs. Shalelee today—hey will be back tomorrow evening. Somehow Dr. Heinbecker’s and the Shalelee’s return makes me half expect Sandy when I open the door, with Mrs. West telling him to be quiet, although I know that won’t happen any more. However, there is another door I’m longing to see open, and another greeting to which I’m looking forward much more eagerly and with much more longing than I ever should have thought possible a short while ago. Darling, you must have been gone ages instead of weeks, still not long enough for me to forget in the least how lovely you are, or how sweet your kisses are, or how much I love you.
You would be surprised if you could see me as I write this letter, for every few minutes I have to stop to read your letters over again. At this writing I believe I’ve read the set of three six—or it may be seven—times. What does such conduct indicate, do you suppose?
Mother says my brother, Francis (or Jack) ((add note)), insists that I must save up the $200 I bet him six years ago on this proposition of which of us would marry first. See what an expensive wife you are going to be? I’ve an Ide idea he won’t buy any oats for his cayuses with that $200 for some time yet however. Marcus has been home for three weeks, but hasn’t seen fit to write at all. Maybe his back is up about a letter I wrote him while I was at home.
Until tomorrow this will have to suffice. In the meantime I want you to know that the best (as you say) you have been able to do is win,
All my love, sweetheart,
Harold