Little sweetheart,
If your mother feels sorry for me on account of your ugly moods how much sorrier she should feel for you because of mine. For you do manage to be sweet to me in spite of everything, while I just let go and act as mean as can be. Your answer to that much-to-be-regreted letter I sent hasn’t reached me yet so I don’t know how you reacted to it, but however you felt I’m sorry I ever wrote it. Though, as I said, you might better learn of my shortcomings now than to suddenly discover them later on. A jealous and idiotically easily hurt nature makes the worst sort of combination possible. I suppose I expect everything, I know I give everything I have to give—and maybe that will halfway or less make up for the pettiness I show.
Had a card from Dr. West at Portland. He said they had found a house and were getting located, also that he would write a long letter in a few days—I’m looking for it now.
National Board exams started today. They are held in the chemistry lecture room and as a result I’ve seen the boys going fearfully in, and coming dolefully out, twice today. They had anatomy this morning and physiology this evening. Friday afternoon I’ll be doing likewise.
I’m not so certain now that the person who offered me his congratulations last Friday knew the identity of the girl in the case, so perhaps the secret is only partly out. I got Bob Stephens cornered the other day and gave him an inquisition the result of which was that I was convinced he hadn’t told anything. So there the matter stands.
In the space of time and paper which has elapsed Miss Case gave me the above-mentioned letter from Dr. E.S.W., a three-page affair written on both sides. They are all located, but their furniture hasn’t arrived as yet. Dr. West also says he has (he is pretty sure anyhow) some money for a research assistant. If he tries to lure you to Portland I think I shall make a special trip to the northwest in order to empty the chair of Biochemistry at the Medical School of the University of Oregon, the present occupant of which being, he says, well pleased with the place would so that it would be the more punishment to remove him from it. Mrs. West sends word that she is gloating over my—as she calls it—fall. In that case there are at least two people gloating over the same thing, but they don’t describe it in the same manner, for I should say that instead of a falling I have done the very opposite in order to get so close the ultimate in desirability as I have.
It may be that by the time this is being written you will have somewhat altered you opinion of my good qualities, if so, I’m at least glad that you did have such an opinion even for a while. Yet no matter what you think I would not have been at all so upset if I didn’t love you.
Goodnight, dear heart,
Harold