Grandview, Mo. Monday P.M., May 20, 1912
My Dear Elizabeth:
How does that look to you? I just wrote it that way to see how it would look.
You know we have associations for every name. England's great Queen always goes to Elizabeth for me. When I was a very small kid I read a history of England and it had a facsimile signature of hers to Queen Mary's death warrant. I'll never forget how it looked if I live to be a hundred. But that didn't put me against her, for I always thought she was a great woman. I never think of you as Elizabeth. Bess or Bessie are you. Aren't you most awful glad they didn't call you the middle syllable? It is my pet aversion. There is an old woman out in this neck of the woods who is blest with enough curiosity for a whole suffragette meeting and a marvelous ability for gratifying it - to her own satisfaction. She has a wart on the end of her nose and a face like the Witch of Endor. Her first name is Liz. She is an ideal person to carry the name. I am sure it is not a nickname but her real one as no one of her caliber could possibly be Elizabeth. I have a very belligerent (spelled right?) cousin whose name is Lizzie. Therefore I care not for Liz and Lizzie for these two very good reasons. I have an idea, from the Lizzies I've seen, that Proserpina's middle name is Lizzie. The last syllable makes an entirely different combination. It is a name fit for a goddess (since you wear it) and I suppose it is a part of Venus's or Pallas's.
I don't know what got me started on this line of talk, but I hope you won't be offended because I don't like some of the nicknames of your good name. But please remember that I like yours muchly - anyway - as well as the real one.
I had the best luck getting home yesterday evening. I caught a car going to the barn. It overtook a Mr. Washington car at Sheffield. I jumped off and caught that car making the through trip to 8th and Wyandotte in just forty-five minutes. I got to the depot in about five more, so I had about fifteen minutes to spare. I had the livin' scared out of me as I came through the burg. Some guy evidently got off the train as I did. He followed me clear through town a quarter of a mile. Every time I'd whip up he would too, and if I slowed down so did he. I guess he thought I was a bum and I'm sure he was. He finally went south and I went north. I was very much relieved when he did.
I did another job of painting today. Gave the front gate another coat. I looks like one of the pearly ones now, but it's made of cypress. If you'd read an ad of the Southern Cypress Assn. you'd think that the gates of heaven were made of it. I wasn't satisfied with painting the gate. I gave the pump a good coat. I did that because it stands immediately in front of the back door, and in one of those horribly dark nights I was telling you of when the Nolands were here I was endeavoring to get out of Ethel's way in a hurry and collided with the pump. I dislocated my specs and gave myself a black eye. For this reason I decided to paint it white. Now it can be seen on the darkest nights.
I hope your grandmother and grandfather got started all right. Tell Fred to hurry and get well. This is mighty fine weather and I know he hates to spend it in bed. I have at last discovered the trouble Mr. Cobb had. He punched a spectator's head for calling him an ugly name.
You said you were afraid I wouldn't appreciate your last letter because you were so prompt about answering. If you knew how glad I am to get them, you'd send ‘em quick every time. I hope you'll consider this worth an answer in a hurry.
Sincerely, Harry