July 1, 1912
Dear Bess
Isn't it funny how many nice, bright remarks a person can think of after he gets out of a conversation? It seems to me that I never manage to say the proper thing in the proper place. I don't believe I even thanked you or your mother for the fine dinner you gave me, and I know I didn't thank Agnes for her pie. She ought to know it was very much appreciated though because two pieces disappeared in my direction; and you know I always enjoy dinner at your house.
I have been working over an old binder. My hands and face and my clothes are as black as the ace of spades - blacker, because the ace has a white background. Papa and the men are finishing up a small patch of plowing, therefore I have some time to write. I hate the job I have before me. If the machine goes well, it is well; if not, it is a word rhyming with well(?) literally because when the thing breaks down it is always in a hollow where the sun does a warming act equal to any His Majesty can possibly put up.
This is surely a long-drawn-out letter. I started it yesterday morning and I am going to finish now. I was in your city a few minutes last night. Arrived at eight-thirty and left at ten-thirty. Beginning Friday night I have gone the great Napoleon one better and managed to do with three hours sleep in twenty-four. Yesterday I put in a day's work and then drove to Dodson in order to get to help confer a degree on Murray Colgan. I feel as if I could appreciate some sleep. It looks much like rain and I'm hoping for it, though I shouldn't. I saw Frank just as I was ready to get on a car last night. He wanted to know what the mischief I was doing down there. It did seem like something was wrong when I didn't see Delaware St. Papa says he supposes if some of the family were dying and they'd send for me to put on a degree, I'd go. Murray and also the Hon. Allen Hoyt called me up yesterday to come down and I just couldn't resist going.
But I'd give fifty cents for a nickel's worth of sleep. I met an old man from Arkansas on the train last night who was the most interesting talker for a man that I've seen lately. I don't suppose he used the first person singular more than twice in the whole hour coming out and we talked on everything from religion to politics. He is an intense Bryan man, a good Mason, and a farmer, so you see we could have a most agreeable time. He told me that there would be some six thousand cars of Elberta peaches shipped from his neck of the woods. I hope some of them will land here. We have one lone peach. Mamma says she's going to have that when it get ripe.
Bess, I hope you'll think a box-headed letter like this worth an answer. Remember my intentions are good anyway and my sleep account is overdrawn to such an extent that the bank's about busted. It's always a little cracked though.
Please write me as quickly as you did before. Here's hoping it'll rain and it won't (I told you I had a feminine brain).
Most sincerely,
Harry