March 18, 1913.
Dear Dear Harriet
They insisted on my coming to band practice last night so I couldn’t refused and I have just got thru working now.
Dear Girlie do I want you to come home for the summer? Sweetheart you know how much I do, or you ought to but in case you don’t, I will try to tell you how much I do.
Dear Girlie if you only knew how much are you to me, you would know how I long and how my heart aches to just have you home again where we have been so happy. Where I can hold you in my arms and tell you how I love you. (If you will let me).? How repulsive these lines and words of endearment must be to you, if you believe what you wrote in the last of your last letter, (the words you were forced to write.)
I am very very, sorry you was so indignant with me for not writing right back and telling you how I was.
You will remember the time you wrote me and told me that you was sick and how I begged you to just send me a card to let me know how you were, but I didn’t get an answer for about ten todays. Did I send you a letter reproaching you for not writing?
I did better than you. I sent a letter sooner than that, but it seems you hadn’t gotten it when you wrote. Now don’t think I didn’t answer right away because you didn’t answer for so long, for that is not the case, I was so dead tired and all in couldn’t write before.
Oh what makes you think what you wrote can’t you trust me any more? What recreation would there be in some of the things you named? What makes you think my morals have changed?
May be you would like to have me out with the real nice boys of this town and have a beer and booze lunch every night, and get on a dead Drunk about four times a week. Remember these boys are considered the nice boys, even for you. No! Not that you would consider these boys nice if you knew this of them. But these boys are the nice ones of the town.
God help me to never become any thing like that. I thank God for the conscience he gave me and the mother who taught me to know what they are.
I must stop now and get to bed, But as to your question about my being a Slave to the Bank, I will try and answer that to morrow night.
Tuesday night and no letter, I’m not complaining only if makes my heartache worse not to get it after your last letter.
Goodnight my all for you are every thing to me.
Your lovesick lonesome