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Suspect the date on this is 8-1-1949

Monday

My Little One:

        You will probably be one big, fat bundle of muscles by the time we see each other again, what with baseball, cycling and stuff. No longer will I be able to force my attentions (I nearly fouled up and said "intentions") upon you.

        Glad to hear that you were not drawn and quartered for the late hours. Staying up till five Sunday mornings must cease. Can we go out on Friday next time? Or did I say that before?

        This letter will doubtlessly sound a little weird. There is a reason though. Last night I wrote you a letter, but before I had time to mail it, the man I was riding into the city with next week-end decided not to go, so my plans changed quite a bit. Since I won't be home Saturday, I had to change the letter, and I was surprised to find out how one of them sounds a day after it has been written. This letter consists of some parts of the original one and such, and I don't imagine it will make too much sense.

        I got back last night from Turtle Lake where John V and I spent the week-end, or rather, from Delevan, Lake Lorrain, and Turtle Lake, for we kept on the go most of the time. Our Model T runs like a new Buick almost.

        We were driving down a very lonely road Saturday night about midnight when the darn thing stopped running--so is say almost like a Buick. It was too dark to work on the engine, so we threw the seats out a window and spent the night in the car. It was a very beautiful night, though, and I can't say I didn't enjoy it. The sky was clear and the milky way was just like a white path across the sky. Nothing seems quite as pretty as the sky at night when you're used to living in the city.

        Next morning we found that the gas tank was a trifle empty. It had been too dark to see inside before we left (no gauge, you know).

        Next week, at long last, I will become a first class grease-ball. Then will I shed my white collar and go to work in the testing lab again. I can't say that I won't enjoy it.

        You seem to  be spending a very energetic vacation. Some people I know might be sleeping about 18 hours a day. But, and this is straight from the horse's mouth, even that can get tiring after a while.

        Now the thought of sleep has made me so tired that I must be off to bed.

        I read in a book that one should not apologize for ending a letter; that is, say " I have to be to bed now so I will stop writing." So I apologize for having apologized, and I would do the whole thing again if my pen weren't running out of ink. Off to beddy-bye.

love, kisses and all sorts of other things

Les

To go to next letter, click here: 1949 Aug 8