Sept. 12, 1925.
My dearest Walter:
Your Tuesday’s letter came today and, as usual, I enjoyed every minute of it.
Sweetheart, I didn’t intend for my former impression of homesteading to cause you to give up the idea entirely. I thought that perhaps you would find it very different down there from that in the West. Don’t hesitate on my account to investigate it, because I don’t know a thing about the conditions there, and it may be the very thing to do. I note with deep interest your new investment, and it sounds good to me. It is one of which you can feel sure of at least a reasonable profit no matter what happens, and, as you say, you stand a good chance to realize a big profit. Dr. White did go contrary to his disposition, didn’t he? The proposition must have been very attractive or he wouldn’t have departed from his conservative ways long enough to make a purchase.
Bob, Thelma and the children have just left after spending the evening with us. Thelma Lee is proudly exhibiting a loose tooth. She thinks she is getting to be a mighty big girl. I always hate to see them begin shedding their teeth. It gives them such a ragged appearance. It’s too bad that there isn’t a more graceful way of doing it.
Claudelle and I went for our last hike to the hilltop this evening. It gives me sort of a queer sad feeling when I realize that probably it was the last hike we will take together. She is leaving Monday morning and very likely will not return until about time for the wedding. I suppose it seems a little strange to you that I should take her leaving so seriously since she will really be so near home in San Antonio, but when you realize what great chums we have become you will understand. However, I am mighty glad that she can go.
I love you, Sweetheart, and although I love the members of my family very very much, I feel that I couldn’t be happy without you and I want to go with you even though it means leaving them. Dear, you don’t know how very much I do love you.