Notice—Readthisfirst—I thought Mother had told you the pathetic tale of my having the mumps—hence such a casual reference to it in the following.
I should have written to you long before this but wanted to be perfectly sure that there wasn't the slightest bit of danger from contagion in letters. The doctor told me some time ago that there wasn't but I waited anyhow until I was practically well, because if you get the mumps I will be enraged. I certainly have been having a thrilling time since you left—lying in bed for eight days and sitting in a chair the rest of the time, and, except for the first four or five days I have felt perfectly well! Honestly, I never have been so bored and mad and disgusted in all my life. And I had made up my mind not to have it! I'll drop Christian Service for good now and never, never try it again in any emergency. It's a fraud or else I'm weak-minded—I wonder which?Your letters have lightened the gloom considerably—My, but I've enjoyed them and how perfectly delighted I am that you are having such a heavenly time. Atlanta musn't be so terrifying, then, after all, but still it doesn't follow that I wouldn't be terrifyied if I went—because you're you and I'm myself—a most obvious fact which you probably knew before but one which has a point in this connection. Isn'tMee-mee a perfectly wonderful pers!on!—and she certainly has fallen in love with you from her own account. I'm so glad that you're going back there. Don't forget to give her my best love and tell her I haven't forgotten either of her visits to St Marys, when I was there, and how very lovely she was to us. Your visit in Rome must have been charming; I was quuite surprised at your discription of it Rome, not the visit for I had imagined it as not at all pretty. I don't know why I had that idea, because I don't think anybody ever told me that. It has seemed to me as if you had been away about two months instead of two weeks—I suppose my sitting still in one place all the time has had something to do with it; but oh Jettydarlin', I've missed you so—I can't tell you how much. I didn't see any too much of you when you were here, but I've missed you as much as if I were never separated from you. You know, you are such a perfectly lovely and adorable person—did you know it? and I love you—of my goodness, you can never know how much! And I'll tell you something else—I've decided that there never was a nastier or more bad-tempered person than I (you see I've had time to think over my sins) but why do I have to show so much of that particular side to you of all people? It's a perfect mystery and if you can go on liking me, in spite of it you're a mystery. I don't know why I should be telling you this right now, but I always do tell you all my troubles and generally at unexpected times, so why not this now? Be sure to be back by next Saturday for the Harvard game; and on the twentieth we're going to have a “Merry-go-round” so you've got to come back for that, no-matter how fascinating and enjoyable. Georgia may be—do you hear? I demand it and you must obey me, as you always have (?)I have just found out that Mother hadn't told you about this silly mumps business and now if I stop and write this all over again, I'll never get it off. You see, she didn't want you to be worrying about getting it yourself while you were visiting; tho' of course there's no possibility of that happening, for I hadn't even begun to have the barest symptoms of it when you left. Still there wasn't any reason to tell you about it and I only blurted it out that way at the beginning because I wanted you to know that I did have a reason for not writing till so late. Then besides you see, I haven't another thing to talk about because absolutely nothing else has happened to me. If I filled a letter with discussions in literature and philosophy and didn't give you any reason why I chose that instead of the latest news and gossip, you'd think I was crazy—now wouldn't you? And I would have had to do that if I couldn't mention my sad affliction.
But the doctor says, you couldn't possibly have caught it and by the time you get back I'll be alright so you're safe, thank goodness.
But I can give you a little news—1. Princeton has won all baseball games since you left, not any very important ones, until yesterday when they did play an important one (Penn.) and got beaten, 3 to 2. Wasn't that disgraceful? They say we had the game in our hands and then our pitcher went to pieces in the ninth inning.2. They had the Princetonian banquet and father made a most wonderful speech and got a tremendous ovation both before and after it. And Henry v.
D. was received almost with coolness and made a few very commonplace remarks. But, Mother's told you that item, I reckon.3. I'm going to the Charter club dance (hang it!) with Robert Reed's brother—isn't he the angel martyr! and to the Harvard game with F. and to the next Penn. game with S. it sounds rather popular but—you know better.4. Marg is now downstairs entertaining, or rather being entertained by—Mr. F.J. Brown and a friend. There are sounds of revelry floating up. 5. Mary White left some time ago, and Chivis (?) Smythe took quite a fancy to her.And that's all the “scandal” I can rake up—so will now have to close this foolish scribble. Hope you have survived it.Good-bye my own sweet heart. Don't stay away too long, for I just can't spare you.
I love you more every minute and want to see you againLove from the whole family to our Jetty