Monday 8/23/15

10.20 PM

My dear, dear girl,

I received your telegram. All OK and I was in a receptive mood and it certainly was gladly received. I miss you so much. Isn't it queer? As I sit here at my stand ( probably at his teller's stand in the bank ) I can look out my window and see the light burning in your room. Yet it holds for me no fascination because my Ora is not there.

I did miss you so much yesterday for I had made up my mind what a nice time I would have riding down the line ( on the train ) with you and then when I saw those parties get on it made me heartsick from the disappointment.

I know that you must be tired from loss of sleep and travel, but I do hope you will have no sickness or other indispositions and that you will have just the nicest kind of a time. I hope that Mrs. Blair ( Ethyl Blair, Ora's sister ) will be able to enjoy it with you. She impresses me of being a jolly-spirited little woman if she is well and feeling good and you two should have a fine time. Gee, I wish that I might have the pleasure of your dear sweet self for a few evenings in Oklahoma City. I would love to go to some of the shows once more.

I spent a tiresome day in Oklahoma City ( ? ) yesterday. Lewis ( his brother ) came down in a few minutes after the train left and we taken dinner at the Central and then went down to his room and stayed until after 4:00. Then we went down to ( Beaths ) and he showed me some of his work and fixed a pair of eyeglasses for Mr. J. E. Young so I could bring them out with me.

By the time he completed them it was time for the train, so we started for it and found that it was 40 minutes late, so he had me take supper with him.

When I came out yesterday evening, the folks had been out for a car ride. Little Sam ( probably Sam Perry, Ora's son from her first marriage ) seemed to be enjoying himself.

I saw him this afternoon. Buriel ( Burrell Million ) brought the car out and had taken up a sack of sugar and Sam brought out his wagon and hauled it around to the back door for him.

The carnival bunch are going out tomorrow and Burrell said tonight that he expected that he would have to go along with the car. He was wishing that it would rain tonight so he would have an excuse to get out of going. But it is a beautiful moonlight at present writing.

I have started reading a book – “When Knighthood Was in Flower” – and it is very interesting reading. It is Lewis' book, given to him by a drummer ( early term for a salesman ) friend and I have just noticed on the flyleaf of the book a statement which it appears that his friend has written to him and it is a nice thought and well-worded. I will give it to you as it is written: “To Mr. H.L.Z. from J. Hugh Campbell – Although there is an attraction in the old times as are portrayed herein, we should be thankful that they are history. As things are here in America every true American father is a king. Each American mother is a queen and their children are princes and princesses.

All are noble than live nobly. Let's play the game at our best.”

I like the ideals which the thought suggests; namely all which appeals to me is that every man and the one woman have inherited an inalienable right to a principality. ( That is ) a home wherein the man is king of the woman's heart ( and ) can enshrine her as queen of his own and pay to her all the homage that any knight of old could ever offer; namely his love, his thoughts, his ideals, his aspirations. And from his queen he could receive the inspiration that is needed and has always been needed by man – to make of himself the very best that his abilities will allow.

My dear, it is indeed hard to be somebody, to be a success when you must fight continually on your own nerve. There are times when you become so tired, when your vitality seems completely exhausted. Then is when we men need the invigorating influence of the woman we love, the inspiration which she can give if she is brave and loyal. O dear, the greatest tribute to my mind that a woman can pay the man she loves is to convince him that she believes in him. And when dark clouds threaten, don't turn from him and make light of his weakness. It is then they need you – believe in him. It is an invigorating stimulant that he needs.

I know, my dear – you know that I know. O that I could have always had the good, pure influences that radiate from your dear self. That I might have it in the future is my dearest wish. Dearie, the most beautiful thought, the most beautiful being in all God's handicraft is a sincere, pure, noble woman. The influences which a pure, noble woman throws out to those with whom she comes in contact with can never be appreciated by anyone outside the individual receiving it – that is fully.

To you, my angel of mercy, my own harbor of love, I owe so much. I hope someday to show to you what it is possible for a man to do that has such a dear, inexhaustible fountain of inspiration to draw from, who has the pleasure of one who is urging him on to higher things – moral, mental and physical.

My dear, there comes to me often the thought of how much I owe to you and then I think of the possibility of what my love for you might cause you. I hope that it will never cause you to suffer. O, if it were possible for those close to you to understand it all; to understand how you have been to me. If they knew each step of my life, and the sorrow and disappointment that have been mine. How irresistible has been the power that drew our lives together, but they would not understand. Only you and me, my darling, can appreciate the facts or the drama in which we are actors. Sometime I hope I may exemplify the sincerity of actions; that I may bring to you happiness in return for your dear services to me.

From the brink of despair you snatched me. From me you lifted the load of despondency. You destroyed the growing conviction that indeed my life was a failure, and when as it were, I had started to raise the flag of surrender. When I was ready to retreat, you came to my rescue with reinforcement and encouragement. You made me believe in myself. You made me renew the struggle of manhood. My God, is it any wonder I love you?

Dear, it seems that you are with me as I write. Do you know that I think I could just keep writing and writing because it seems I am just talking to you. O how I wish I could have you all to myself for a time so I could talk and talk. But dearie, I will stop right here. Answer as you did the telegram. It is safe. I will look and long for it; you cannot know how much.

With an ocean of love, I am

Your Boy