Wednesday, 3 PM
Dearest Ava Helen:
My train leaves in a little more than an hour from now, and I am all excited about coming to you. I'm all in a sweat, as a matter of fact; but this may be due to the temperature of over 90°, combined with high humidity. This morning I took off all my clothes before packing my trunk, and dripped perspiration too. I filled the trunk full - it is very heavy - and my bag is stuffed too. Yesterday was the hottest May 25th they had ever recorded.
Last night I went with Joe Boyce & the Brodes to the Harrisons for a very nice dinner, followed by singing from Gilbert & Sullivan. Even I sang a little with the others. At 10
15
Helen called & asked me to lunch, & when over the phone I said "I'll come over at twelve, Helen", everyone laughed, & later said "Isn't it time you started now - you mustn't be late". I hadn't seen Helen since the wedding. I had lunch with her & John & took her some flowers, also sending some to Mrs Conant. John & Helen are going to Europe, third class on the Bremen, round trip $130 from Boston (i.e. fare to New York included 0). Helen is worried about the new PhD's who haven't jobs.
Mrs [sic] Harrison seemed nice. She talked some about lack of money, it is true.
The Boyce's mother has moved here to live with him. They have been living mainly on money given them by his uncle, a steel man in Pittsburgh, who, however, has now lost most of his money; so I'm afraid Joe will not get married unless he finds a rich girl.
A nice letter - your last - arrived this morning. I was glad to get it. ... I adore you, little darling wife, and I'm very lonesome for you, and glad that soon I'll be on the way home. You are such a lovely girl, and such a good companion for this paddy. I adore you, you darling.
Your own
Linus