Commerce, Okla. August 29, 1916
Dear Bess:
Your letter came yesterday and I was sure pleased to get it. It seems like ten years since I was at Independence. Mr. Hughes is evidently paying me back for the three weeks I spent at home. I wish I'd stayed there permanently and let the whole shebang go to grass then. We are still getting some good lead and could make money if His Majesty would only let the machinery alone. One of the boilers went down yesterday and will cost about a hundred dollars good money to fix. It not only costs to fix but knocks us out of two days' run, which is a dead loss. We made two tons of lead and two of jack on Monday and would have done as well today.
Your dog is growing right along and I hope to have him at home very soon. If I can only succeed in getting Hughes down here, I'll most certainly even up with him. I shall probably have war with the Throop kids when I go take that greyhound away from here. They think he is the finest thing ever. He is as ugly as a bulldog. If he ever grows to his feet, he can outrun a locomotive or Locomobile either. He is very thin now but I'll have him fattened up before I take him home. Greyhounds are supposed to be thin though, and he may be only running true to type, because I am certain he gets enough to eat.
I can't write you a very good letter this time. They are always poor but this one will be worse than usual because I've got the dumps and am homesick and can't think well – if I ever do. This may be great for experience but it's mighty hard on my feelings. I'd not care if the mine would only pan. But if it doesn't, I'll simply have to suffer from a grand chorus of "I told you so." That wouldn't bother me so very badly if I'd only not gone and lost so much money. I'd sure have been right if I'd stayed at home and worked the farm this time. But how did I know Uncle Harry wouldn't live twenty years? And that he'd lease us what he had when he did die. I'd done given up hope in that direction. The unexpected happened and now I'm all balled up and have gotten Mamma in the same fix. I am going to find a way out though if it takes the hide off both my hands to do it. The worst is surely here now and things will surely brighten up directly. I must quit this, it's not nice to tell your troubles, is it? It makes a person feel good though if he can get a little sympathy, and I'm sure I'll get it. I am going to come home for the Labor Day picnic if the whole thing blows up here.
I do hope your mother is well by this time. I am sorry that we didn't have a picnic and some cookies for the fair, too. Maybe we can do better next time. Please send me another letter quickly.
Most sincerely, Harry