Mon. night June 29
Dearest:
I am awfully tired tonight and possibly my handwriting shows it. Yes, my job is good until tomorrow at noon, and then I will be free until the next time. I am sure glad that it didn’t last longer for I am sure that I would not have been able to have stood the strain.
When I get through I will be able to write some long letters and incidentally will be able to take some pains with them.
I got through with the book I had today at twelve o’clock and this afternoon I helped Hartwell take some freak pictures. One picture is of Hartwell chasing himself around a tree and the other is of him kicking himself. Tomorrow we are going to take a picture of him in a whisky bottle.
Sweetheart I want you to go to Michigan and enjoy yourself, but you don’t know how I miss you. Last night I spent at the park and thought of where I had spent my previous Sunday evenings. Sweetheart I don’t know but things don’t seem the same. You will be gone all summer and I will have no one to see. (I don’t want to see anyone else.) I hate to think of it.
Well, my darling, take good care of yourself and remember that if you write and ask me not to forget you it is needless for I am sure that I think of you more than you of me.
“Lives of great men all remind you [should be "us"]
As o’er their leaves we turn [As their pages o'er we turn]
Never parting leave behind us [that we're apt to leave behind us;]
Letters that we ought to burn”[Anonymous]
Remember me often.
Lovingly yours,
Verne [I'm glad that she didn't burn them.]
Postmark: June 30, 1914
From: 3730 Travis Ave., Dallas
To: Sweetwater, TX c/o N.M. Rogers.
Verne is 20. Dorothy is 19.