Original Letter

[this is scrawled across the top left corner of the page:]

re the papers – they’ll probably keep  Ross



                        22nd Dec–1917


My Own Dearest:–

Say, Red, this is one great day for our people, three good old letters – three! I just knew this morning something good was going to happen to me to-day for I wakened laughing this morning (at what – I don’t know – probably some dream that didn’t register and I’ve been gay as blazes all day. And when the mail came my gaiety was far more than justified. Right now I’m so hilarious that I can’t sit still or think or anything properly. You do love me a lot, don’t you, Baby. And she did write “I love you” on the corner of the [...]


[in the top right corner of p. 2 here, Ross has scrawled:]

and I love you!


[...] letter and do you know I just gulped when I saw that “I love you” up there in its odd little place – it looked so grand and convincing. [Here there is a line connecting to the “and I love you!” in the top right corner of this page.] Well I guess I’m not so lucky, eh? You are a great big glorious sweetheart and I thank God for you fifty hundred thousand times a day and then some. And she does write me beautiful letters and she loves me me. Well, I give it up. You great, Maidie, thats all.

Its cold as seventy four cats to-day but I don’t care. We’ve got a sort of a fire going and every time we get cold we flash out and warm up banking the place with dirt. The old pick and shovel is a great little heater. There are lots of good jokes and funny remarks and everybody seems in good spirits – lots of grousing, of course, but good humoured grousing. There’s only one fly in my ointment and its so big that the ointment is a negligible quantity and thats this. I don’t want to be here at all. I want to be with you, My Own Angel whom I adore. Why when I think of the way I love you and want to go to you, well if the force of it could be contained it would be a driving power big enough to shoot me clean down to your farm – Bingo – would you be at the door to stop me or say “ici” or something else I might be shot right past.

Poor old Carrie I honestly just must write her one day. I have intended to millions of times but I forget or delay doing it for another week or month or so. And that is one thing you must really take me severely to task about the next time we are together that ingrowing chronic inability of mine to keep up even a scattering kind of a correspondence with my kin. You will, won’t you? Good, thanks, Baby. To-morrow I’m going to write you my Christmas letter – it will probably reach you about January 5th at the rate letters are getting through. Baby, will you give me a little kiss and tell me that you love me up in the corner. I adore you Angel.

            Your own Ross