February 22, 1924, Austin to Northhampton, Massachusetts

Dearest old Queen,

Your last letter was a humdinger, what there was of it, and after reading over about ten times I've decided that I've seen just about 1/10 as much of your writing as I'd like to -- that's, for the time being. I'm immeasurably indebted for your picture, and expect some more anxiously. Your looking nice, and big and fat, dear, (this all complimentary), so I guess you must be feeling good.

Of course I'm sorry that your beautiful valentine was wasted on Ruth; but if you tell me a lot that you love me a lot in a lot of long letters, why I'll be more than appeased. Is that my ring on your finger (in the picture)? You might try putting it on the one (finger) next to it just to see how a prettier one would feel.

Sam and May Belle have got an apartment and settled down to married life. Old Mrs. Brownlee is heart broken. I guess we'd better not run off when we get our knot tied.

Old Texas has won twelve games in basketball and lost none – howdyelike that, dear? Better come down here and go to a good school.

If perchance my manuscript is slightly less legible than usual, I crave pardon and lay the blame to my numerous wounds.

I have one half- dozen mat burns situated on various parts of my body. All the wrestling class had to go in the intramural after having ["been afflicted" crossed out] had the aforesaid wounds inflicted upon me, and being wallowed around in general, I threw my man. I lost the decision to my second match, so I guess I'll not receive any further laceration.

Dearest, your last letter wasn't as long as mine. Don't fudge on me. If my letters bore you, why say so and I'll quit writing them, But I wish you would keep on writing to me.

By the way, this is leap-year, I'll be waiting for you to ask me for a date, Sweetheart.

Love, [underlined five times]

Henry.