Robin — November 4, 1908

November 4, 1908

Kelowna, B. C.

My dearest Kathleen,

I thought the letter [i. e. Kathleen–October 20, 1908] that came today would contain the answer to my question, asked so long ago.  You little dear, I was sure you had, though it seemed so extraordinary that I should find out like that, that I wanted to be convinced.  If that was silly, may you never learn wisdom.  

Thank you, but I am afraid I should have no use for a small tin of glass-cleaning stuff for my photograph glasses.  They are all clean.  One I remember (shall I ever forget?) did have some marks on it, but I used a method of my own for their removal.  The means employed are not put up in a tin either.  They are bottled up and if kept so bottled for more than a year are apt to explode and do something desperate.  Elderly people suppose that this bottling process tends to make them go flat and come to nothing if persisted in; but we know that if the right kind are bottled up, they never get flat; and we also know that nobody can keep the right kind bottled up very long.  The bottles won’t stand it.  I think I had better change the subject.  If you read my metaphor aright you will see that I have just likened you to a bottle, which is hardly complimentary.

I rather envy you going to the theatres, and I should most awfully like to take you to some myself.  Have you found out “What Every Woman Knows” yet?  I haven’t the least idea myself.  That sounds rather rude too, but it seems that I can’t help making unfortunate remarks tonight.

I went to a small dance last Thursday.  “Please come and bring a cake or something with you and don’t wear evening clothes.”  The man who gave the dance had just built a small house and it was all finished except there were no partitions between the rooms, so we had the whole ground floor to dance in, except for a fireplace in solitary grandeur in the middle of the floor.  A gramophone provided the music and I danced with unabated energy the whole time.  

Last Saturday we had a paper chase which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I had been taking a certain amount of trouble with my horse so that he went as if he enjoyed it and not as if every step was his last, which is the way most horses go when they are living on grass and then expected to gallop for half an hour.  I got along finely nearly all the way and Mallam and I were leading by miles when we lost the trail in a large clearing in the woods and scattered to find it, which he did; and when I got back to the right place I had the pleasure of seeing the whole field nick in ahead of me while I waited behind at the one jumpable place in the fence.  You have doubtless had that happen out hunting and can sympathise with my feelings.  They are great fun paperchases though, and there is another next Saturday.

On Sunday I played football, more for an experiment than anything else, as I had never played Association before.  I got the only goal of the match, which was pure luck as I knew nothing about the game nor where I had to stand or what to do.  I have been very stiff for the last three days in consequence.

Tomorrow night I am going to attend a bonfire in the woods given by the same outfit that gave the party where the lamp was upset.  I am not looking forward to it at all but can’t get out of it.

I wrote for my hunting maps this evening.  I have an idea they will be rather interesting this winter, as I am sure to hear about the best runs.

I am afraid this is only a short letter but it’s getting late and I’m awfully tired.  

I’m just longing to see you again, Kathleen, you don’t know how much.

Yours as always,



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