Page 1 Feb. 12, 1909 Dear Bertie: More rain all day today. This afternoon I attended a big Lincoln Centennial celebration at the Armory here, and enclose you a program and one of the badges. The latter may be interesting on the next centennial occasion. The meeting was largely attended. I saw by a Spokane paper that there would be big doings at Spokane. I did not see or hear of any parade here. Too wet I reckon. I expect to leave here Sunday for Astoria, and hope to have another of your dear letters— Page 2 —upon arrival there. I can not tell you on paper how much I enjoy these nice letters you have sent me the last few days. But when I get home I will try very hard to tell you, and some other things too. I do hope this may find you still improving, and the little ones. I am quite as well as usual but terribly lonely — yet in the midst of a quarter of a million people, and stopping at one of the finest hotels in the Northwest — but this isn’t home, and there is no place on earth that is but the one place that holds my dearest treasures — you and the little ones. Page 3 I was quite surprised to see some talks in the Spokesman-Review along prohibition lines for Spokane. I do hope the old town may go dry. It seems as tho Sunday has shaken to the foundation the old town. I am pleased to see the local option law going into effect. That may help some. I can hardly believe that I am the same “bashful barefoot boy” (?) who used to have such delightful Friday evenings with his best girl way back in “Virginy,” when I size up my surroundings, as I am writing this letter, this Friday night in— Page 4 —a hotel room six floors up, and hundreds of miles from “that old sweetheart,” and thousands of miles away from the scenes of some of the dearest, sweetest moments of my life. But when I hear the noises of a great city all around me, I am convinced that such is the case. And here I am alone, with memories of the dear old times coming to me on this another Friday night. But there may be other and as dear ones yet in store for us, but there never can be any just quite as the old ones were. The ecstasy of some of those old time “spoonings” on those old Friday nights is as fresh— Page 5 —in my memory as the perfume of a fresh flower. Can we ever forget the dear old time Friday nights? I hope not. But I hope to see your dear face before long and will forget for a brief season the old times in the enjoyment of the present. With my dearest love to you, seasoned with the old memories and a good night kiss for you and the little ones, Lovingly your husband, Geo. A. D.