Well, Hank, the world does move, as has been said before, and there is
lots of times when a feller ain’t got no pen in hand; so them is likely
a few of the reasons why you probably ain’t wrote to me for so long, eh?
Nobody ever got eye-paralysis from getting too many letters from you,
Hank, but you ain’t much of a writer anyway, so I beg your pardon.
Education is a great thing, and I’m getting more every day. You never
had the advantages which have overcome me, but it’s all in a lifetime,
and we can’t all be favored with things which are well and hearty.
Well, Hank, I’ve got a son and heir, and he’s a humdinger. Must be about
one month of age now, and we’re both doing fine. Emmeline sure handed me
some son, Hank, but I wish he had been born without the contaminating
atmosphere of them darned Galesburgs. He’s got my mouth and nose, and
his eyes look just like mine do when I’m thinking up something to
startle folks with.
Hank, I don’t want you to hold it against me, but I wanted to name him
after you. I said, “Hank is a good name,” and my uncle by marriage
speaks up like this: “For what? For this baby?”