I am going to try and send you a letter anyway this week. Sunday was Papa's worse day. He very nearly got so weak he could hardly talk. Today he is better but he hasn't eaten anything since Saturday morning except a little eggnog. I am very much afraid he isn't going to last so very much longer. I tried to talk to you over the phone today but you were not at home. Our phone here isn't working so very well today. Brownie tried to talk to his sister at Independence tonight but could not get a connection. I couldn't talk very much to you anyway because Papa insists on having the door from his room into the hall open so he can hear what is said. So I didn't try to call you from here this evening, although I told George I would.
I have been very busy today trying to be in several places at once. I have been to Belton and Kansas City and have bought 100 bushels of wheat in one place and 150 at Dodson, and a new drill down in the west bottom, besides getting a tire fixed and purchasing a quart of whiskey! You know, I ran over a piece of glass with my brand-new hind tire and cut a hole an inch long right through to the tube. It was sure a piece of very bad luck. The tire had only been about fifty miles. It is as good as ever now though.
I have also sent a man down to Vivian's to bring me up four mules of his to work. I am going to run two drills, two plows, and a harrow and roller the rest of this week and next week also. It is absolutely necessary to make things hum to get in two hundred acres of wheat. I have been so busy hauling Papa back and forth to K.C. that things are ‘way behind here. He says he's not going in anymore but that he's going to cure himself. If anyone asks him how he's feeling, he always says fine, even if he can't raise up his head. We can't put any faith in what he says about himself but have to watch him all the time. He was not able to get up today until about three o'clock and then he could only sit up about an hour at a time, yet he insisted that he was able to go see some cattle and wanted me to take him to help buy the wheat. He didn't get out of the house though.
Yesterday was the longest day I ever saw. There was absolutely nothing to do only sit around and pretend that there was nothing to worry about, and then of course when evening came I had to stay at home. Mary was down at Aileen's and I phoned her to come home on the K.C.S. at three o'clock. She was expecting me to come by and take her to Independence and then bring her home with me that evening. I was hoping that Papa would be well enough by seven o'clock for me to leave but he was still very weak, and Mamma thought I ought to stay at home. These Sundays that I don't get over to Independence are almighty dull Sundays, I can tell you. It seems as if I've seen very little of you in the last month but it hasn't been because I didn't want to, you can be very sure of that. I am hoping Papa will get well soon and then perhaps I can have better luck. I am really very much afraid he won't live a month. It's a road we all have to travel, though we are never ready to let those we love depart if we can help it.
I shall look for a letter this week sure, and if Papa gets better so I can leave at night I'll be over.
The Masons are having a Grand Lodge in K.C. and I'm supposed to attend night and day, but I'm not going at all. It is the first one I've missed for a good while. The rest have been in St. Louis. This one is close at home and I can't go.
I have done Uncle Harry a mean trick. He's been sitting around in here waiting for me to go to bed so he could tap that quart I spoke of awhile ago. I outsat him. He gave up just now and went to bed without his nightcap. I guess he'll make up the difference on an eye opener in the morning. He says he's going to stay with us. I hope he does. I hope you'll consider this worth an answer anyway.
Most sincerely, Harry