W. C. Hancock, Prop
Battle Mountain, Nevada
Miss Allene S. Kelley,
This is your birthday-twenty three!! It finds me a little nearer you dear, as you must have already guessed, but not near "enuff."
We were unable to get thru' with the auto so left it in the garage at Carlin and came down on the train last night. The snow was piled up so deep near the summit,~well, it was between two and three feet.
P.O. was closed when we arrived~ 1:20 A. M.~ but the first thing when I got up I called and there was your letter,~ the one you wrote Friday and sent to Elko. Whoa! You started it Thursday and was [sic] interrupted. Well anyhow, dear, you may tell your aunt and grandmother it pleases me to accept their love and that I'm going to do the best I can to make a fair exchange by sending them mine,~with your permission, of course.
And why in the name of goodness must you tantalize me by telling me all those things,~your beautiful places, lovely climate, parties, dinners, dances, etc.-when you know it's not out of choice that I'm so many miles away? You know if I had my way dear, I'd be in Modesto right this very minute, even if I have on an old pair of rusty looking corduroys and a pair of old tan shoes all cut into shreds to relieve pressure on corns. Haven't had a shave either for two days and altogether I look quite like Weary Willie. If I had a tin can on my head I'd have the original Happy Hooligan backed clear off the board. Out here it doesn't make so very much difference how one dresses and all days are alike~this is Sunday~see how careless I am. If I was home (in California) I'd be all dressed up like a broken arm. Somebody down stairs is playing the piano-a rag-and my feet are itchy~come on dear let's dance ~Whoa!~this is Sunday. They do recognize the Sabbath to a certain extent out here.
Always with love dear I will close for now~~not that I want to dance.