Well, old pal, I have a Missouri wife now so S——d seems to be a pretty good place after all. She is a girl I met in church and is about the size and looks about like Ruth W——. Some girl I will say. We have been to a couple of parties and to a couple of shows in two weeks beside being at her place all day last Sunday. Sunday we are going to have a picnic and take a few pictures, and Monday night a large masquerade party is on and we are going to it also. So you see I stop her right off and she don’t object either, I don’t believe.
I wrote W—— a letter on the 3rd of this month and as yet I have not received a letter. I guess he wanted to have a good time while his “heaven” lasts, and I don’t blame him either. I believe he is a little worried over his mission and rather hates to go, but I believe he will be alright.
I am getting along fine here. I order all the shoes here so I am the shoe desk manager. The boss gives me all the shoe mail, and I just order what I want and leave the rest. It is quite a large job, but our store is not quite as large as Salt Lake’s, but the shoe department could keep a regular man busy. So you see I am doing fine. To-morrow is pay-day and I also get a nice raise, so I have no kick except to darn my sox. They are the greatest worry I have had.
Well, old pal, I gave this letter and your last one pretty good service considering all the work we have now that the winter business is just opening up. Here it is after 12.30 again, so I will go to bed and get up again at 6 a. m. Try to be good, old pal, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t—Your old pal,
Ed.
You cannot learn much of the ways of the Mormons by asking them, but when one of them leaves a whole packet of correspondence behind him in a hotel he “sure is” giving things away.
We walked up to the Temple at three in the afternoon, the designated time when visitors are shown round, and punctually at that hour the doors were opened and the curious were admitted.
“Wherever we locates we builds temples,” said the guide, a curious old fellow, so illiterate that he strewed the temple floor with his aitches, an Englishman from the provinces, squat, confidential, insinuating. “This is the eighth Mormon Temple,” said he. “The ninth is now rising in Phœnix, Arizona.”
The visitors were mostly farm-women, and Vachel and I looked like a couple of tramps in their midst. Our clothes hung on us; we held in our hands a couple of the most weather-beaten of old hats. I was the “big un” and Vachel was the “little un.” We looked to have a little less intelligence than gopher-rats.