6/14/39
Darling:
You are a bad little girl and I should spank you. I just hope to heaven that the reason you haven’t written is not because you didn’t get home ok. If anything had happened, though, I feel certain that you would have wired so I shall try not to worry.
I want so badly to talk to you for such a long time and about so many things.
Darling, this college business is going to have to go through. And another thing, although it sounds like I am giving up, I feel that I shall have to take things a little easy in the next couple of years. I can’t permit myself to worry as much as I have, and if I can convince myself that I can afford to not be in a hurry, it will be for the best. But let’s let that slide until I see you.
I played ball again last night and came through with almost no injuries. I didn’t get in the game until the seventh inning, and it gripes me. I am equally as good as any of the catchers on the team, most of the outfielders, and the bulk of the infielders. If this is not enough, although the manager has no record of it, I have about the highest batting average of anyone on the team. Of course, I never do anything spectacular, but I get on base most of the time. Last night, I was up twice, bunted for a single the first time, and was walked the last time. There is one feature of the east that I am beginning to dislike. Out there, and this is not restricted to baseball, when a tough job comes along, they give it to some young man and say “go to it.” Out here, they look at the young man and say, “sorry, ‘boy’, but you’re too young to handle it.” People from New York and other large eastern cities are always talking about what a fast pace they keep up. Between a couple of us, Toots, they are slow pokes compared to the way things are handled in Chicago. They just make more fuss about it out here.
For some unknown reason I am blue and tired tonight and you feel very very far away from me. Perhaps after a letter from you I shall feel better.
Most of my scouting comes to naught, as they don’t have meetings during the summer. A bunch of sissies, I calls ‘em.
Lots of love little precious, your husband, Cy.