Dear Phyllis,
I am sure you are the first girl I have ever loved. My mother said that you are brilliant and my dad has a mind to disinherit me if I don’t find a wife soon. He said that my family is too good to end with me.
I remember the first time I saw you. Your dad’s previous bank—I am told the new one is doing much better—had just closed down and my dad met your dad, who is also a banker, as you most likely know. (My dad owns the building now, you understand.) From what my dad said, your dad has inherited a large bit of property from your granddad (your dad’s dad) which was his dad’s before him. It seemed he wanted to keep it in the family. My own dear dad did a little bit of research and discovered that that trek of land was now worth close to $300,000. That is a little more than loose change in my dad’s book. He told me that I loved you—I am inclined to believe him as I haven’t reason enough not to.
With such things in mind and the impending doom of disinheritance, which I simply cannot afford at this time, I have decided to ask you to come with me to the ball next Saturday. I promise that we will have a jolly time. Though I have never been there myself, a friend of mine—his name is Alfred something or other. I have only known him for two weeks and we met at the pub two blocks down from your house. I spend a good deal of my time there—told me to expect nothing short of hours of pleasant company in the presence of the finest ladies this side of the Appalachian Mountains.
Perhaps afterwards, we might go to the bridge. You know the one that spans the creek. It is commonly called Lovers’ Lane by the more romantically natured folk around. But as you probably are not interested in romance, I figured that we could just pop over to the bridge, I could propose, and we could scurry off to settle accounts with the preacher and our parents.
My dad thought we might elope. He says it’s cheaper that way and that it would save your parents, my parents, and ourselves a ton of money and perhaps a headache or two. I am willing to do whatever it takes to save me us any extra bother.
By the way, I should say before we get too involved with this, that I do make about $936.03 a month. This may not surprise you since, if I don’t say so myself no one will, I am rather bright and expect to rise in the company. My dad thinks so too. As he is the president of the company, I am in no position to argue.
From my desk at my work to yours,
Charlie T. Rothfeather.
P.S. I hope you don’t like vegemite. I had the horrid stuff once when an Australian gave it to me as a gift. I took one bite and almost vomited. After putting the stuff on several mouse traps, I have, however, discovered that rodents admire the stuff greatly.
