November 28, 1916 - Take along a bag containing enough duds until Sunday night; for my collars wont fit you.

Here is a letter from the next day which is fairly long. I guess he had a lot to say to his sweet Helen.

November 28,1916.
My dear;

That letter of yours sounded simply wonderful. What a change one day can make. I was sure that the strange girl I saw on Sunday who looked somewhat like you and dressed the same, though living in your house and parading around under your colors really wasn't you at all, and that she would beat it very soon.

What on earth did you do to her? I hate to tell you what I felt like doing. And what a joke on me, to think that you had caught cold, when, as you now say your eyes were filled with tears and you were ready to explode any minute. What about? What were those trifles that you generally smile at, that looked so tragic Sunday? Better not say anything about it, unless you want to.
I can expect a pretty good laugh tomorrow when I get your letter commenting on my two of yesterday. I believe I'd like to see them again. Maybe I'd say something a little different. But then Charles Wesley said once that he never felt so badly or blue in his life but that it passed off in half an hour, and that was why he was so successful from every standpoint. I guess our friend Elbert Hubbard said the same thing, more epigrammatically.

That engagement that Mr. Kneen made for me for Wednesday night is positive. There is no way out. Business of importance will be transacted, plans for the new officers recently elected to take over the reins of government in a few weeks in a smooth manner, without any delays or interruptions, will be discussed, so as to have everything in readiness, and the new ship launched without any hitches, if possible.

As Borough Counsel, I have been requested to appear at the meeting, to give them the benefit of my services; and I have stated to-day(in response to a letter and a phone call)that I would be there. Isn't it too bad that such things cannot be seen a week ahead, but then, you remember that play that said something about the best laid plans of mice and men.

That gets us down to brass tacks. We are to be in Stam­ford Thursday; and I believe that the best train for you to take would be the 12:03 noon train out of Grand Central for Stamford arriving there at l2:55. I'll see you at the depot in Stamford.

The folks expect to leave here about the same time you leave New York, and will undoubtedly call at the station for you. Be careful that you take the train that makes a stop at Stamford for there is one just a minute or two ahead of it that runs clear through to New Haven without a stop. And the train I mentioned leaves Grand Central but does not stop at 125th Street. Note that.

This typewriter is all out of kilter. The letters fall anywhere they want, and while the others are being used, I take a whack at this, to write at least a legible if not an intelligent letter. You will thus understand that this machine rather than the writer is a little off its trolley.
Of course, you will take along a bag containing enough duds until Sunday night; for my collars wont fit you. And while I am writing the folks can leave on Sunday morning (that includes Florence, Lillian-ha ha how that sounds- and Abe) either 10:03 or 10:50, the former arriving about 11:30 the latter about 12:18. We can talk it over later and write them Friday.

I'll be waiting for you at the Stamford station Thursday morning at 12:55 or whenever that train is due to arrive. I would like to go down to New York to get you; but the morning trains are so far apart that it would mean leaving very early, and having little time other than to get to your house and start back; and remembering that I have a long session on for Wednesday night, you will agree that this does not seen to be practical.

It’s easy to see that when we get to Shelton we wont be very lonesome, according to the dates you are making. In fact I have received several invitations from my friends to the effect that they thought it would be a good stunt for them to spend a week or so maybe during the summer in the country with us; but I don't bite that easy. But with Florence, Lillie, mother, in fact any of the folks,we'11 be sore if they don't come, wont we? Good for them; but remember, tell your father, that he has a. few friends here who are anxious to see him perform. He'll have all the comforts of home, and then some, for we'll let him play pinochle, if he likes till we'll all take our wee deoch and doris. How about it?

I really feel so good since that letter of your arrived, that I can hardly write; I feel so joyful.

Last night reading **White Hyacinths I found a paragraph where the "marster" as Cousin Clara might have called him, said that the thing that made him love Alice so devotedly more than any other thing was the fact that he never could tell what she would do next, or how she would think of the next problem, yet he was invariably certain that the way she would act or think would be a sweet, gracious, and noble one, and would inspire him to do likewise. Their quarrels, he said, were paper mache, and the only remembrance he has of any is the fact that they had none that lasted over
a few minutes, and then concerning a *piffle. To their life, he alluded, no dark clouds ever cast their shadows, the sun was always in the ascendant.

Remember that this is pretty good philosophy to bear in mind.

And we are .going to be able to say just a little more than that, for we'll profit by their example, and cut out even the *piffles. We are here for so short a time, no matter how long it may seem in actual years, and have so much to do for ourselves and others, that it is a pity to waste time thinking of trifles, and pouting over an empty nothing, without a local habitation or a name-as Willie said some four hundred years ago, more or less.

In the olden days the priest raised his hands and the sun stood still in his course. When he lowered them it sank. So he had men hold up his hands when he got tired. That's a good picture. Why can't we figuratively have our hands lifted to better things thereby keeping the brilliant sunshine pour into our lives, as you so beauti­fully described it in your letter today?

I think this a good place to stop. Why? Because Elbert said "the best place to stop talking is just before you tell all you know".

Your mother's finger is well on its way to recovery, and so is your dad's jaw, I hope.
I'm going out to see Barnet and the kiddies tonight for a few minutes, after which I have a Bnai Brith meeting.

With lots of love, from Joe

*piffle means nonsense as idle talk or nonsensical

** White Hyacinths was a book written by Elbert Hubbard in 1907

The next letter is December 1