Addr: Miss Marjorie Hayne
Febr. 8, 1941*
’Twas just as I thought, I was unable to get away to call you today, and I’m stuck here for tonite, so I thought I’d drop you a line. Somehow I want to communicate with you, and inasmuch as I can neither see you nor phone you, a note will have to do. I have a lot to say to you, but not being what you’d call proficient in the art of letter-writing, most of it will have to wait until I see you again.
Speaking for myself, I really had one grand time last night. Of course, all of the boys who went had a lot of fun, but they couldn’t have had as much as I, because they didn’t stay as close to you, so they couldn’t have such an enjoyable evening as a certain fellow named Hopkins.
I know I told you this last night, but it can stand repeating, because I know the words I spoke were inadequate to describe how nice you looked. The most beautiful girl present, and wearing the prettiest clothes. That is a hard combination to beat. There is no doubt in my mind that you’re the only person who could wear that dress and make it as beautiful as it looked on you. On any other girl, it would be a pretty dress, but on you, — well, it’s a creation.
After you left last night, I found that I was a kleptomaniac, because your little blue handkerchief was still in my pocket. And such a beautiful fragrance it carries! Please, little lady, what is your brand of perfume? Whatever it is, I certainly like it. What’s the sense of beating around the bush; I like everything about you, believe me. Jim Hopkins, I’ll have you know, considers himself the luckiest person alive just on account of the fact that he has had the pleasure of meeting you and spending an evening in your company.
I’ve been thinking that perhaps you may believe that I’ve overstepped the bounds of propriety already by expressing my opinions of you, but hope that if such is the case, you’ll forgive.
I hope to be able to see you often, but you and Uncle Sam have a lot more to say about it than I. Even though he may see fit to allow me to be away from the fairgrounds, our being together depends a lot on you.
Guess I’d better close now, as I have some work that needs doing, and you’re probably bored stiff, providing you’ve read this far. So, hoping that both you and my uncle will see fit to give me a break, I’ll say
Sgt. James R. Hopkins
Hq. Troop, 115th Cavalry
*Editor’s Note: It’s actually 1942 at this point. I guess Jim still isn’t yet accustomed to writing the new year.