Dear Father:—

I am writing just a few lines to say that we are off tomorrow on the hike, in light marching order, and with very little bagage. I shall not even take my pajjamas. But I’d rather you wouldn’t tell mother this; it would upset her. Will you tell her that I’m really too busy to write, but that I’m in very fine condition, and she’s not to worry about me? And she said in her last letter something about taking a trip up here so as to be near us on the hike if anything should happen to me. This is really what I’m writing you about. Please stop her, father. I’d really rather she wouldn’t even be here when we break camp to take me home in the car. For I’d like to go home with the Boston bunch in the train.

I think in my earlier letters I wasn’t fair to some of the fellows in our squad. Perhaps I didn’t know how to get at them at first. Even now I don’t suppose mother would see anything in them; yet I’m sure that if I could introduce you to them you’d understand why I like them.

Just keep mother from worrying about me on the hike. I shall be all right. Affectionatly,