242 ^ month later he wrote me again (October 4, 1924) : 



Our latest Dean has packed up and left town. There are no 

 definite rumors as to what comes next — though there is talk 

 of giving Bachmeyer the combined job, partly because he 

 would be a good man and partly because there is no other 

 way to raise his salary. Personally I think him excellent. — Has 

 your ethmoiditis lighted up again? Never mind — you can 

 always come back to me knowing that I will cure you! 



Baehr sent information on identical subject (November 11, 

 1924) . His letter to me is quoted as outline of his mind and 

 to explain why friendship between Wherry and him was so 

 enduring. 



There is a perfect wealth of painful news to tell; the town 

 is buzzing over the keyhole revelations supplied them by our 

 frightful press concerning our former medical student who 

 had magnificent courage and poor advice and ran away with 

 the man she wanted. Nothing has been omitted; our circu- 

 lations are tingling with wish complexes encouraged, and with 

 indignation over any one who dares break the rules we wish 

 to break and dare not. Enough. If I knew where to find her 

 I should send her an encouraging word. 



The Dean has quit. More buzzing. Hell of a world, isn't it? 

 I am growing to hate it more and more; not the world but 

 the poor dirty creatures that assume the right to dominate it. 

 — My own practice is growing slowly and surely (which is 

 all you can say for the Alps) . We are all in perfect health 

 but a little concerned over rumors that you are not. If the 

 headaches continue, come home and I will fill you full of 

 chlorine which will put an end to the thing in two weeks 

 (Excelsior laundry technic) . — Wherry had most of us out 

 to a smoker last night to meet an out-of-town visitor. One 

 of the crowd advised him that there was no opportunity here 

 for a live man. The party continued, nevertheless, with C A L 

 Reed doing all the talking. . . . 



I confess that it causes me anguish to search all this bunk 

 out of the forgotten recesses in my weary brain; but I know 

 for certain that you must do the same thing unless something 

 is wrong with you. 

 P S Feet of clay at Walnut movie. Rottener than I feared. 



