February, 1904.
[DEAR MOTHER:]
We are really off on the "long trail" bound for the
boundless East. We have a charming drawing-room, a
sympathetic porter and a courtly conductor descended from one
of the first Spanish conquerors of California. We arranged
the being late for lunch problem by having dinner at five and
cutting the lunch out. Bruce and Nan came over for dinner and
we had a very jolly time. They all asked after you all, and
drank to our re-union at Marion in July. Later they all tried
to
come with us on the train. It looked so attractive with
electric lights in each seat, and observation car and library.
A reporter interviewed us and Mr. Clark gave us a box of
segars and a bottle of whiskey. But they will not last, as
will Dad's razors and your housewife. I've used Dad's razors
twice a day, and they still are perfect. It's snowing again,
but we don't care. They all came to the station to see us off
but no one cried this time as they did when we went to South
Africa. Somehow we cannot take this trip seriously. It is
such a holiday trip all through not grim and human like the
Boer war. Just quaint and queer. A trip of cherry blossoms
and Geisha girls. I send all my love to you.
DICK.
