VERA CRUZ, May 20th, 1914.
[DEAREST WIFE:]
I got such a bully letter yesterday from you,
written
long ago from the Webster. It said you missed me, and it said
you loved me, and there were funny pictures of you reading the
war and peace news each with a different expression, and you
told me about Padrigh and how he runs down the road. It made
me very sad and homesick, but very glad to feel I was so
missed.
Also you told me cheerful falsehoods about my
Tribune
stories. I know they are no good, and as they are no good,
the shorter the better, but I like to be told they are good.
Anyway, I sat down at once and wrote a long screed on Vera
Cruz and the sleepy people that five here.
We all live on the sidewalk under the stone porch. Every
night a table is reserved and by my orders all chairs,
except mine, are removed. So no one can sit down and bore me
while I am dining. Another trick I have to be left alone is
to carry a big roll of cable blanks, and I pretend to write
out cables if anyone tries to talk. Then I beckon the
messenger (he always sits in the plaza) and say "File that!"
and he goes once around the block and reports back that it is
"filed." If the bore renews the attack I write another cable,
and the unhappy messenger makes another tour. The band plays
from seven to eight every night. There are five bands, and I
saw no reason why there should not be music every evening.
After a day in this dirty hotel or dirty city a lively band
helps. Funston agreed, but forgot, until after three nights
with no band, I wrote him a letter. It was signed by fake
names, asking if he couldn't get nineteen German musicians
into a bandstand how could he hope to get ten thousand
soldiers into Mexico City. So now we have a band each night.
That is all my day. After dinner I sit at table and the men
bring up chairs, or else I go to some other table. There are
some damn fool women here who are a nuisance, and they now
have dancing in the hotel adjoining, but I don't know them,
except to bow, and I approve of the tango parties because it
keeps them away from the sidewalk. They ire "refugees," the
sort of folks you meet at Ocean Grove, or rather don't
meet!
All love to you, and give Patrigh a pat from his Uncle
Richard for looking after you and looking for me, and remember
me to Louise and Shu and everything at home. I love you so.
RICHARD.
