ATHENS,
November 26th.
[DEAR HEART:]
I am off tonight for Salonica. I am not very cheerful
for I miss you very, very terribly, and the further I go, the
worse I feel. But now I am nearly as far as I can get, and
when you receive this I will — thank God — be turned back to
Paris, and London, and home! I thought so often of you
this morning when I took a holiday and climbed the Acropolis. On
the top of it I picked a dandelion for you. It was growing
between the blocks of marble that have been there since 400
years before our Lord: before St. Paul preached to the
Athenians. I was all alone on the rock, and could see over
the AEgean Sea, Corinth, Mount Olympus, where the Gods used to
sit, and the Sphinx lay in wait for travelers with her famous
riddle. It takes two days and one night to go to Salonica,
and the boats are so awful no one undresses but sleeps in his
clothes on top of the bed.
Goodby, sweetheart, and give such a kiss to my
precious daughter. How beautiful she is. Even the waiter who brought
me a card stopped to exclaim about her picture. So, of
course, being not at all proud I showed him her in my arms. I
want you both so and I love you both so. And, I wanted
you so this morning as I always do when there is a beautiful
landscape, or flowers, or palms. I know how you love them.
The dandelion is very modest and I hope the censor won't lose
it out, for she has a long way to go and
carries a burden of love. I wish I was bringing them in the
door of the Scribner cottage at this very minute.
RICHARD.
VOLO, November 27.
I got here today, after the darnedest voyage of two days
in a small steamer. We ran through a snow storm and there was
no way to warm the boat. So, I died. You know how cold
affects me — well — this was the coldest cold I ever died of.
I poured alcohol in me, and it was like drinking iced tea. Now,
I am on shore in a cafe near a stove. We continue on to
Salonica at midnight. There are 24 men and one woman, Mrs.
Bass, on board. I am much too homesick to write more than to
say I love you, and I miss you and Hope so, that I don't look
at the photos. Did you get the cable I sent
Thanksgiving — from Athens, it read: "Am giving thanks for
Hope and you." I hope the censor let that get by him. The
boat I was on was a refrigerator ship; it was also peculiar in
that the captain dealt baccarat all day with the passengers.
It was a sort of floating gambling house. This is certainly a
strange land. Snow and roses and oranges, all at once. I
must stop. I'm froze. Give the kiss I want to give to Her,
and know, oh! how I love and love and love her mother —
never so much as now.
