PARIS, June 13, 1893.
[DEAR MOTHER:]
There is nothing much to say except that things still go
on. I feel like one of those little India rubber balls in the
jet of a fountain being turned and twisted and not allowed to
rest. Today I have been to hear Yvette Guilbert rehearse and
thought her all Chas thinks her only her songs this season are
beneath the morals of a medical student. It is very hot and
it is getting hotter. I had an amusing time at the Grand Prix
where Tina won a lot of money on a tip I gave her which I did
not back myself. In the evening Newton took me to dinner and
to the Jardin de Paris where they had 10 franc admittance and
where every thing went that wasn't nailed. The dudes put
candles on their high hats and the girls snuffed them out with
kicks and at one time the crowd mobbed the band stand and then
the stage and played on all the instruments. The men were all
swells in evening dress and the women in beautiful ball
dresses and it was a wonderful sight. It only happens once a
year like the Yale-Princeton night at Koster and Bials except
that the women are all very fine indeed. They rode
pig-a-back races and sang all the songs. I had dinner with
John Drew last night. I occasionally sleep and if Nora
doesn't come on time I shall be a skeleton and have no money
left. As a matter of fact I am fatter than ever and can eat
all sorts of impossible things here that I could never eat at
home. I lunch every day with the Eustises and we dine out
almost every night. I consort entirely with the poorest of
art students or the noblest of princesses and so far have kept
out of mischief, but you can never tell for this is a wicked
city they say, or it strikes me as most amusing at present
only I cannot see what Harper and Bros. are going to get out
of it. I said that of London so I suppose it will all
straighten out by the time I get back.
DICK.
