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talked, for the weather was May weather, and the soft dream-pictures of
hill and river and mountain and sky were clear and away beyond anything
I have ever seen for exquisiteness and daintiness.
The colored waiter knew his business, and the colored cook was a
finished artist. Breakfasts: coffee with real cream; beefsteaks,
sausage, bacon, chops, eggs in various ways, potatoes in various--yes,
and quite wonderful baked potatoes, and hot as fire. Dinners--all manner
of things, including canvas-back duck, apollinaris, claret, champagne,
etc.
We sat up chatting till midnight, going and coming; seldom read a line,
day or night, though we were well fixed with magazines, etc.; then I
finished off with a hot Scotch and we went to bed and slept till 9.30
a.m. I honestly tried to pay my share of hotel bills, fees, etc., but I
was not allowed--and I knew the reason why, and respected the motive. I
will explain when I see you, and then you will understand.
We were 25 hours going to Chicago; we were there 24 hours; we were 30
hours returning. Brisk work, but all of it enjoyable. We insisted on
leaving the car at Philadelphia so that our waiter and cook (to whom Mr.
R. gave $10 apiece,) could have their Christmas-eve at home.
Mr. Rogers's carriage was waiting for us in Jersey City and deposited
me at the Players. There--that's all. This letter is to make up for the
three letterless days. I love you, dear heart, I love you all.
881
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