December 1,1916.
My lil angel:
Last night I started out for the Club and
the Turkish bath there in but when I arrived, I discovered that it was 3:40
XYZM. Of course, the subway does not run very often at that time, and so I had
a very pleasant wait at the station, entertained by several drunks who should
have made four or five trips for the load they were trying to carry. But the
best part was their unanimity in thought and action, for when one started to
sing one song they all chimed in, and it presented similar music to that we
were entertained with earlier in the day. This much is confidential, and should
not be disclosed.
Then they started to jig, and do fancy
dances; and at this time a couple of jolly tars from one of the battleships,
all lit up arrived and enthusiastically joined the festivities. The Winter
Garden never had a show like that then enacted. It was worth staying up all
night for, but suddenly a minion of the law arrived and "busted up the show”
as one newsy put it. My what a blue coat and twelve brass buttons can do
sometimes. But I guess it was for the best for several times the actors almost
fell off the platform, and might have tried to have a race with the train if
the opportunity availed itself.
Enough about drunks. Now about myself; what's
the idea do you ask? Well, three o'clock this morning (the folks landed home about
11,for they made the trip back in forty seven minutes) mother started a young riot by getting up Clara and Louis, and finally calling up Charles,
thereby waking everybody (look I’m
slipping again) to find out where I was, and why she had not heard from me. You
know she expected that you would return, and naturally that I would spend the
night at her house, while you were at Stella's, and not hearing from any one
all night assumed as all mothers have done from the creation and will continue
till doomsday (you included I fear) that we were run over or ditched or spilled
out or heaven only knows the extent and limit where mothers stop conjuring up
all kinds of dire forebodings, instead of giving one the benefit of the doubt, and
assuming that no news is good news, and that all is well. However, the whole
house was up.
But as I started out saying, when I landed
at the Club it was so late that I simply tumbled into bed, and left a call for
7. Sure enough at 7 the call came and I made the 7:51 arriving in Bridgeport at
9:18. Isn't that just grand? as Florence would say it.
You cannot imagine how happy I am since I
found my old Helen yesterday. And then how fortunate too, that I could take you
home, and be able to hear you actually talk, instead of reading, and actually
hold you instead of thinking about it, and feel the warm breath and cold hands
that always thrill me. Ah, boy, that's the life. I would like to get to bed
early to night, but don't think so. However, in order to give Charles a lift
to clean up as much as possible this week's work, yesterday being a holiday,
would you mind if I took the 4:10 arriving around 5:30. If you want me to stay
with Cousin Clara, you might tell her that we’ll arrive at her house 'about
six, otherwise just call up the Yale Club and tell them to reserve a room for
me for tomorrow night (Saturday) and that I'll arrive about 5:30. I understand
that you'll meet me at the station, and that itself would be sufficient cause
for my rushing to New York, if no more. But the fact that I'll actually be with
you till Sunday is simply wonderful.
I had thought of leaving here early enough
to arrive in time for a matinee at the Metropolitan, but we haven't a new girl
yet so cannot get away conveniently in the morning.
But, when I arrived at the office this
morning, I found a young lady waiting for me, sent by one of the business
colleges, and understand that she is qualified for the work. I wanted her to
start at once but she preferred next Monday, because she did not want to leave
her other position in the middle of the week, though she had given notice that
she would leave last Saturday, so she said. So that if she materializes and shows adaptability for her duties, that
will release me oftener than now, and I'll be able to hear Caruso Saturday
afternoons more often, and of course you know who'll be sitting at my right on such
auspicious occasions. I read a nice article in this morning's World or Times
about the special performance of Manon Lescaut, particularly complimenting the
new soprano and telling about the warmth with which Caruso sings about the
cold, little, white hands. Rather paradoxical.
You know that there
are several dentists on our floor here, well, a few minutes ago, I saw a man
leave one with a large "hunk" of plaster on his cheek or rather jaw on the
same side as your dad's. And his face was so swollen. And he smelled of the
same ointments also. Poor chap, he
also a veteran of the war, at least that is the way he looked with his face all
plastered up.
I hope you get good seats for next week. I will wait
patiently for tomorrow's train, and you at the terminal.
With love to the folks and of course to
yourself
I am Your Joe
The next letter is December 5.
