Dear Lora,
Your letter, with the yerba buena and the spray of redwood, came like a breeze from the hills. And the photographs are most pleasing. I note that Sloot's moustache is decently white at last, as becomes a fellow of his years. I dare say his hair is white too, but I can't see under his hat. And I think he never removes it. That backyard of yours is a wonder, but I sadly miss the appropriate ash-heaps, tin cans, old packing-boxes, and so forth. And that palm in front of the house—gracious, how she's grown! Well, it has been more than a day growing, and I've not watched it attentively.
I hope you'll have a good time in Yosemite, but Sloots is an idiot not to go with you—nineteen days is as long as anybody would want to stay there.
I saw a little of Phyllis Partington in New York. She told me much of you and seems to be fond of you. That is very intelligent of her, don't you think?
No, I shall not wait until I'm rich before visiting you. I've no intention of being rich, but do mean to visit you—some day. Probably when Grizzly has visited me. Love to you all. Ambrose Bierce.
Army and Navy Club,
Washington, D. C.,
June 25,
1907.
Dear George,
* * *
So * * * showed you his article on me. He showed it to me also, and some of it amused me mightily, though I didn't tell him so. That picture of me as a grouchy and disappointed old man occupying the entire cave of Adullam is particularly humorous, and so poetic that I would not for the world "cut it out." * * * seems incapable (like a good many others) of estimating success in other terms than those of popularity. He gives a rather better clew to his own character than to mine. The old man is fairly well pleased with the way that he has played the game, and with his share of the stakes, thank'ee.