We are arriving at Ogden, Utah, as I write. There is a telegram asking me to dine with Clare Sheridan on my arrival in Los Angeles. The prospect is most alluring. And that wire, with several others, convinces me that I am getting home.
I turn again to the newspaper. My holiday is over. I reflect on disarmament. I wonder what will be the answer? I hope and am inclined to believe that it will be for good. Was it Tennyson who wrote:
When shall all men's good
Be each man's rule, and universal peace
Shine like a shaft of light across the lane,
And like a layer of beams athwart the sea?
What a beautiful thought! Can those who go to Washington make it more than a thought?
The conductor is calling:
"Los Angeles."
"Bye."