Remember that if I’m your little tin-god-on-wheels, you’re mine, and I think of you every day, no matter what I’m doing, and send you oceans of love, not only for all your kindness to me and others, but because I love you, anyway.
Good-night to you all,
Esther.
Dear Father, don’t worry, I’m going to get a stove.
VIII
FROM MARJORIE
Villa des Dames,
79 rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs, Paris.
(January 25, 1917.)
Dear Daddy:—
Well, the impossible has happened! I am plunged into reckless expense after having restrained myself for over a week. Yesterday afternoon I came back from the Vestiaire with a great deal of typewriting to do. I found my room a little colder than usual,—which was too much,—so I just sailed downstairs and demanded a fire! Such excitement you never saw. The head of the hôtel and his wife both came tearing up and wanted to know if “Mademoiselle was cold”—with the marvelous steam heat going full tilt(!). I said yes, I was cold, and that I must have a fire at once—so I got it. They were most apologetic because it had to be a wood fire—but I was delighted. I then lit my candles—ordered tea, and after getting all warm inside, just sat down and toasted myself! You don’t know, you can’t possibly imagine, the divine joy I got from that little fire of only two pieces of wood at a time! I did not tell Miss W. that I had it for a while, because I wanted to enjoy it all by myself. When I did tell her, she was as thrilled as I was, and we two just sat over it and nursed it all afternoon and evening! I do not know how much it cost me,—I didn’t dare ask,—but I do know that for the first time since I left my room in the Belmont I have been truly so warm that I am comfortable! I have had it again this afternoon, and am now sitting by its dying embers before I go to bed. Miss W. is sitting opposite me reading. We are both—wonder of wonders—sweaterless. You do not know what all this means, but I can assure you after I worked in two sweaters and a coat, with my fur coat around my knees, and stopping to blow on my fingers every few minutes, I decided that it was plain silly, and that I would move my table, which was put in the fireplace,—to suggest, as it were, that there is now no need of a fire,—and investigate the chimney. I was so pleased to find that it is a peach of a one, and draws beautifully. By strict economy I have only used one basket of wood in the two days, and that cannot be very, very extravagant. Also I am going out to buy my own wood tomorrow, and bring it home under my arm, for I know it will be less than what they will charge me here,—so picture me as wandering through the streets with a load of wood under my arm in true Parisian fashion! But also picture my once barely livable room turned into a positive hot-bed—it must be 68° in here, I am sure! I may have to give up going in the underground and have to walk everywhere,—it will be so expensive,—but I will always from now on have a warm room to work and rest in! You are probably saying, “What a lot of fuss over a fire,” but you do not know how I have been trying to figure out just how much I could stand and how much I could not. I do not mind working at the Vestiaire in the cold, for I am always active; but I have got to have it decently warm when I sit and type for three hours at a time, and I am so thrilled to find that this comparatively small fireplace has such very excellent effects.