I left early and walked down the Champs Elysées. It was very dark. People were sitting on the benches and strolling about. It is practically all one can do after nine in the evening.
July 25th. We left Paris in the early morning and after nine hours of sweltering heat and dust found ourselves back in the same old place—grimmer than ever. It was hard to get in the dirty old bed after the clean white sheets of the Ritz, and come down to one dirty towel till you could get another, always a matter of uncertainty. I began my struggles with the mess again.
Coming down on the train we met a Dr. Water with the Johns Hopkins unit. He had been making a tour of the hospitals. He said they had come over with the first expeditionary force and had been at St. Nazaire for some time, and while there they had witnessed the disembarkation of all the American troops. He estimated them at about fifty thousand. I played head waiter at evening mess, trying to get the men who are working as waiters licked into shape, and in consequence got indigestion.
July 26th. The mess again. Am trying to arrange prices so that we can buy a little cheaper, but it is difficult. Excessive charging can be brought to the attention of the authorities, but every one, I suppose, tries to ring in a few extra sous. However, I am getting the tradespeople to submit prices and shall buy from the cheapest.
All the men are working at their French. It is quite funny to see them, and their accent is something terrific. The French are very good-natured and many of them sit in the garden and give lessons for pure love.
Time drags very much.
July 27th. A day of absolute inactivity. There are no golf or tennis balls, so there is absolutely nothing to do except lie about and try and talk French. I spent the morning sitting in the garden in one of the twenty-five-centime armchairs. A few, not more than three or four, demi-mondaines arrived, and they are at least a little more refreshing to look at than the old rheumatics.
I am struggling with the food problems. The coffee we get is rotten, in spite of the fact we buy the best. The French are a curious lot. I tried to stimulate competitive bids on food prices, but they show absolutely no desire or interest in obtaining our trade. In America every tradesman in town would be after our trade; here they are absolutely indifferent and hardly take the trouble to submit prices.
July 28th. Hot as hell and nothing to do. No tennis or golf balls can be had. Up at eight, breakfast, talk to the greasy cook, look at greasy meat, go to greasy stores and buy greasy food. Such is the day for which Uncle Sam pays us $7 per day and expects you to cough up at least $4 for food and clothes.
C'est la vie!