Several of the boys like to go out visiting the other camps in the evening, and not get home till morning "or thereabouts." I am a "good little boy," and go to bed at nine and get up at six. I have the breakfast ready shortly after eight, and then the fun begins, getting the boys up. They want to lie in bed till twelve, and Uncle Jimmy joins us in making it so uncomfortable for them they prefer rising.
Harry Reynolds is washing to-day. He has just discovered that he has made a sad mistake. He dumped his bundle of clean socks into the tub instead of the soiled ones. General laughter at his expense. But H. wrings them out "dryly." He knows the laugh will not be on him next washing day.
The jolly missionary's wife is singing in my ear something about "Darling Joe." Now, she thinks because she happens to be married that I must be much younger than she—in fact "quite a lad." In point of fact I am the older. It was my turn to shave yesterday, and I did so, consequently my chin is smarting. It is an unnatural process, and I think should be prohibited by act of congress.
I have been reading "A Scientific Demonstration of the Future Life," by Hudson. It interested me very much, and the doctor and I got into many a warm argument over it. It is a strange fact that we never argue upon subjects we agree upon. I always stick to my sharp point and he to his. Our discussions are usually on some biological topic, and the rest of the men do not know what we are talking about. One night, after a long argument in which I would not yield a single point when the doctor thought I ought, he wrote me the following
ODE.
Mon ami, Joe,
A thing I know
Is, you are Joe,
Why this is so
I do not know;