Do roses blossom well in the turbulent air?
I have no doubt that Chicago has no poet.
“Cook County fosters three thousand poets, one paper says, my young woman,” Uncle said in laughter.
“Don’t say so!”
“As soon as I had established myself in the hotel, I inscribed—with the longest apologetical ojigi to Mr. Shelley—as follows:
“Hell is a city much like Chicago,
A populous and a smoky city.”
8th—How sad I felt, not to be greeted by even one star from my hotel window last night!
I was disgusted with the poor taste of the coffee. Such a first-class hotel! Coffee and maxim, I have said, should be of the very best. Commonplace words with the golden heading of Maxim would be as cheap as a negress with white powder. I would choose even a bread pudding rather than a suspicious cup of coffee.
Uncle failed to secure a box of cigarettes.