went to St.
Louis--in fact, I have never been informed that she arrived in St.
Louis. I thought she might arrive to-night, and so I went down to
the station and sat around on the trucks and things like a colossal
male statue of Patience. The train was late, and, when it came, it
came without her, of course.

Getting back to the office, I find that Dock has had a de'il of a
time. He had to wait this evening to get some data from Yount for a
political editorial. Yount did not show up until half-past eight;
after he had disgorged the necessary information he left the Dock
cocked and primed for quick work. But the Dock had no sooner got
fairly started--in fact, had scarcely reached his first politico
medical phrase--when in came Roche (fresh from his bridal tour
through Colorado) with a thunder-gust of tedious experiences. The
Dock bore the infliction with Christian fortitude and thanked God
when Roche left. In a moment or two thereafter, however, a Kansas
City friend of mine called--very drunk, and not finding me, insisted
upon discussing me, my work, and my prospects, with the Dock. John
Thatcher dropped in subsequently, and so the Dock had quite a
matinee of it. By the time I got back to the office the old
gentleman was as vaporish as a hysterical old woman and he vented
his spleen on my unoffending head. God knows what a trial that man
is to me! Yet I try to be respectful and kind to him, for age is
entitled to that much tribute at least from youth. Since penning
these lines I have read them to the Dock and it would do your soul
good to see him squirm.

We are all well. When are you coming home? Paying postage on daily
letters to Canada is swiftly bankrupting me; then, too, it is a long
time since I had a square meal. But, japes, bourds, and mockages
aside, we miss you and will be glad to see you back. Salutations to
the home folk.

Yours in friendship,

EUGENE FIELD.

The pen-picture in this letter of the delays, intrusions, and
interruptions that aroused Dr. Reilly's ire is a fair portrayal of
the difficulties under which the editorial staff worked in those days.
Field was the only one who could shut himself away from such annoyances
to do his own wood-sawing. But when released from this, he delighted
to add to the tribulations of his less erratic associates by his
never-ending "japes, bourds, and mockages."

X

CHICAGO, Wednesday, Septembe