I went to see a burlesque, and said "Front row, end seat," just as
naturally as though I was in evening dress and high hat--and then I
sank into a beautiful deep velvet chair and saw Amazon marches and
ladies in tights and heard the old old jokes and the old old songs we
know so well and sing so badly. The next morning I went for my mail
and the entire post office came out to see me get it. It took me until
seven in the evening to finish it, and I do not know that it will ever
be answered. The best of it was that you were all pleased with my
letters. That put my mind at rest. Then there was news of deaths and
marriages and engagements and the same people doing the same things
they did when I went away. I did not intend to present any letters as
I was going away that night to Creede, but I found I could not get any
money unless some one identified me so I presented one to a Mr. Jerome
who all the bankers said they would be only too happy to oblige. After
one has been variously taken for a drummer, photographer and has been
offered so much a line to "write up" booming towns, it is a relief to
get back to a place where people know you.--I told Mr. Jerome I had a
letter of introduction and that I was Mr. Davis and he shook hands and
then looked at the letter and said "Good Heavens are you that Mr.
Davis" and then rushed off and brought back the entire establishment
brokers, bankers and mine owners and they all sat around and told me
funny stories and planned more things for me to do and eat than I could
dispose of in a month.

I am now en route to Creede. Creede when you first see it in print
looks like creede but after you have been in Denver or Colorado even
for one day it reads like C R E E D E. All the men on this car think
they are going to make their fortunes, and toward that end they have on
new boots and flannel shirts, and some of them seeing my beautiful
clothing and careful array came over and confided to me that they were
really not so tough as they looked and had never worn a flannel shirt
before. This car is typical of what they told me I would find at
Creede. There are rich mine owners who are pointed out by the
conductor as the fifth part owner of the "Pot Luck" mine, and dudes in
astrakan fur coats over top boots and new flannel shirts, and hardened
old timers with their bedding and tin pans, who have prospected all
over the state and women who are smoking and drinking.

I feel awfully selfish w