It suddenly started to snow last night and this morning it was inches
deep. Dick was delighted. Hugo Koehler took us to lunch at the St.
Regis opposite, and on our way back Dick stopped to dig with an old
woman who was shovelling away the snow from in front of her house. I
watched them for a few minutes, and the old woman said to Dick, “My!
You’ll be a help to your Daddy some day.” Dick, in a perfectly matter
of fact voice said, “I haven’t got a daddy, he’s killed.” “O-h--,” said
the woman, “in that terrible war I suppose?” “Yes,” Dick answered, “in
that war--and we haven’t won anything by it either....” It sounded
uncanny in the mouth of a five-year-old. Finally I left him there
shovelling and his face was gloriously pink. Louise could survey him
from the window, and Hugo and I got down to the “Numesmatic” on the
subway. It was the first time I had travelled on it, and I was amused
to see that the “Do not Spit,” order was written in three languages.
One of course being Italian, and the other Yiddish!
To-night I have had my first evening at home. I resolutely refused to
go to the supper party I had accepted at Mrs. W.‘s. Hugo wanted me to
go, but I would not. I made him keep his dinner engagement and I dined
with Louise. We each had an egg and a cup of coffee. It was heaven, and
I went to bed early.