I've just come in from my last tour of inspection as orderly officer,
and it's close on midnight. I'm getting this line off to you to let you
know that I expect to get my nine days' leave about the beginning of
January. How I wish it were possible to have you in London when I
arrive, or, failing that, to spend my leave in New York!
To-morrow I make an early start on horseback for a market of the
old-fashioned sort which is held at a town near by. Can you dimly
picture me with my groom, followed by a mess-cart, going from stall to
stall and bartering with the peasants? It'll be rather good fun and
something quite out of my experience.
Christmas will be over by the time you get this, and I do hope that you
had a good one. I paused to talk to the other officers; they say that
they are sure that you are very beautiful and have a warm heart, and
would like to send them a five-storey layer cake, half a dozen bottles
of port and one Paris chef. At present I am the Dives of the mess and
dole out luxuries to these Lazaruses.
Good-bye for the present.
Yours ever lovingly,
CON.