My Garret,
Montparnasse, April.
Hurrah! As I opened my eyes this morning to a hard, unfeeling world,
little did I think what a surprise awaited me. A big blue envelope had
been pushed under my door. Another rejection, I thought, and I took it
up distastefully. The next moment I was staring at my first cheque.
It was an express order for two hundred francs, in payment of a bit of
verse.. . . So to-day I will celebrate. I will lunch at the
D'Harcourt, I will dine on the Grand Boulevard, I will go to the
theater.
Well, here's the thing that has turned the tide for me. It is somewhat
in the vein of "Sourdough" Service, the Yukon bard. I don't think much
of his stuff, but they say he makes heaps of money. I can well believe
it, for he drives a Hispano-Suiza in the Bois every afternoon. The
other night he was with a crowd at the Dome Cafe, a chubby chap who sits
in a corner and seldom speaks. I was disappointed. I thought he was a
big, hairy man who swore like a trooper and mixed brandy with his beer.
He only drank Vichy, poor fellow!