Your letter, with the yerba buena and the spray of redwood, came like
a breeze from the hills. And the photographs are most pleasing. I note
that Sloot's moustache is decently white at last, as becomes a fellow
of his years. I dare say his hair is white too, but I can't see under
his hat. And I think he never removes it. That backyard of yours is a
wonder, but I sadly miss the appropriate ash-heaps, tin cans, old
packing-boxes, and so forth. And that palm in front of the
house--gracious, how she's grown! Well, it has been more than a day
growing, and I've not watched it attentively.
I hope you'll have a good time in Yosemite, but Sloots is an idiot not
to go with you--nineteen days is as long as anybody would want to stay
there.
I saw a little of Phyllis Partington in New York. She told me much of
you and seems to be fond of you. That is very intelligent of her,
don't you think?
No, I shall not wait until I'm rich before visiting you. I've no
intention of being rich, but do mean to visit you--some day. Probably
when Grizzly has visited _me_. Love to you all.