Today I was called to the top sergeant of the U. S. Army here and
presented with a telegram thrice forwarded from Washington asking after
the health of one Dinsmore Ely. I reported that I was in the hospital
two weeks with a slight attack of bronchitis, which did not confine me
to my bed. After being reprimanded for the folly of mentioning such a
sickness, I was dismissed. Where men are being killed at the rate of
fifty thousand a month, note that it was a most absurd thing to clog
official wires over the ailment of a private. Incidentally, it marked
him as a pampered pet. Lately, Reno, the aviator, was reported dead and
mourned in world-wide publication. He later entered a Paris bank to draw
his account and return on _permission_ to America. He will arrive before
this letter. This goes to prove that absolutely no report can be
believed. There are undoubtedly a great many aviators listed as dead who
are prisoners in Germany. The only news you can rely upon will be from
my hand. I am in perfect health now, and will continue to be as long as
I live. You will hear nothing more in regard to my health until my
obituary notice reaches you, and as that will not be from me, you will
be foolish to put any trust in it. My letters will be most irregular and
undependable, by accident or intention, so you need not try to guess my
health from them. Also keep in mind that one blue evening may give rise
to more dissatisfaction than a deadly disease. It has been a custom of
the Elys to keep the wires hot when one of them had a cold. That must
stop in war time. If you people are determined to let your imagination
turn your hair gray, nothing on God’s earth can stop you. In spite of
the fact that I am an Ely, I am only one of the eight million men whose
lives are worth the ground covered by their feet. If you do not believe
unmentioned health is the best way to prevent worry, wait a year and
see. You need not try to persuade me to keep you informed on my health.
Meanwhile the war will continue as usual, I doing my part. Do not take
this letter as curt, it is just entirely lacking in romance. I am in
perfectly good humor; also I am thinking just a little clearer than my
parents did when they telegraphed around the world in war times to find
out if I had recovered from a minor attack of bronchitis. You must have
the same faith in me to look after my physical health as after my moral.
The _Tribune_ is coming and it seems good, but you would be surprised
how little current events are touched upon here. What we crave most in
reading is romance. The _Saturday Evening Post_ fills the bill more than
anything else. If you could send me a subscription of that for six
months, it would be greatly appreciated. There are plenty here, but by
that time will be sent to different posts.
I wrote to Robert today, and will probably write to him quite often.
Wish he would find time to write to me frequently, at least once a week.