_From Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, to Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago,
December 24, 1877._
Your letter was so abominably defaced by blotting and blurring that it
was entirely illegible. It must have come all the way by water. By the
aid of chemicals and photography, however, I have made it out. But you
forgot to inclose the sample of ice.
I have sold off everything (at an alarming sacrifice, I am sorry to say)
and inclose draft for net amount. Shall begin to spar for orders at
once. I trust everything to you--but, I say, has anybody tried to grow
ice in _this_ vicinity? There is Lake Ponchartrain, you know.
_From Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago, to Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans,
February 27, 1878._
Wannie dear, it would do you good to see our new warehouse for the ice.
Though made of boards, and run up rather hastily, it is as pretty as a
picture, and cost a deal of money, though I pay no ground rent. It is
about as big as the Capitol at Washington. Do you think it ought to have
a steeple? I have it nearly filled--fifty men cutting and storing, day
and night--awful cold work! By the way, the ice, which when I wrote you
last was ten feet thick, is now thinner. But don't you worry; there is
plenty.
Our warehouse is eight or ten miles out of town, so I am not much
bothered by visitors, which is a relief. Such a giggling, sniggering lot
you never saw!
It seems almost too absurdly incredible, Wannie, but do you know I
believe this ice of ours gains in coldness as the warm weather comes on!
I do, indeed, and you may mention the fact in the advertisements.
_From Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans, to Mr. Jabez Hope, in Chicago,
March 7, 1878._
All goes well. I get hundreds of orders. We shall do a roaring trade as
"The New Orleans and Chicago Semperfrigid Ice Company." But you have not
told me whether the ice is fresh or salt. If it is fresh it won't do for
cooking, and if it is salt it will spoil the mint juleps.
Is it as cold in the middle as the outside cuts are?
_From Mr. Jebez Hope, from Chicago, to Mr. Pike Wandel, of New Orleans,
April 3, 1878._
Navigation on the Lakes is now open, and ships are thick as ducks. I'm
afloat, _en route_ for Buffalo, with the assets of the New Orleans and
Chicago Semperfrigid Ice Company in my vest pocket. We are busted out,
my poor Pikey--we are to fortune and to fame unknown. Arrange a meeting
of the creditors and don't attend.
Last night a schooner from Milwaukee was smashed into match-wood on an
enormous mass of floating ice--the first berg ever seen in these waters.
It is described by the survivors as being about as big as the Capital at
Washington. One-half of that iceberg belongs to you, Pikey.
The melancholy fact is, I built our warehouse on an unfavorable site,
about a mile out from the shore (on the ice, you understand), and when
the thaw came--O my God, Wannie, it was the saddest thing you ever saw
in all your life! You will be _so_ glad to know I was not in it at the
time.
What a ridiculous question you ask me. My poor partner, you don't seem
to know very much about the ice business.