Anthony The Absolute

As regards my working notes, Heloise insists on keeping those herself. She has discarded the journal method as cumbersome and difficult to index. She has ordered a series of loose-leaf blank books from Kelly and Walsh, at Shanghai. Meantime she is keeping all my memoranda on cards.

It is rather a surprise to me that I can permit her to rearrange my habits of work in this fashion. But I do permit it. I am even forced to admit that she is already an invaluable assistant.

She says that she wants to help all she can in my work now, while it is possible. Later there will be complications of one sort or the other. She is right at her own work, too; but that, she says, is fun. And she practices every day. I observe her, from hour to hour and day to day, in a curious sort of wonder. It will be some time, I see, before I shall really grow to accept it all as fact. I am living in a miracle.

This steamer is a large, modern affair, with electric lights and a very fair table. We are going down to Nanking – three days from Hankow. We came to Hankow by rail from Peking; an interesting journey, and not uncomfortable, barring the dust.

Nanking has been recommended to me as a center of much of the traditional musical culture of China. And as the Yangtze Valley, they say, becomes unbearably hot in the summer-time, we thought it advisable to spend a few weeks there before the worst of the heat sets in. Also, there is some talk that another revolution may break out there, later on. From there we go on to Shanghai for a period of study; then, doubtless, back to Peking and Tientsin.

The great Yangtze proves rather disappointing, scenically. So far, the banks have been flat and muddy most of the way. And the water is yellow when it is not a muddy gray.

But the junks are interesting, with their high timbered sterns and the brown sails with bamboo ribs. Too, I rather like the water buffalo that stand knee deep near the banks and sullenly watch us as we plow majestically by. And the river ports, of course, are quite fascinating. The water beggars paddle out in sampans and large round tubs, and bold up baskets on the ends of bamboo poles in which we of the regal upper deck are supposed to deposit brass cash and small silver.

I have been writing this on the long table in the room that is at once social hall and dining-room for the first cabin passengers. Chinese “boys” slip about in their soft shoes. At the farther end of the table the second engineer – a Scotchman, of course – is playing Sousa records on the talking machine that is his chiefest treasure in this lonely land. He is entertaining a bearded English globe-trotter and an American military man. I can’t recall the name of this latter, though we met at the Legation in Peking. We always bow.

Heloise has just come from our stateroom. She has taken the seat opposite, and is watching me as I write. She is smiling a little. I know this, though I will not look up. Not until I finish. For once my eyes rest on hers, my pen will stop.

I know what she wants. It is near the sunset hour. She likes me to be out on deck with her then, and at moonrise. She feels these wonders in some deep corner of her nature. She always becomes very silent, and presses close against my arm.

I can feel her eyes on me. I shall not be able to hold out much longer. I want to laugh, and you can not write to any purpose when you are laughing…

I think I shall not write any more.