when I received a note from Cornelia, and, half an hour later, a telegram from Oliver. Like all government officials and even private citizens who have much breathed the air of official Washington, Oliver scorns the post office, even for personal correspondence. For brevity's sake, I give the telegram:—
Cornelia notices you speak here Saturday stop dine with us Monday at eight thirty stop nobody else but your novelist friend Vernon Willys stop watch the year out discuss fundamentalism and bury Bacchus stop semiofficial stop we want Midwestern point of view stop regard as imperative
I packed my old suit into my old suit-case, slipped into my inside pocket the old club-paper which was to pay my expenses, snatched a book of Gilbert Murray's to read on the train, and crept slowly eastward on the Limited. My diary shows that my occupations during my first forty-eight hours in the city were about as follows:—
Read my paper, "A Much Higher Education," before the Saturday Afternoon Club. Cornelia was present and I spoke with her for two minutes afterward. Saw Cyrano Saturday night and college friends in the stockbroking business for three hours following. Slept Sunday morning
