June 19, 1918

Wednesday

An uneventful day – as all of them are becoming. In private life I should up and suggest that the men be taken on an upper deck, in small groups if necessary, and do calisthenics twice a day. But in a private’s life there is no such thing as thinking or suggesting. So I do not think – about such things, I mean. But I do a little exercising on my own account. Also I sleep 9 hours an evening, which, you will agree, is too much for a New Yorker.

The ocean is still again, and the day sunnily perfect. We were, I think, fortunate in going over at this time of year. I hope the weather continues.

Just back of me a crowd is waxing noisesome about a boxing match. And the band is playing.

Yesterday the only likely thing in the library was “Fishpingle”. I just finished it. Vachel, the author announces that it deals with the problem of the distribution of land in England. The only problem I could feel was: are publishers fools? He is considered a capable modern writer, but it is certainly an ineffably silly and useless book.

No – my dinner did not disagree with me, and I am, in fact, more than usually cheerful. Tomorrow’s news may be more readable, especially if I find a better book. It is only as a figure of speech that such stuff as this can be called news. It is more of a picture, incomplete because the government withholds some of the essential colors – the censorship does, at least. But there really isn’t any great loss, for you have most of it here.

Next post June 21.