Luckily the war has made eggs too expensive for me to fear the public will pelt me off the stage with them. Still after years of writing one naturally dreads the cold potato and the orange-peel. I once in talking said to a celebrated dancer who was about to bid farewell to her admirers and retire to private life, "Perhaps you will take a benefit when you come back from finishing your last tour." She answered, "Yes . . ."; and then added, "or perhaps two." That is not my way, for all my life I have loved bread, bread, and wine, wine, not caring for half-measures, like your true Scot, of whom it has been said, "If he believes in Christianity he has no doubts, and if he is a disbeliever he has none either." Once in the Sierra Madre, either near the Santa Rosa Mountains or in the Bolson de Mapimi, I disremember which, out after horses that had strayed, we came upon a little shelter made of withies, and covered with one of those striped blankets woven by the Navajos. A Texan who was with the party pointed to it, and said, "That is a wickey-up, I guess."
- Paperback | 72 pages
- 152.4 x 228.6 x 4.32mm | 158.76g
- 17 Feb 1916
- Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
- Illustrations, black and white