Drydock in the Erie Basin.
I enjoy my work more now, with every new day that is added on to our little repose. The chambermaid part is especially delightful. I tuck in the sheets any old way, just so the counterpane covers them, and roll all the pajamas up in a ball. I guess I won't get the promised tips, but I am so sore at the whole ship I can't sleep. "Bushracks," the ex-steward, has just heard of his brother-in-law's arrest and sentence to two years in jail for bribery in the draft exemption cases. So together we washed away our sorrow with a bowl of grapejuice and pineapple punch which we made secretly in the ice box. (We had borrowed the key unawares some time before.) Ed and I had cleaned it out carefully several days ago and thrown away two hundred pounds of decayed meat. Of course, the place smells queer still; but the punch was excellent.
They say we will be off the boat tomorrow. I don't know what this means. It was to be just one day more when we arrived here last Sunday, and now its the end of the fifth. Oh Job! Oh Job! I know just how you felt.
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