the slopes or even on the crests of the Andes. . . .
As a matter of curiosity, write to me to-morrow what your weather was like now at 9.15 a. m. to-*day. I am sitting at a wide-open window actually perspiring (saving your presence) with heat.
I reassured him as best I could (17. 11. 20):
. . . Those who know tell me that there is a perfectly good railway from Buenos Aires to Valparaiso with a permanent way, rolling stock, points and signals, tunnels to taste and all the paraphernalia that one might buy on a small scale at Hamley's toy-shop. The Andes ought, of course, to be crossed on mule-back, but this takes long and I do not know any mules. Nor, from your exposition of their habits, am I desirous of meeting any llamas. . . .
My faithful Stephen, many thanks for your three letters, he writes, 21. 11. 20. I've been feeling rather out of sorts these last few days and have not written to you since Thursday, I believe; not that I have much to tell you . . . except that, were I weller and stronger, I should write and offer my sword to that maligned monarch, Constantine I. of the Hellenes. I am growing heartily sick of seeing countries meddling in other countries' business. . . .
