[The author didn't address the letter formally, but it was written to Abby Turner.]Friday night.
This is some paper Miss Peck left and I'll use it even if there are more than traces of Louisville soft coal. On the whole the ribbing of the paper makes me think of the copy books where we learned to use one space for most letters and to spaces for tall ones and capitals.
I am still at the laboratory because it is not the custom to leave it unguarded while the doors are open and Pedro has vanished somewhere, probably to the kitchen to add an extra to the basket of blackberries, four peaches, one banana and pint of milk he had an hour ago.
I do not want to wait here longer but the chief's hat is still in the office so he must be coming back. Consequently I don't like to lock the door and run the possibility of locking him away from his hat, but I shall if he doesn't appear soon.
Louisville got quite excited yesterday about the retreat of the Huns and rang the bells and blew its whistles furiously for some time at 6 o'clock. I most wish I were in N.Y. to buy extras on such occasions but Miss Newell takes the Post so we get N.Y. news - even though it's two days late. I try to read the Louisville papers but somehow they seem mild and I don't get the spirit of either the defeats or victories. We thought with all the enthusiasm of 6 o'clock the town might be exciting so we strolled down about 8:30. Nothing out of the ordinary was in progress so we dropped into a Movie where the world's news appears and saw part of John Purroy Mitchell's [sic] funeral. Very impressive it was, too, with the organ of the theater playing a solemn funeral march. In addition there was a most absurd farce, "Shot in the Dumb Waiter" which reduced us to tears it was so absurd. I had to mop furiously in order to see the remainder of the picture and Miss Newell soaked one handkerchief and began on the next.
Rachel, our wash lady, came to call with our laundry. She is one of the true Southern darkies, full of signs, wit and religion. Miss Newell spoke about the number of people we always find at her house when we take our laundry[.] "Yes ma'am" said Rachel I'm just so poplar [sic] I don't have time to pray in the morning. Just have to jump up off my knees two three times every time I gets started. Finally I just locks the door and lets 'em wait till I gets done." We aren't quite sure whether or not, in addition to her religion, she harbors bed bugs. Miss Newell rises regularly every night and being trained similar to Ann grasps bugs deftly and surely. Sometimes she gets fine hauls - four or five. We unpack our laundry on the porch and leave our boxes there. My bed is peaceful as far as I know but maybe I got immune to bites at P. & S. Oh, by the way did that girl who had a pull [?] concerning information at P. & S. go there? Miss Newell has no use at all for Dr. Doyer [?] so she would agree with me in sending people elsewhere.
It's now 6:30 so I'm going home regardless of chief's hat.
I've come and am sitting on our little porch, four large stones four steps high with iron railings all around. It's lovely to sit on but very soothing and makes what wits are left me at the end of a day, depart before I can get them down on paper.
This week hasn't been as thrilling as some, though we ate a hurried supper Monday night and retired to the postmortem room to sit until about 8. George never appreciates "posts" and departed with a nosebleed. The next day the chief got laid up with indigestion from which he hasn't recovered entirely and Wednesday Miss Newell had next door to a sick headache, and all the week Miss Johnson, the stenographer, has felt poorly[.] That leaves only Pedro and Daddy and me in a state of active service. Poor Dr. Graves is so typically masculine in being sick and takes it seriously! Miss Newell had difficulty with the lock of her porch door Tuesday night and couldn't open it so when Wednesday AM. came her bottle of milk sat in plain sight and just out of reach. We - Mrs. Keiser and I - had gone off not realizing her headache. She wanted that milk - and at once, too, for she knew she'd feel better with some breakfast internally. Watching her chance she marched boldy out the front door, neatly attired in nightgown and kimono. One small girl watched her in thunderstruck - a curious word! - amazement as she grasped her milk bottle and returned via the front door. We do not know what ones of our neighbors were witnesses[.]
Today a man rushed into the lab, pulled out a little cover slip from an envelope and invited me to stain it. It was one of Dr. Graves' private cases and I wasn't anxious to do it till he came in about 12 but the man was impatient. There wasn't a doubt but what it was one of the best gonococcus slides I ever saw, so I called Miss Newell to get her approval on the diagnosis and the man departed. He left the slide and maybe when it dries I'll send it to you. The staining in most places is poor because the man had made a too generous smear, much too thick but around the edges are lots of Grave negative cocci - stained red - many of them inside the leucocytes. Up in N.Y. Miss Newell says the gonococci don't come in such quantities.
It's getting very dark and we are going to walk to the library before bed time. It feels about that time now but maybe I can get to the library.
Goodnight and much love to you,
Beryl.