, Mr. Regis Post. Grahame is
a perfect trump and such a handsome, athletic fellow, and a real Sir
Galahad. Any wrong-doing, and especially any cruelty makes him flame
with fearless indignation. He perfectly delighted the Porto Ricans and
also immensely puzzled them by coming in his Scotch kilt to a Government
ball. Accordingly, at my special request, I had him wear his kilt at the
state dinner and reception the night we were at the palace. You know he
is a descendant of Montrose, and although born in Canada, his parents
were Scotch and he was educated in Scotland. Do tell Mr. Bob Fergie
about him and his kilts when you next write him.

We spent the night at the palace, which is half palace and half castle,
and was the residence of the old Spanish governors. It is nearly four
hundred years old, and is a delightful building, with quaint gardens
and a quaint sea-wall looking over the bay. There were colored lanterns
lighting up the gardens for the reception, and the view across the bay
in the moonlight was lovely. Our rooms were as attractive as possible
too, except that they were so very airy and open that we found it
difficult to sleep--not that that much mattered as, thanks to the
earliness of our start and the lateness of our reception, we had barely
four hours in which we even tried to sleep.

The next morning we came back in automobiles over different and even
more beautiful roads. The mountain passes through and over which we went
made us feel as if we were in a tropic Switzerland. We had to cross two
or three rivers where big cream-colored oxen with yokes tied to their
horns pulled the automobiles through the water. At one funny little
village we had an open air lunch, very good, of chicken and eggs and
bread, and some wine contributed by a wealthy young Spaniard who rode up
from a neighboring coffee ranch.

Yesterday afternoon we embarked again, and that evening the crew gave
a theatrical entertainment on the afterdeck, closing with three boxing
bouts. I send you the program. It was great fun, the audience being
equally enraptured with the sentimental songs about the flag, and the
sailor's true love and his mother, and with the jokes (the most relished
of which related to the fact that bed-bugs were supposed to be so
large that they had to be shot!) and the skits about the commissary and
various persons and deeds on the ship. In a way the freedom of
comment reminded me a little of the Roman triumphs, when the ex