it won't matter down there.

Nothing happened on the trip. One of the engines broke down three
days out, and I spent all my time below decks for forty-eight
hours. Chief engineer raving with D.T.'s. Got the engine fixed in
record time, and haven't got my hands clean yet. It was bully.

With this I send the papers, which will tell you how I happen to
be here, and why I have leisure to write you three days after
landing. If the situation were not so ridiculous, it would be
maddening. Here I am, off for a holiday and congratulating myself
that I am foot free and heart free--yes, my friend, heart
free--here I am, shut in the house of a man I never saw until
last night, and wouldn't care if I never saw again, with a lot of
people who never heard of me, who are almost equally vague about
South America, who play as hard at bridge as I ever worked at
building one (forgive this, won't you? The novelty has gone to my
head), and who belong to the very class of extravagant,
luxury-loving, non-producing parasites (isn't that what we called
them?) that you and I used to revile from our lofty Andean
pinnacle.

To come down to earth: here we are, six women and five men,
including a policeman, not a servant in the house, and no one who
knows how to do anything. They are really immensely interesting,
these people; they all know each other very well, and it is
"Jimmy" here, and "Dal" there--Dallas Brown, who went to India
with me, you remember my speaking of him--and they are good
natured, too, except at meal times. The little hostess, Mrs.
Wilson, took over the cooking, and although luncheon was better