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iting time； and am dying to tell you the 〃insie〃 story。 But the one I sent the papers must serve。 I promised myself I would give the FIRST soldier； marine and sailor I met on returning a cigar； and the first sailor was the CHAPLAIN OF THE FLEET； Father Reany。 But he took the cigar and gave me his blessing。 I am now burning candles to St。 Rita。 What worried me the MOST was how worried YOU would be； and I begged Palmer not to send the story of our first arrest。 But other people told of it； and he had to forward it。 You certainly made the wires BURN！ and had the army guessing。 One officer said to me； 〃I'm awfully sorry to see you back。 If you'd only have stayed in jail another day your wife would have had us all on our way to Mexico。〃 And the censor said； 〃My God！ I'm glad you're safe！ Your wife has MADE OUR LIVES HELL！〃 And quite right； too； bless you！ None of us knows anything； but it looks to me that NOTHING will induce Wilson to go to war。 But the Mexicans think we ARE at war； and act accordingly。 They may bring on a conflict。 That is why I am making ready in case we advance and that is why I cabled today for the rest of my kit。 I have a fine little pony； and a little messenger boy who speaks Spanish； to look after the horse； and me。
And now； as to your LETTERS； they came to…day； five of them； COUNT 'EM； and the pictures did make me laugh。 I showed those of the soldier commandeering the vegetables to Funston and he laughed。 And； I did love the flowers you sent no matter HOW homesick they made me！ （Oh）。 I do not want a camera。
I have one； and those fancy cameras I don't understand。
The letters you forwarded were wonderfully well selected。 I mean； those from other people。 One of them was from Senator Root telling me Bryan is going to reward our three heroic officers who jumped into the ocean。 I know you will be glad。 There are NO mosquitoes！ Haven't met up with but three and THEY are not COMING BACK。
I send you a picture of my room from the outside。 From the inside the view is so 〃pretty。〃 Across the square is the cathedral and the trees are filled with birds that sing all night； and statues； and pretty globes。 The band plays every night and when it plays 〃Hello； Winter Time；〃 I CRY for you。 I paid the band…master 20 to play it； and it is WORTH IT。 I sit on the balcony and think of you and know just what you are doing； for there is only an hour and a half difference。 That is； when with you it is ten o'clock with me it is eight…thirty。 So when you and Louise are at dinner you can know I am just coming in from my horseback ride to bathe and 〃nap。〃 And when at eight…thirty you are playing the Victor； I am drinking a cocktail to you； and shooing away the Colonels and Admirals who interfere with my ceremony of drinking to my dear wife。
VERA CRUZ； May 20th； 1914。 DEAREST WIFE：
I got SUCH a bully letter yesterday from you； written long ago from the Webster。 It said you missed me； and it said you loved me； and there were funny pictures of you reading the war and peace news each with a different expression； and you told me about Padrigh and how he runs down the road。 It made me very sad and homesick； but very glad to feel I was so missed。 Also you told me cheerful falsehoods about my Tribune stories。 I know they are no good； and as they are no good； the shorter the better； but I like to be told they are good。 Anyway； I sat down at once and wrote a long screed on Vera Cruz and the sleepy people that five here。
We all live on the sidewalk under the stone porch。 Every night a table is reserved and by my orders ALL chairs； except mine； are removed。 So no one can sit down and bore me while I am dining。 Another trick I have to be left alone is to carry a big roll of cable blanks； and I pretend to write out cables if anyone tries to talk。 Then I beckon the messenger （he always sits in the plaza） and say 〃File that！〃 and he goes once around the block and reports back that it is 〃filed。〃 If the bore renews the attack I write another cable； and the unhappy messenger makes another tour。 The band plays from seven to eight every night。 There are five bands； and I saw no reason why there should not be music every evening。 After a day in this dirty hotel or dirty city a lively band helps。 Funston agreed； but forgot； until after three nights with no band； I wrote him a letter。 It was signed by fake names； asking if he couldn't get nineteen German musicians into a bandstand how could he hope to get ten thousand soldiers into Mexico City。 So now we have a band each night。 That is all my day。 After dinner I sit at table and the men bring up chairs； or else I go to some other table。 There are some damn fool women here who are a nuisance； and they now have dancing in the hotel adjoining； but I don't know them； except to bow； and I approve of the tango parties because it keeps them away from the sidewalk。 They ire 〃refugees；〃 the sort of folks you meet at Ocean Grove； or rather DON'T meet！ All love to you； and give Patrigh a pat from his Uncle Richard for looking after you and looking for me； and remember me to Louise and Shu and everything at home。 I love you so。
RICHARD。
VERA CRUZ； May 28； 1914。
I want to be home to see the daisy field with you。 That knee you nearly busted tobogganing when the daisy field was an iceberg is now recovered。
The one and all came this morning and as I expected it was all full of love from you。 I DID get happiness out of the thought you put in it。 And all done in an hour。 The underclothes made me weep。 I could get none here。 Not because Mexicans are not as large as I am； but because no Mexican of any size would wear 'em。 So I've had to wash the few that the washer…woman didn't destroy myself。 And when I saw the lot you sent！ It was like a white sale！ Also the quinine which I tasted just for luck； and the soap in the little violet wrapper made me quite homesick。 Especially was I glad to get socks and pongee suits； and shirts。 I really was getting desperate。 God knows what I would have done without them。
I want to see you so much； and I want to see you in the same setting of other days； I want to walk with you in the daisy field； and in the laurel blossoms； and clip roses。 But to be with you I'd be willing to walk on broken glass。 Not you； too。 Just me。
RICHARD。
VERA CRUZJune 4； 1914。 DEAR OLD MAN：
I am awfully sorry for your sake； you could not get away。 Of course for myself I am glad that I am to see you and Dai。 At least； I hope I am。 God alone knows when we will get out of here。 I am sick of it。 Next time I go to war both armies must fight for two months before I will believe they mean it； and BEFORE I WILL BUDGE。
It is true I am getting good money； but also there is absolutely NOTHING to write about。 Bryan doesn't know that unless he talks by code every radio on sixteen ships can read every message he sends to these waters。 And the State Department saying it could not understand the Hyranga giving up her cargo is a damn silly lie。 No one is so foolish as to think the Chester and Tacomah let her land those arms under their guns unless they had been told to submit to it。 And yet today； we get papers of the 29th in which Bryan says he has twice cabled Badger for information； when for a week Badger has been reading Bryan's orders to consuls to let the arms be landed。 Can you beat that？ This is an awful place； and if I don't write it is because I hate to harrow your feelings。 It is a town of flies； filth and heat。 John McCutcheon is the only friend I have seen； and he sensibly lives on a warship。 I can't do that； as cables come all the time suggesting specials； and I am not paid to loaf。 John is here on a vacation； and can do as he pleases。 But I ride around like any cub reporter。 And there is no news。 Since I left home I have not talked five minutes to a woman 〃or mean to！〃 The Mexican women are a cross between apes and squaws。 Of all I have seen here nothing has impressed me so as the hideousness of the women； girls； children； widows； grandmothers。 And the refugees； as Collier would say it； are 〃terrible！〃 I live a very lonely existence。 I find it works out that way best。 And at the same time all the correspondents are good friends； and I don't find that there is one of them who does not go out of his way to SHOW he is friendly。 What I CAN'T understand is why no one at home never guesses I might like to read some of my own stories。 。 。 。
DICK。
Of these days in Vera Cruz John T。 McCutcheon wrote the following shortly after Richard's death：
〃Davis was a conspicuous figure in Vera Cruz； as he inevitably had been in all such situations。 Wherever he went； he was pointed out。 His distinction of appearance； together with a distinction in dress； which； whether from habit or policy； was a valuable asset in his work； made him a marked man。 He dressed and looked the ‘war correspondent；' such a one as he would describe in one of his stories。 He fulfilled the popular ideal of what a member of that fascinating profession should look like。 His code of life and habits was as fixed as that of the Briton who takes his habits and customs and games and tea wherever he goes； no matter how benig