On these occasions the ever-watchful butler would either place
the food with a fork in the track of J. P.'s systematic exploration, or
guide Mr. Pulitzer's hand to the right spot.
Like many people in broken health Mr. Pulitzer had a very variable
appetite. Sometimes nothing could tempt his palate, sometimes he ate
voraciously; but at all times the greatest care had to be exercised in
regard to his diet. Not only did he suffer constantly from acute
dyspepsia, but also from diabetes, which varied in sympathy with his
general state of health.
He took very little alcohol, and that only in the form of light wines,
such as claret or hock, seldom more than a single small glass at lunch
and at dinner. Whenever he found a vintage which specially appealed to
him he would tell the butler to send a case or two to some old friend in
America, to some member of his family or to one of the staff of The
World.
After lunch Mr. Pulitzer always retired to his cabin for a siesta. I use
the word siesta, but as a matter of fact it is quite inadequate to
describe the peculiar function for which I have chosen it as a label.
What took place on these occasions was this: Mr. Pulitzer lay down on
his bed, sometimes in pyjamas, but more often with only his coat and
boots removed, and one of the secretaries, usually the German secretary,
sat down in an armchair at the bedside with a pile of books at his
elbow.
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