TŌKYŌ, February, 1898.
DEAR McDONALD,--I _ought_ to have answered you about the subject of
investment the other day; but I thought it would be better to wait.
However, now I think (I have just received your telegram, and I confess
it made me uncomfortable) that I had better write my feelings frankly.
I suppose that, being naturally born to bad luck, I shall lose my small
savings in the ordinary course of the world's events; but I would
prefer this prospect to the worry of mind that I should have about
any investment. In fact, rather than stand that worry again (I have
had it once) I should prefer to lose everything now. The mere idea of
business is a horror, a nightmare, a torture unspeakable. The moment I
think about business I wish that I had never been born. I can assure
you truthfully that I would rather burn a five hundred dollar bill than
invest it,--because, having burned it, I could forget all about it, and
trust myself to the mercy of the gods. Even if I had Jay Gould behind
me, to pull me up every time I fell, I should not have anything to do
with business. Even to have to write you this letter makes me wish that
all the business in the world could be instantly destroyed. I am afraid
to explain more. I think I won't go to Yokohama on Friday next--but
later,--well, what's the use of writing more--you will understand how I
feel. Ever most faithfully,