TŌKYŌ, October, 1898.
DEAR McDONALD,--I find myself not only at the busiest part of the
term, the part when professors of the university don't find time to go
anywhere,--but also in the most trying portion of the work of getting
out a book,--the last portion, the finishing and rounding off.
And I am going to ask you simply _not_ to come and see your friend, and
_not_ to ask him to come to see you, _for at least three months more_.
I know this seems horrid--but such are the only conditions upon which
literary work is possible, when combined with the duties of a professor
of literature. I don't want to see or hear or feel anything outside
of my work till the book is done,--and I therefore have the impudent
assurance to ask you to help me stand by my wheel. Of course it would be
pleasant to do otherwise; but I can't even think of pleasant things and
do decent work at the same time. Please think of a helmsman, off shore,
and the ship in rough weather, with breakers in sight.
Hate to send you this letter--but I think you will sympathize with me in
spite of it.
Affectionately,
LAFCADIO.