TŌKYŌ, December, 1898.
DEAR FRIEND,--"I've gone and been and _done_ it." This wise:--You see I
kept thinking about things--discounts and money-profits and bargains,
and publishers playing into each other's hands,--and the possible
worthlessness of the work,--and the necessity of improving it much more
before insisting upon high prices,--and the wisdom of recopying half
of it,--and the risks of shipment and shipwreck and fire and dishonest
post-office clerks--till I got nearly crazy! If I listened much more
to the echoes of your suggestions and advice, I should have gone
_absolutely_ crazy. Therefore in fifteen minutes I had the whole thing
perfectly packed and labelled and addressed in various languages, and
shot eastward by doubly-registered letter--dedicated to Mrs. Behrens,
but entrusted largely to the gods. And to save myself further trouble
of mind, I told the publishers just to do whatever they pleased about
terms--and not to worry me concerning them. And I feel like a man
liberated from prison,--smelling the perfumed air of a perfect spring
day. "Ghostly Japan" will concern me no more--unless the ship is
wrecked, or the manuscript lost in some way: which must not be thought
about. The book is gone, and the illustrations go by next mail. Pray to
the gods for the book--that's all that we can do now.
I hope the foot is not any worse. You are an impatient boy, too, you
know--when it comes to sitting still, instead of rushing things. Please
take all good care of yourself till I run down, which will be very soon.
Affectionately,
LAFCADIO.