TŌKYŌ, January, 1899.
DEAR McDONALD,--I got home safe and early,--thanks to your carriage! But
I feel a little uneasy about you; and when you get perfectly right again
in that strong back of yours, I want to hear from you--_not_ before.
Don't imagine that I must have an answer to every scrawl. I don't know
what to say to you and the doctor,--except that you are both spoiling
me. Tōkyō seems unusually tristful this rainy evening; and I feel
that it is because you and the doctor are both far away,--and that the
world is not really anything like what you make it appear to be.
I came up with three Americans, all of whom talked about Manila,
Aguinaldo, "the people at home," Boston, the Pennsylvania Central,
Baldwin's locomotives, the Pacific Coast,--and the commanders of the
various iron-clads at Manila. It did me good to hear them. They cocked
up their heels on the seats, home-fashion; and I felt sort of pulled
towards them,--but we didn't get acquainted. They knew everything about
everything in the whole world; and it did one good to hear them. Wish we
had a few men of that sort in the university.
It will feel lonesome in Japan after you go back: I think I should like
to be one of those small eaglets that you used to supply with fish on
the voyage,--and have a hen wander occasionally within reach of my rope.
Only a line before going to sleep. A stupid note--just to show that I am
thinking of you. My wife is delighted with the photo, and says it is the
best of all by far--in which I agree with her.
Love to you, and _do_ take every care of your dear self.