It is good to hear from you again and to know that the book is so
nearly complete as to be in the hands of the publishers. I dare say
they will not have it, and you'll have to get it out at your own
expense. When it comes to that I shall hope to be of service to you,
as you have been to me.
So you like Scheff. Yes, he is a good boy and a good friend. I wish
you had met our friend Dr. Doyle, who has now gone the long, lone
journey. It has made a difference to me, but that matters little, for
the time is short in which to grieve. I shall soon be going his way.
No, I shall not put anything about the * * * person into "Shapes of
Clay." His offence demands another kind of punishment, and until I
meet him he goes unpunished. I once went to San Francisco to punish
him (but that was in hot blood) but * * * of "The Wave" told me the
man was a hopeless invalid, suffering from locomotor ataxia. I have
always believed that until I got your letter and one from Scheff. Is
it not so?--or _was_ it not? If not he has good reason to think me a
coward, for his offence was what men are killed for; but of course
one does not kill a helpless person, no matter what the offence is.
If * * * lied to me I am most anxious to know it; he has always
professed himself a devoted friend.
The passage that you quote from Jack London strikes me as good. I
don't dislike the word "penetrate"--rather like it. It is in frequent
use regarding exploration and discovery. But I think you right about
"rippling"; it is too lively a word to be outfitted with such an
adjective as "melancholy." I see London has an excellent article in
"The Critic" on "The Terrible and Tragic in Fiction." He knows how to
think a bit.
What do I think of Cowley-Brown and his "Goosequill"? I did not know
that he had revived it; it died several years ago. I never met him,
but in both Chicago and London (where he had "The Philistine," or "The
Anti-Philistine," I do not at the moment remember which) he was most
kind to me and my work. In one number of his magazine--the London
one--he had four of my stories and a long article about me which
called the blushes to my maiden cheek like the reflection of a red
rose in the petal of a violet. Naturally I think well of Cowley-Brown.
You make me sad to think of the long leagues and the monstrous
convexity of the earth separating me from your camp in the redwoods.
There are few things that I would rather do than join that party; and
I'd be the last to strike my tent and sling my swag. Alas, it cannot
be--not this year. My outings are limited to short runs along this
coast. I was about to set out on one this morning; and wrote a hasty
note to Scheff in consequence of my preparations. In five hours I was
suffering from asthma, and am now confined to my room. But for eight
months of the year here I am immune--as I never was out there.
* * * * *
You will have to prepare yourself to endure a good deal of praise when
that book is out. One does not mind when one gets accustomed to it. It
neither pleases nor bores; you will have just no feeling about it at
all. But if you really care for _my_ praise I hope you have quoted a
bit of it at the head of those dedicatory verses, as I suggested. That
will give them a _raison d'etre_.
With best regards to Mrs. Sterling and Katie I am sincerely yours,