I'm an age acknowledging your letter; but then you'd have been an age
writing it if you had not done it for "Sloots." And the other day I
had one from him, written in his own improper person.
I think it abominable that he and Carlt have to work so hard--at
_their_ age--and I quite agree with George Sterling that Carlt ought
to go to Carmel and grow potatoes. I'd like to do that myself, but
for the fact that so many objectionable persons frequent the place:
* * *, * * * and the like. I'm hoping, however, that the ocean will
swallow * * * and be unable to throw him up.
I trust you'll let Sloots "retire" at seventy, which is really quite
well along in life toward the years of discretion and the age of
consent. But when he is retired I know that he will bury himself in
the redwoods and never look upon the face of man again. That, too, I
should rather like to do myself--for a few months.
I've laid out a lot of work for myself this season, and doubt if I
shall get to California, as I had hoped. So I shall never, never see
you. But you might send me a photograph.
God be with you.