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you are a trump and you seem to have the knack of soothing the afflicted
spirits of the undersigned when no one else can quite reach them. You have
sort of been a bracer to me ever since I was a shaved headed Prep with very
idiotic notions about things and a sweet confidence in myself which, odious
as it must have been, I wish to God I had back.
I never should have got through that Pound5 scrape without you, as I have told you before. No
matter how daffy I may seem sometimes I have never forgotten that when my
father6 and my mother7 and Katharine8 and the Lord himself deserted me, then you took me
up. Heavens Mariel, I wonder will I ever be
done making a fool of myself? There has been another little scrap recently
with some one I like that I may tell you about sometime if I can get my
nerve up. It 2 was all my fault and I am an
unspeakable fool to let it hurt me but you
it it is not in one's power to help being hurt sometimes. Lord but
I have always been a monumental idiot and I dont see how you have stood me at all. For a time I affected the
scholastic and quoted Greek at you, and then I affected the Bohemian and
what not. They were all honest enthusiasms at the time, and but they seem terribly silly now. I think
I should get so disgusted with myself that I would just quietly take a dose of Prussic acid to rid mysel myself of my own company if it were not
for this one thing, that most of my idiocy has come from liking somebody or
other too well. That's a very pitiable sort of justification, but it's the
best I've got. I might say from liking things as well as people. Its a curse to be built that way. In the years I have been away I have
kind of grown away from my family and there
their way of looking at things until they are 3 not much
comfort and I have the unpleasant feeling that they are all the time kind of
waiting for me to "do something." People have have joshed them about my "ability" until they sort of
expect something unusual of me and the Lord only knows where its coming from
for I dont. I feel all played out. How can I "do anything" here? I have'nt
seen seen enough of the world or anything
else. I am a terribly superficial person. If it were not for Jack9 I should get quite desperate
sometimes. That little chap's big gray eyes have
a power of consolation in them, he comforts me just as he comforted
Katharine in her woe last summer. He is just made to love people
dearly,—a sweet enough thing for other people but it will cause him
suffering enough I am afraid.
Yesterday I drove overland twenty miles to Blue
Hill10 with Douglas11 to
a dance. It sounds giddy, but I went because that kid was wild to go. I did'nt expect to have a good time but I did. In the first place I found a
dandy sort of a girl12, handsome as a
picture 4
and finely educated, reads and speaks French and German like a top. She is
teaching for the first time and by some strange chance drifted to Blue Hill.
She is boarding with an old high school professor13 and his
wife14 whom I went up to visit. Then at the dance who should I
meet but old Fred Gund15, once an a co-editor of the Hesperian16 with me. He was a cigarette smoaking sport of the Sawyer17 gang
then, but now he is a sane manly business fellow and cashier of the Blue
Hill bank. He was awfully nice and devoted
himself to me the whole evening and it was good to see him and talk over old
times. a There were thirty
five dances and I danced them all. After the
dance Professor Curran13
ha had a lunch for us and Fred went with us. After lunch the Miner
girls18—they went up to the dance too—played on the
violin and piano a long time it was half past three when the young gentlemen
said good night. We had danced 5 until two. Then the
h Nice Girl—Miss Gayhardt12—and I went to bed, and
she was so glad to meet someboy
body "from civilization" that we talked books and
theatre until the daylight came through the shutters. Then we slept just two
hours hours and got up for breakfast. I
came home on the train at noon. The worst about going out and having a good
time is that it makes you all the blue more
blue when you get back to your solitude and your accursed un- finished manuscripts19 that you have'nt got the heart to work at. "Life is
one d—d grind, Cather" as Prof.
Hunt20 used to say. There is nothing to do but just quietly peg
along and lie low until I get out of debt, for I have'nt got the nerve to
ask my family to help me out any more. Besides they cant. Hang it, I've made
a sweet muddle of things for a maiden of one and twenty. I'd be all right if
the several act fair actresses to whom I
have rashly loaned money would see fit to remit, but bless 6 bless
you, they cant live without paste diamonds and champagne and I haven't the heart
to dog them about it. I suppose they would do as much for me. Anyway I have
learned a lot from them—not that it's much worth knowing, but I
suppose I must consider it all for the "good of the cause of art" and let it
go as the price of experience. Only there have been times when I could
better afford to pay for experience than just now. I cant tell this sort of
thing to Katharine—you know why. Well, I
have bothered you enough for this time. I want to come up to Lincoln3 sometime this month and I'll be
only too glad to stay with you a day or two—my stay in Lincoln wont be for long. I get the happiest
letters from poor old Bates21, he is so
gay now that he is in a hill country where people care about Paderewski22 and Swinburne23. I think he has come into his kingdom. Not a big
one, but he will get a sight of pleasure out of it.