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I sent you a telegram5 last night asking you to telegraph your father6 for me. I had at home in my desk three small address books, one for foreign addresses, one for family addresses and another for friends in this country7 and in Canada8. Miss Bloom9 packed my papers for me and I suspect she thought two address books were enough. She neglected to include the family address book so I was unable to reach your father direct. I will be glad if you will send me his present address when you write.
I am sending you a funny little clipping because it gave me pleasure, and I think it might give you
pleasure. This cutting10 was sent
me by an unknown person in Indianapolis11 -- probably some writer on the Indianapolis Star12. Just at the end I think there is a nice word13
to come from my old chief14 -- the man
who published my first short
story15 in his magazine16 and afterward
my first book17 of short stories -- which I
hope you haven't seen for most of it was bad enough. For the next three
years after he had published that first book, I worked hard on Mr. McClure's
magazine and he sent me abroad
twice18 to arrange some important contracts in England19 for him. Of late years I simply
have not had time or strength to keep up my connection with him as I should
have done. He has been more faithful and loyal than I. I wrote him a long
letter not long ago and shall see him as soon as I go back. I send this
little clipping to you, my dear, because now that Roscoe20 is no longer alive, there is no one
left to whom it would mean anything. You could send it to Charles21 if you wished,—but Jack's22
daughters23 whom I have never
seen, do not seem to be very
discreet though I am sure they are nice girls. They once sent me some poetry
written by a high school teacher of theirs. The teacher, if not the girls, evidently had bright hopes that I could get it
themhim, so I don't feel that Jack's
family are safe confidants.