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My Herald—Tribunes4
come in bunches5, and I don’t
always open them at once. So for me, Pat6 was lost, found, returned, all in one bunch of news,
like a “continued story.” I’m glad he is back again, but more glad that he
ran away. I’m glad he wanted to run away. He has had too much petting, and
it’s a good sign that he felt like kicking it all over. People are always
(on your account and because you are a publisher) paying more attention to
him than they naturally would to a lad of his age. Their overtures are more
potent than your efforts to contract the
them: (bad English, but you will understand.)
All this wouldn’t matter if the boy were just a silly ass. But there is
another side to him, and you’ll agree with me that the other side hasn’t had
much chance. We all like flattery, and most young people like to stand out
from the crowd and be exceptional. The son of a successful and prominent man
always has a hard time. But the only son of a conspicuously original and
successful publisher, in these times when every sc society girl and every school boy wants to “write”—well, he’s
pretty nearly damned from childhood. I’ve sometimes wished you’d sent him to
school in Switzerland7, where his
name would not suggest getting next
⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩to a publisher. I don’t think
you can realize what a handicap “Alfred A. Knopf Inc.” is to him. He’d have
to be of heroic heroic
(heroic) mould to stride over it. (I wrote8
Blanche9 several weeks agon ago about getting a black spider sting
on my right hand—had a nasty time with it. Now I’m free of bandages, but my
hand remains stiff and awkward, as you can see when I have to write the word
“heroic” over three times to make it at all decipherable!) I hope you and
Blanche didn’t worry too much about Pat’s running away.
My love to you both, and a great deal to Pat—though I shan’t tell him so.
Devotedly to you all W. S. C. (over) P.S.Just a word: why don’t you ask Greenslet10 to let you see the prospectus (failed again!) prospectus they are preparing for
the limited
subscription edition11? A
rumor is going round that you have left me, or I have left you.