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Since I can never get up the courage to say such things well, please let me write you how badly I feel about Mr. McClure4's having talked as he did to Mr. Peabody5. Ordinarily I can take Mr. McClure’s bouquets in the far-from-serious spirit in which they are thrown. But he has humiliated me more than once about the Xtian Science6. He certainly puts me in a foolish position about it—but I shall console myself by reflecting that you and Turner7 and Irwin8 have each a sense of humor and are probably getting a good deal of fun out of my Miss Tarbell9-ship on the side10. There is a sort of grim humor about it, even to me. Of course I know that I am not an article writer—I haven’t a single qualification of one. And I know that you are. And there we be both are. Since I’m in for a sort of masquerade I’ll do the best I can, and I’ll thank Heaven when it’s over. You have surely been patient and fair to a degree I shall not forget. You could have made me uncomfortable and unhappy every minute, and instead you have done whatever you could to help me and make my part in the work less trying and awkward. I thank you again and again.
I hope to get to New York11 early next week, about Wednesday, I think.
Faithfully Willa Cather