5:15 P.M. Talked good half hour with W., and when I left, though the clouds seemed to threaten darkly, he thought, he said, that he would "at least try" his "outing."
As I feared there is to be trouble about a hall. The Academy managers refuse to have Ingersoll, say that was decided upon long ago: that neither Ingersoll nor any other atheistic speaker could control the platform there. They put it on the ground of complaints served. We find that the Union League Annex cannot be controlled for the same reason. Will try next for Musical Fund Hall. W. said, smiling, "The event proves interesting. Well, we must remember what has been said—truly said—that the blood of the martryrs is the seed of the church. And so it is, in more senses than could be easily named. You will persevere? Yes? I thought so—now is just the time to push on. I had not expected any trouble of this sort, to be sure." He usually asks me for "the news" and did so today; and now said, "That's interesting enough news for one day."
Invited me to take some sickle pears out of a bag on the floor.
Asked him about a description of his "study" for my article. Would like a sort of inventory of goods from him. He laughed, "It is not 'study'—rather 'shack.' You know what a 'shack' is? It is a dug-out—in a way, a den. It is a word used in the West mostly, for the holes cut in the hillsides, once the resort of exploring parties, and now that exploring is over, for the railroad gangs. This is my 'shack.' I remembered a newspaper description the other day—a pretty good one—and I looked for it, thinking I knew where it was, but it did not turn up, being, like everything else in this room, of a mind of its own, secretive enough till the day I don't want it—then making a smiling appearance. But I will take ten minutes tomorrow and scratch a few things together for you."