1:30 P.M. Very hot day—I spent forenoon in Philadelphia. But W.'s condition day before, and for several days, had worried me, so made a special trip over to see how he was. Gilbert with me. Left him on step, with Warrie, while I went up to W. We talked 10 or 15 minutes together. W. reading Philadelphia Press, spoke of its "dullness." Yet that "all days here grow dull—lose their pulse, life." Indisposition to see strangers. "I am gradually closing all the avenues of escape: life narrows, narrows." Yet finds his mind still craving to know the world—to follow its winding experiences. I am to see McKay tomorrow. W. said, "Let Dave see everything is open except the simple fact that the additional pages are determined upon—that they are to go in, whatever he thinks about it. Yes, even in with the copies he has printed and in sheets. As for the rest—talk the matter over. You represent me. Tell Dave if he thinks to continue the book at two dollars, can manage to do it: well, very well. Yet that it is my notion something will have to be added. All I have to say is, feel him for the points we have talked over—then come to me. We want to be just to Dave and are determined to be just to ourselves, too. It is a closing act—the last on the bill: soon the curtain will be down."