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Friday, May 1, 1891

Friday, May 1, 1891

7:50 P.M. As I came to doorstep, found another had preceded me—and as I found him to be a Press reporter, I warded him off for W. and gave him the information he wanted. He had brought today's Call—wished to know how far it was truthful. I talked freely and calmly to him, then gave him Longaker's and my Philadelphia addresses—telling him that if at any time he wished anything authoritative he had best come to us. He seemed pleased. Good face—body supple and strong—said he had met W. at Denver in 1879.

Going straight to W.'s room, found him on his feet. Observing me, he sat down again. "How do you do, Horace? For the want of something better I had just started to the bed. I am glad you have come again." Told him what I had just been doing with the reporter. "Thanks! Thanks! That relieves me of one. But many come. That Call man was here today and I liked him pretty well. No, not a sign of the papers—I did not know what he would make of it. So it is pretty good, eh? Thank God for that!"

W. expressed his "joy" that Bucke "sends word of improvement—real radical improvement." He had "gone through carefully" Current Literature left yesterday. I brought last pages cast—the sheets. Now he said, "I did not go over the contents pages—yet I should, too. Now that everything else is here I will. I can make it a point for tomorrow and Sunday—and that should fetch it." Now new samples of paper, out of which he readily settled upon the one I had told Ferguson was my own choice. I had foreseen correctly. "Enough for a thousand copies, Horace"—and after a pause—"I had no idea, Horace, but to risk a thousand. What we will do with them remains to be seen. But one thing—find if additional quantities of this paper can be readily got. I have made up my mind to have 'November Boughs' printed in the same style, and then have copies of the two books bound together—mainly for my own use. Indeed, I can say I am quite determined on that. But for the present, no doubt, 'Good-Bye' is our book—we must center on that."

In respect to the Philadelphia papers, I asked W. if he did not think he had more vogue than of old? "Yes, I think I have—my name certainly gets about more—but what does it amount to?" He has no copy of Truth yet, so I promised to buy him one tomorrow.

He spoke despairingly of his condition. "No rally seems possible—it is my last run of fish." Had been down in the parlor today. "O'Donovan was over—brought a young fellow with a camera. They took me hell's times in all sorts of posishes." I laughed at his "hell's times" and "posishes"—and he seemed to perceive intuitively what caused my merriment for quickly he burst into a hearty laugh himself.

I had found him the sherry at last—at Reisser's—and left with him. He would "not break seal with it till tomorrow."

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