8:00 P.M. W. in his room and on the bed. Had just come up from the parlor, where he had spent an hour at the window. Insisted that he would get up. I asked, "Isn't the bed warm anyway?" "Not too warm—no, I do not feel it as you might, or others. When a man is old—and all his innards are fallen out—digestion disgruntled—the waterworks limping, leaking along—everything impaired, weakening, giving way—he is not ready to quarrel with his bed—a little warmth more or less." He said this with a merry laugh, then knocked on the floor with his cane—Warrie (from the doorstep) responding with alacrity. W. said, "Touch the glimmer, Warrie," and after we were adjusted (he was helped across the room), he felt in his vest pocket: "Here Warrie, we must treat Horace to cream"—adding as Warrie took the coin—"Get enough for all, Warrie, for all!"
While Warrie was gone, we talked. W. examining some old manuscripts today—a pile on the bed. W. said he had a letter from Bucke. "Now his anxiety is, when he must start for Europe—he says he daily, almost hourly—expects a telegram." As to the cream, "I like it: it has such a good taste of milk—is refreshing—goes to the right place." Again, "What is finer, anyhow, than a simple glass of milk—iced milk—these hot days?" Asked, "How did the mother's birthday pass off?" And to my word of gratefulness (from her) for his handkerchief W. said, "No, it is all right—tell her as I so often say, the main thing is that we are here—the rest is but vague." I proposed some carriage rides for the summer and W. was agreed. Sundays, probably. Told him Ralph Moore had written me for an interview about the tomb.
I sat down and wrote with W.'s big pen a postal to Stoddart asking for 15 to 20 sets of sheets of August matter. W. remarked, "Today I received a proof of my little piece—it has gone back tonight. All, now, I hope, in good shape."
I met Longaker in Philadelphia today—took some cream with him. Asked me, "What do you think of Whitman's condition now? I think it favorable." W. remarked, "It is a good thing to hear. I wonder—wonder?" When Warrie brought in the cream, W. ate with great enthusiasm. "It sets a fellow quite up: it is a pretty good make, too—I can taste the cream of it, which is to say a good deal." Said that more and more as he thought over the scheme of our book, he approved it.