Dear Sterling: —

So at last it has come to pass that my Scipionic cry — Hodie, hodie, Lillith scribenda est! — has had some effect?

Hooray! It's the very best kind of news. If you had told me that your rich Uncle had just given you a check for a hundred thousand, I would have been but little moved. But I know now that you are most probably writing your masterpiece, and that it is a matter for rejoicing. You proved long ago that you are a master of lyric poetry, and now you will show them another side of you. It makes me happy, Old Man! It's just the proper theme for you.

I wish I had known that Stoddard's collection was not at all representative. I sent in a short review of it last week. The editor needs lambasting, evidently, and I've missed my chance. However the book gave me the feeling that Stoddard was a rare loveable man.

The fate to which you condemn the spinsters of Chicago is simply awful! Never to be ! It is a matter for the S. P. C. A.!

I'm still moving on with "The Song of Three Friends"; have over 1500 lines. Expect to reach the end in February, after two years of work. I sort of think you'll like the fellows in my yarn. Hope so, anyway.

I don't know about getting to the Coast. Red Cross work seems to interfere to some extent. But perhaps I'll get out there, & if I do, I want to bat around with you a little.

As to the degree — doctor me no more doctors when you address me. If John Neihardt can't be made to signify anything, then Doc won't help much. Not that I don't appreciate your courtesy. But once is enough to show you're right. It was nice of the University to give it to me, & when clubs call me "Doctor" I stand for it without a murmur.

Good luck to you always, Old Man, and once more, hooray for Lillith!

Yours always


I can imagine how you must miss London!