h evolutions, and finally, with thunder and energy, trained
a huge Krupp gun--or something--on a chipmunk? If there is such a
story, and you've heard it, doesn't it remind you of your last letter
at me? Not to me, I mean _at_ me. It was a wonderful letter again,
but when I got through I had a feeling that what I needed was not
suicide--I do dare say the word, you see--but execution. Maybe
shooting is too good for me. And you know I appreciate every minute
how unnecessary it is for you to bother with me, and to put your time
and your strength, both of which mean much to many people, into
hammering me. And how good you are to do that. I am worthless, as you
say between every two lines. Yet I'm a soul--you say that too, and so
on a par with those tragic souls in North Baxter Court. Only, I feel
that you have no patience with me for getting underfoot when you're on
your way to big issues. But do have patience, please--it means as much
to me as to anybody in your tenements. I'm far down, and I'm
struggling for breath, and there seems to be no land in sight, nothing
to hold to except you. I'm sorry if you dislike to have it so, but it
is so; your letters mean anchorage. I'd blow out to sea if I didn't
have them to hope for. You ought to be glad of that; you're doing
good, even if it is only to a flippant, shallow, undeveloped doll. I
can call myself names--oh yes.

I have been slow answering, though likely you haven't noticed [McBirney
smiled queerly], because I have been doing a thing. You said you
didn't advise me to go slumming--though I think you did--what else?
You said I ought to get beyond the view-point of a child; to realize
the world outside myself.

I sat down, and in my limited way--I mean that, sincerely, humbly--I
considered what I could do. No slumming--and, in any case, there's
none to be done in Forest Gate. So I thought I'd better clear my
vision with great books. I went to Robert Halarkenden, the only
bookish person in my surroundings, and asked him about it--about what
would open up a larger horizon for me. And he, not understanding much
what I was at, recommended two or three things which I have been and am
reading. I thought I'd try to be a little more intelligent at least
before I answered your letter. Don't thunder at me--I'm stumbling
about, trying to get somewhere. I've read some William James and some
John Fiske, and I realize this--that I did more or less think God was a
ve