hances professionally, as so many of them
know me now that I am no use in some districts. For instance, in Mott
and Pell streets, or in the Bowery, I am as safe as any precinct
detective. I tell you this to keep you from worrying. They won't
touch a man whom they think is an agent or an officer. Only it spoils
my chances of doing reportorial-detective work. For instance, the
captain of the Bowery district refused me a detective the other morning
to take the Shippens around the Chinese and the tougher quarters
because he said they were as safe with me as with any of the other men
whose faces are as well known. To-night I am going to take a party to
the headquarters of the fire department, where I have a cinch on the
captain, a very nice fellow, who is unusually grateful for something I
wrote about him and his men. They are going to do the Still Alarm act
for me.

These clippings all came out in to-day's paper. The ladies in the
Tombs were the Shippens, of course; and Mamie Blake is a real girl, and
the story is true from start to finish. I think it is a pathetic
little history.

Give my love to all. I will bring on the story I have finished and get
you to make some suggestions. It is quite short. Since Scribner's
have been so civil, I think I will give them a chance at the great
prize. I am writing a comic guide book and a history of the Haymarket
for the paper; both are rich in opportunities. This weather makes me
feel like another person. I will be so glad to get home. With lots of
love and kisses for you and Nora.

DICK-O.

NEW YORK--1890.

DEAR CHAS:

Brisbane has suggested to me that the Bradley story would lead anyone
to suppose that my evenings were spent in the boudoirs of the
horizontales of 34th Street and has scared me somewhat in consequence.
If it strikes you and Dad the same way don't show it to Mother. Dad
made one mistake by thinking I wrote a gambling story which has made me
nervous. It is hardly the fair thing to suppose that a man must have
an intimate acquaintance with whatever he writes of intimately. A lot
of hunting people, for instance, would not believe that I had written
the "Traver's Only Ride" story because they knew I did not hunt. Don't
either you or Dad make any mistake about this.

DICK.

As a matter of fact they would not let me in the room, and I don't know
whether it abounded in signed etchings or Bougereau's nymphs.

NEW YORK--1890.

DEAR FAMILY: