am still in the running, and
learning every day. Brisbane and I have had our first serious
difficulty over Mrs. R----, who is staying with Mrs. "Bill." There is
at present the most desperate rivalry, and we discuss each other's
chances with great anger. He counts on his transcontinental knowledge,
but my short stories hit very hard, and he is not in it when I sing
"Thy Face Will Lead Me On" and "When Kerrigan Struck High C." She has
a fatal fondness for Sullivan, which is most unfortunate, as Brisbane
can and does tell her about him by the half hour. Yesterday we both
tried to impress her by riding down in front of the porch and showing
off the horses and ourselves. Brisbane came off best, though I came
off quickest, for my horse put his foot in a hole and went down on his
knees, while I went over his head like the White Knight in "Alice." I
would think nothing of sliding off a roof now. But I made up for this
mishap by coming back in my grey suit and having it compared with the
picture in The Century. It is a very close fight, and, while Brisbane
is chasing over town for photographs of Sullivan, I am buying books of
verses of which she seems to be fond. As soon as she gets her divorce
one of us is going to marry her. We don't know which. She is about as
beautiful a woman as I ever saw, and very witty and well-informed, but
it would cost a good deal to keep her in diamonds. She wears some the
Queen gave her, but she wants more.

DICK.

NEW YORK--1890.

DEAR MOTHER (LATE MA):

I am well and with lots to do. I went up to see Hopper the other
night, which was the first time in three months that I have been back
of a theater, and it was like going home. There is a smell about the
painty and gassy and dusty place that I love as much as fresh earth and
newly cut hay, and the girls look so pretty and bold lying around on
the sets, and the men so out of focus and with such startling cheeks
and lips. They were very glad to see me and made a great fuss. Then
I've been to see Carmencita dance, which I enjoyed remarkably, and I
have been reading Rudyard Kipling's short stories, and I think it is
disgusting that a boy like that should write such stories. He hasn't
left himself anything to do when he gets old. He reminds me of Bret
Harte and not a bit of Stevenson, to whom some of them compare him.

I am very glad you liked the lady in mid-air story so much, but it
wasn't a bit necessary to add the MORAL f