This is very kind of you, and if you are very much shocked at my explicitness please consider yourself an extra nephew, M.D. for the occasion, and put this in the fire.
I have had a kidney attack. I believe something “gouty” (?) has been wrong for weeks, but I had not asked the doctor until such pain set in that there were no two ways about it, I had to go to bed; and he put me on a “course” (of alkalis, I believe) to get out the enemy. Of course this was very weakening, but I was soon up—and really absolutely, I believe that if it were not for a nasty barking cough—very tiresome by day, and more so by night—I should be much as usual. I should be grievously disappointed if you did not come for any reason connected with me. Speaking very selfishly, and besides all the good the pleasure of one of your visits does me, I do not feel as if I could settle comfortably until I have the benefit of your sound and skilled advice about how to rearrange my entomological work.
“Reminiscences” are in enough trim to show you something of even now.[[116]]
March 2, 1901.
I am so sorry regarding what I am writing that I hardly know how to put it, but I find to-day I am so much pulled down that I am obliged to tell you. It would be a sad disappointment to me if I did not see you, but my nights are so bad from this cough that I cannot depend on not having to ring to call Miss Hartwell to attend to me, and this makes a great commotion. I believe, as I wrote you yesterday, that the illness (as well as the pain) has gone, but it is the cough which has been keeping me pulled down, more than I knew.
March 4, 1901.
Indeed, you are quite too kind and good to me, and now I want to say that my doctor says he does not see any reason why I should not be able to enjoy your visit on Sunday next without any difficulty or risk whatsoever. If it was convenient to you, would the train suit that would bring you to St. Albans about a quarter before 11 from St. Pancras, and could you stop till the (I think) 8.30 train? I am truly sorry not to be looking forward this week to a whole week-end, but I am still obliged to get up and go to bed at unusual hours; but, indeed, I am very much better—the pain went, but one of the bad sort of cold or cough attacks followed and I could not sleep properly for three nights nor rest lying down. Now I can rest and sleep again.
March 7, 1901.
Please do not think that a good talk tires me or is any strain. It is the want of conversation that I find so wearing, and there is so very much that it will be quite a delight and a rest for me to be allowed to go over with you.
I am writing this to-day so that you may know that (so far as anything in this world is certain) there is no possible reason why I should not look forward to the pleasure of our meeting next Sunday. I am not able to give you my doctor’s verdict for the good reason that he did not think I needed looking up yesterday.