EDGAR.
"Lords of the Ghostland" took on shape very slowly. Mr. Saltus seemed unable to focus his mind on anything. Well he knew that the relatives with whom I was stopping abroad had lined up a lot of eligibles,—many of whom I already knew. They ranged from an Italian Prince, with a time-worn title and a moth-eaten tumble-down palace, to an English millionaire of recent vintage. They were a job lot, accumulated to offset and counteract his influence. Anchored and handicapped by a wife and child and a reputation none too immaculate, he saw his position with clarity, and he wrote:—
My own darling:—
There is no little Mowgy any more. No little Puff-tat to miaw and to say 'Quicksy' when you wanted anything. I say it now. For God's sake return quicksy or poor Snipps goes under. I do so hope you are happy, but don't drink champagne or dine alone with men. Remember that you are only a child,—my child, and should anything separate us it would be as if a bullet had been put through my head. Should anything happen to me you need blame yourself only for having made me love you so absolutely. Hell has no more horrors than those in which I am groping now. If I can only get the syndicate running properly and the divorce. I have said I will yield everything but alimony.
Then, dearest, we can go to London and take the little house in Brook Street you told me of. I am ill,—too ill to work any more. Don't let anything or anybody come between us unless you want my death. Others can give you everything—everything but understanding. Trust the man to whom you are the center of the universe.
Eternamente,
EDGAR.
Careful and painstaking in the writing of letters to editors and friends, Mr. Saltus invariably wrote to me on a yellow copy pad and in pencil. In twenty years the writing against the tinted background has become indistinct, but, poor as it is, a fac-simile of one of his letters will be given. The sheets on these pads were large, and as a rule his letters covered ten or twelve of them. For the sake of brevity only the shortest are quoted, and these not in full.
These letters which poured in several at a time on every steamer, rose as a smoke between the eligibles and himself, as he expected them to do. He seemed to need me so badly. Above and beyond every other sentiment he inspired was the desire not only to protect him from the outside world—that was simple—but to protect him against the greater danger: himself and his weaknesses.
Disregarding the wishes and plans of those with whom I was stopping, November saw me on the Celtic en route for New York.
The following spring found things in statu quo. "Lords of the Ghostland" was no nearer completion and Mr. Saltus as far from free as before. Another European trip was arranged for me. I was to sail on the Celtic early in May. Once again Mr. Saltus was disconsolate, and as before the "wows" and lamentations began. Toward the last however he appeared to accept it with a great deal of philosophy. Among the crowd of "well wishers" at the boat with arms full of fruit, flowers, pillows and sweets, was Mr. Saltus. He had said good-bye the night before with surprising calmness. The lessons of the Gitâ seemed to have been absorbed at last.