The Caledonia
Wednesday.
My Dear Mr. Jack:
I owe Gilman Hall $175 (or mighty close to it) pussonally—so he tells me. I thought it was only about $30, but he has been keeping the account.
He’s just got to have it to-day. McClure’s will pay me some money on the 15th of June, but I can’t get it until then. I was expecting it before this—anyhow before Gilman left, but they stick to the letter.
I wonder if you could give me a check for that much to pay him to-day. If you will I’ll hold up my right hand—thus: that I’ll have you a first-class story on your desk before the last of this week.
I reckon I’m pretty well overdrawn, but I’ve sure got to see that Hall gets his before he leaves. I don’t want anything for myself.
Please, sir, let me know right away, by return boy if you’ll do it.
If you can’t, I’ll have to make a quick dash at the three-ball magazines; and I do hate to tie up with them for a story.
The Same
Sydney Porter