Ah, I don't know what I believe now. Only, once I had my young courage,—I feared not the world, I could do anything. Now I am but one among a million.
March 16th.
I force myself to read these things that half-interest me; but I think I spend a quarter of my time wandering about whispering that they are going to publish it. I cry out, “Oh, they must!” I go into the library and stare at the magazine and think of it there. I walk past the publishers', and think of it there! I have been inquiring all about publishing, about terms and all that sort of thing. It makes my brain reel—why, they might pay me five hundred dollars for it! Think of it—five hundred dollars!—I could go crazy with such a thought as that.
And then I think what the reviews will say of it, and I cry, “Oh, no, it can't be true!”
Again I find myself saying, “Only let them take it! I don't care about the rest, whether it succeeds or not—let them take it!”
March 18th.
I walked past the editor's office to-day. It took just every bit of will that I had, not to go in. I said: “He might know even now, and I wouldn't hear till to-morrow!”