April 10th.
I waited one day more and no answer. I wrote to him again to-night, begging him to please reply.
—I have begun several novels, but I can't get interested in them. I am simply sick. I came out of that horrible restaurant with money enough to do me for ten weeks, and here are over five of them gone in this hideous way. Oh, it is monstrous!
It has been nine weeks and a half since I gave him that poem in the beginning! I never spent nine such weeks of horror in my life.
April 12th.
“In answer to your letter I beg to inform you that the manuscript of The Captive is now in the hands of the firm, and that you may expect a decision in about a week.”
So! It is a relief at any rate to know that the thing is all right. I can wait a little better now.
Of course I knew it must be there. A plague on that foolish clerk!