After that fall in Chicago, after Strindberg, Saturday, January 25th, hope left me until the 30th. Leaving that day for ’Frisco a certain old time grim resolution to make another big effort took possession of me, but to no purpose as usual.
At noon of the 31st, I changed trains at La Junta for a side trip to Denver. While on the way to Denver I became acquainted with the man who put me back in fighting mood for several days. Our conversation started when he asked permission to sit beside me, which was unnecessary, but polite. He casually asked if I was going to stay in Denver. I said no, that I was merely on a visit. I asked to be referred to a hotel. He told me of the —— kept by his brother.
We talked along, and he painted Colorado in glowing colors—said he had left New York twenty-two years ago, and with the exception of one year in Texas, had lived in Denver ever since. To his mind there was no place like it. He told me business was quiet, but that I could undoubtedly get something within a short time. He invited me to call at his house on Sunday.
We arrived Friday night, the 31st, and he pointed out the hotel from the station, and hurried off. Saturday, I took sight-seeing car through city, and Sunday foothills trip. The air was fine, as he had enthusiastically said, and the bright appearance of things, despite a snowstorm on Saturday, argued well for this as a healthy, bright, beautiful city and all he said it was.
I called on him Sunday, and found he had a beautiful house, a pleasant wife and two fine children. The little girl of three took to me right away, which surprised them but not me, as children do take to me. The boy of thirteen was also very enthusiastic, bright and friendly, and after supper we three grown-ups had a pleasant talk on various subjects. I left with a delightful feeling of having had a glimpse of a nice home, which brought back all my thoughts of times past of a home, with a lovely wife and children on my knee, dreams which in my bad periods I had rejected as hopeless for me, thus taking away a great spur to work and ambition.
Impulsively the next day I put in my ticket for refund, being willing in my enthusiasm to lose $11 or so for baggage, which had gone on to Frisco, to say nothing of freight charges of over $7, including boxing, for return to Denver. Thus I expect to pull out $10 of my $49.75 for ticket from Chicago, fare to Denver being $22.60, tourist. I give these figures to show how great was my ecstasy on Monday morning, February 3d, perhaps the last time I shall feel so optimistic and in love with everything, great enough to make me, without work and less than $100 in cash, drop $18 carelessly and without worry—me, who had skimped and scraped ever since started working, although only to lose recklessly on impulses.
Then I went after work in the same spirit; called on the Chamber of Commerce, was referred to two reliable employment agencies, went to the typewriter companies, and visited one prospective employer. On Tuesday I visited three, and could probably have landed one, but my old bugaboo, the reaction, had begun to set in, and at 5 o’clock Tuesday, after lying down in my room at the hotel I got up, hurriedly dressed, rushed to the railroad ticket office, and asked to have my baggage stopped. My ticket had gone in for refund, and the freight agent promised to telegraph immediately to hold baggage if not already sent. Yesterday I found it had been sent, and now await returns on that and my ticket.
When I got these I thought of going on to Frisco and ending it all there. Last night I wrote a despairing letter home, offering to return if they would send me $50, but did not mail it, and this morning tore it up, merely writing saying I would be here until the latter part of this month in case the family had any proposition to make to me or money to send.
If they ask me to return and send some money, I probably will. Otherwise I shall probably go to Frisco with a week or two week’s
expenses in my pocket after paying fare, and finishing this story. I say probably in both cases because I now realize my hopeless lack of will-power, my whole life practically being impulse with a delusive current of purpose running through it.