November 6 Sunday – At the Grosvenor Hotel in N.Y.C. Sam wrote to Susan Crane.

Aunt Sue, dear, I’m on my knees begging forgiveness for not long ago thanking you for your invitation to visit the beloved farm this month. Goodness knows I wanted to, but I couldn’t get away from here—even for a day. Part of it was business; a good deal of it was the house. My, the house! I think Katy & the cook expect to move in, about day after to-morrow; Katy thinks she may be able to have my room ready for me by next Saturday or Sunday. As to when we can send for Jean & the servants—well, that is further along, we can’t guess a date. Your own room will be ready as early as Jean’s—& it will make you swear. Light green wall-paper, you see, & we have no bed for it but the one from the Hartford pink-&-blue room! No, you’ll not have to swear, Sue, I will stand by & do it for you.

This moment a letter from Jean. She is happy. Also a ’phone message from Miss Gordon to say Clara is bright & cheerful, & her cat more than that. Last night he performed to make a circus ashamed of itself.

I am in bed these 2 or three days—cold in the head. I returned to my ancient & infallible method: I starved it entirely out in 24 hours. And there is no cough—the bronchial tubes have escaped, for the first time since the spring of 1892—twelve years. / This is Sunday. A tragic day. / Lovingly, [MTP].

A. Silk wrote from Calcutta, India to Sam, enclosing a note from the Librarian of the United Service Club there, asking what the “Diary” [Adam’s] was—philosophical, religious, or both? [MTP].