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To George Iles, far the Toque Blew Snow-shoe Club, Montreal:
DETROIT, February 12, 1885.
Midnight, P.S.
MY DEAR ILES,--I got your other telegram a while ago, and answered it,
explaining that I get only a couple of hours in the middle of the day
for social life. I know it doesn't seem rational that a man should have
to lie abed all day in order to be rested and equipped for talking an
hour at night, and yet in my case and Cable's it is so. Unless I get
a great deal of rest, a ghastly dulness settles down upon me on the
platform, and turns my performance into work, and hard work, whereas it
ought always to be pastime, recreation, solid enjoyment. Usually it is
just this latter, but that is because I take my rest faithfully, and
prepare myself to do my duty by my audience.
I am the obliged and appreciative servant of my brethren of the
Snow-shoe Club, and nothing in the world would delight me more than to
come to their house without naming time or terms on my own part--but
you see how it is. My cast iron duty is to my audience--it leaves me no
liberty and no option.
648
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