NEW YORK — 1890.
[DEAR MOTHER (LATE MA):]
I am well and with lots to do. I went up to see Hopper
the other night, which was the first time in three months that
I have been back of a theater, and it was like going home.
There is a smell about the
painty and gassy and dusty place that I love as much as fresh
earth and newly cut hay, and the girls look so pretty and bold
lying around on the sets, and the men so out of focus and with
such startling cheeks and lips. They were very glad to see me
and made a great fuss. Then I've been to see Carmencita
dance, which I enjoyed remarkably, and I have been reading
Rudyard Kipling's short stories, and I think it is disgusting
that a boy like that should write such stories. He hasn't
left himself anything to do when he gets old. He reminds me
of Bret Harte and not a bit of Stevenson, to whom some of them
compare him.
I am very glad you liked the lady in mid-air story so
much, but it wasn't a bit necessary to add the Moral from
a
Mother. I saw it coming up before I had read two lines;
and
a very good moral it is, too, with which I agree heartily.
But, of course, you know it is not a new idea to me. Anything
as good and true as that moral cannot be new at this late
date. I went to the Brooklyn Handicap race yesterday. It is
one of the three biggest races of the year, and a man stood in
front of me in the paddock in a white hat. Another man asked
him what he was "playing."
"Well," he said, "I fancy Fides myself."
"Fides!" said his friend, "why, she ain't in it. She
won't see home. Raceland's the horse for your money; she's
favorite, and there isn't any second choice. But Fides! Why,
she's simply impossible. Raceland beat her last
Suburban."
"Yes, I remember," said the man in the white hat, "but I
fancy Fides."
Then another chap said to him, "Fides is all good enough
on a dust track on a sunny, pleasant day, but she can't ran in
the mud. She hasn't got the staying
powers. She's a pretty one to look at, but she's just a
`grandstand' ladies' choice. She ain't in it with Raceland or
Erica. The horse
you want is not a pretty, dainty flyer,
but a stayer, that is sure and that brings in good money, not
big odds, but good money. Why, I can name you a dozen
better'n Fides."
"Still, somehow, I like Fides best," said the obstinate man in
the white hat.
"But Fides will take the bit in her mouth and run away,
or throw the jock or break into the fence. She isn't steady.
She's all right to have a little bet on, just enough for a
flyer, but she's not the horse to plunge on. If you're a
millionaire with money to throw away, why, you might put some
of it up on her, but, as it is, you want to put your money
where it will be sure of a `place,' anyway. Now, let me mark
your card for you?"
"No," said the man, "what you all say is reasonable, I
see that; but, somehow, I rather fancy Fides best."
I've forgotten now whether Fides won or not, and whether
she landed the man who just fancied her without knowing why a
winner or sent him home broke. But, in any event, that is
quite immaterial, the story simply shows how obstinate some
men are as regards horses and — other uncertain critters. I
have no doubt but that the Methodist minister's daughter would
have made Hiram happy if he had loved her, but he didn't. No
doubt Anne — — , Nan — — , Katy — — and Maude —
— would have
made me happy if they would have consented to have me and I
had happened to love them, but I fancied Fides.
But now since I have scared you sufficiently, let me add
for your peace of mind that I've not enough
money to back any horses just at present, and before I put any
money up on any one of them for the Matrimonial stakes, I will
ask you first to look over the card and give me a few
pointers. I mayn't follow them, you know, but I'll give you a
fair warning, at any rate.
"You're my sweetheart, I'm your beau."
DICK.
