Fair Banks Oct. 26th

My dear “Savage”

I wrote you a note a few days ago, but Mr. Fairbanks thinks he forgot to put on more than an ordinary stamp. We are not accustomed to foreign correspondence. As the newspaper begins to talk about you now and you seem to be the fashion, I can afford to send you the second letter, but I stipulate right here for an early and a double answer.

Who do you think ate our wild ducks, last Friday and gathered our flowers, and said pretty things about our home? Susie Crane and her husband. Was n’t it nice in them to come, and to be so pleased with everything, and to make us so happy? Is n’t Susie an angel—I know there are places for wings on her shoulders—and I begin to see new loveliness in Theodore. We talked of you and we all concluded you were worth loving. The day they left brought “Joaquin” Miller to rhapsodize over Fair Banks. He spent a night with us and I like the man as I had not thought to. He won us in spite of prejudice and newspapers. Is he a villain! He certainly has genius in rich measure—and he has grown so delicate & gentle and unaffected. He has dropped the barbaric element and is ambitious to seem a refined gentleman. He has shorn his Absalom locks, he wears kid gloves and black neck-tie. What do you believe of his domestic life? He adores you and England.

They are treating you handsomely in England—we are glad—and everybody is watching you here—and I your anxious mother am stretching my neck over all the great audience. I know you’ll say and do your best and simplest things. Don’t write newspaper letters of anything you are to put in a book, will you? Your next book, make a fresh surprise. Joaquin Miller says, “write to Twain & thank him for his letter to Hutton the Publisher.[”]

Your little “after dinner” at the Club was nice. Keep doing the nice things. Say nothing irreverent—make your wit exquisite (as you know how) not broad—touch lightly, rather tenderly upon departed goodness, even if it was not greatness (see Albert memorial), and then I’ll just settle back to my knitting and dream of your glory.

Good bye—I shall send no more cautions nor suggestions till I hear from you.

I am always your loving Mother,