lear down on the train and hit a Piute. For weeks they
thought he would not get over it but he did, and is all right, now. Has
been ever since. This is a long introduction but it is the only way
I can make myself known. The favor I ask I feel assured your generous
heart will grant: Give me some advice about a book I have written. I do
not claim anything for it only it is mostly true and as interesting as
most of the books of the times. I am unknown in the literary world and
you know what that means unless one has some one of influence (like
yourself) to help you by speaking a good word for you. I would like to
place the book on royalty basis plan with any one you would suggest.

This is a secret from my husband and family. I intend it as a surprise
in case I get it published.

Feeling you will take an interest in this and if possible write me a
letter to some publisher, or, better still, if you could see them for me
and then let me hear.

I appeal to you to grant me this favor. With deepest gratitude I think
you for your attention.

One knows, without inquiring, that the twin of that embarrassing letter
is forever and ever flying in this and that and the other direction
across the continent in the mails, daily, nightly, hourly, unceasingly,
unrestingly. It goes to every well-known merchant, and railway official,
and manufacturer, and capitalist, and Mayor, and Congressman, and
Governor, and editor, and publisher, and author, and broker, and
banker--in a word, to every person who is supposed to have "influence."
It always follows the one pattern: "You do not know me, BUT YOU ONCE
KNEW A RELATIVE OF MINE," etc., etc. We should all like to help the
applicants, we should all be glad to do it, we should all like to return
the sort of answer that is desired, but--Well, there is not a thing we
can do that would be a help, for not in any instance does that latter
ever come from anyone who CAN be helped. The struggler whom you COULD
help does his own helping; it would not occur to him to apply to you,
stranger. He has talent and knows it, and he goes into his fight eagerly
and with energy and determination--all alone, preferring to be alone.
That pathetic letter which comes to you from the incapable, the
unhelpable--how do you who are familiar with it answer it? What do you
find to say? You do not want to inflict a wound; you hunt ways to avoid
that. What do you find? How do you get out of your hard place with a
contend co