s.
Fairchild, yours very sincerely,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

TO SIDNEY COLVIN

_[Vailima] March 9th [1892]._

MY DEAR S. C.,--Take it not amiss if this is a wretched letter. I am
eaten up with business. Every day this week I have had some business
impediment--I am even now waiting a deputation of chiefs about the
road--and my precious morning was shattered by a polite old scourge of a
_faipule_--parliament man--come begging. All the time _David Balfour_ is
skelping along. I began it the 13th of last month; I have now 12
chapters, 79 pages ready for press, or within an ace, and, by the time
the month is out, one-half should be completed, and I'll be back at
drafting the second half. What makes me sick is to think of Scott
turning out _Guy Mannering_ in three weeks! What a pull of work:
heavens, what thews and sinews! And here am I, my head spinning from
having only re-written seven not very difficult pages--and not very good
when done. Weakling generation. It makes me sick of myself, to make such
a fash and bobbery over a rotten end of an old nursery yarn, not worth
spitting on when done. Still, there is no doubt I turn out my work more
easily than of yore; and I suppose I should be singly glad of that. And
if I got my book done in six weeks, seeing it will be about half as long
as a Scott, and I have to write everything twice, it would be about the
same rate of industry. It is my fair intention to be done with it in
three months, which would make me about one-half the man Sir Walter was
for application and driving the dull pen. Of the merit we shall not
talk; but I don't think Davie is _without_ merit.

_March 12th._--And I have this day triumphantly finished 15 chapters,
100 pages--being exactly one-half (as near as anybody can guess) of
_David Balfour_; the book to be about a fifth as long again (altogether)
as _Treasure Island:_ could I but do the second half in another month!
But I can't, I fear; I shall have some belated material arriving by next
mail, and must go again at the History. Is it not characteristic of my
broken tenacity of mind, that I should have left Davie Balfour some five
years in the British Linen Company's Office, and then follow him at last
with such vivacity? But I leave you again; the last (15th) chapter ought
to be re-wrote, or part of it, and I want the half completed in the
month, and the month is out by midnight; though, to be sure, last month
was February, and I mi