When I began this final reconstruction the story contained 81,500 words, now it contains only 58,000.  I have knocked out everything that delayed the march of the story—­even the description of a Mississippi steamboat.  There’s no weather in, and no scenery—­the story is stripped for flight!

Now, then what is she worth?  The amount of matter is but 3,000 words short of the American Claimant, for which the syndicate paid $12,500.  There was nothing new in that story, but the finger-prints in this one is virgin ground—­absolutely fresh, and mighty curious and interesting to everybody.

I don’t want any more syndicating—­nothing short of $20,000, anyway, and that I can’t get—­but won’t you see how much the Cosmopolitan will stand?

Do your best for me, for I do not sleep these nights, for visions of the poor-house.

This in spite of the hopeful tone of yours of 11th to Langdon (just received) for in me hope is very nearly expiring.  Everything does look so blue, so dismally blue!

By and by I shall take up the Rhone open-boat voyage again, but not now —­we are going to be moving around too much.  I have torn up some of it, but still have 15,000 words that Mrs. Clemens approves of, and that I like.  I may go at it in Paris again next winter, but not unless I know I can write it to suit me.

Otherwise I shall tackle Adam once more, and do him in a kind of a friendly and respectful way that will commend him to the Sunday schools.  I’ve been thinking out his first life-days to-day and framing his childish and ignorant impressions and opinions for him.

Will ship Pudd’nhead in a few days.  When you get it cable

                    Mark Twain
                         Care Brownship, London
                                        Received.

I mean to ship “Pudd’nhead Wilson” to you-say, tomorrow.  It’ll furnish me hash for awhile I reckon.  I am almost sorry it is finished; it was good entertainment to work at it, and kept my mind away from things.

We leave here in about ten days, but the doctors have changed our plans
again.  I think we shall be in Bohemia or thereabouts till near the end
of September, then go to Paris and take a rest. 
                         Yours Sincerely
                                        S. L. C.

P. S. Mrs. Clemens has come in since, and read your letter and is deeply distressed.  She thinks that in some letter of mine I must have reproached you.  She says it is wonderful that you have kept the ship afloat in this storm that has seen fleets and fleets go down; that from what she learns of the American business-situation from her home letters you have accomplished a marvel in the circumstances, and that she cannot bear to have a word said to you that shall voice anything but praise and the heartiest appreciation—­and not the shadow of a reproach will she allow.