50 for the mission cause. I remember it made me smile a
little grimly. The fifty cents would have come handy for lunch that
day. It just happened that I did not have any. It happened quite
often. I was, as I said, ever a bad manager. I mention it here
because of two letters that came while I have been writing this, and
which I may as well answer now. One asks me to lift the mortgage
from the writer's home. I get a good many of that kind. The
writers seem to think I have much money and might want to help them.
I should like nothing better. To go around, if one were rich, and
pay off mortgages on little homes, so that the owners when they had
got the interest together by pinching and scraping should find it
all gone and paid up without knowing how, seems to me must be the
very finest fun in all the world. But I shall never be able to do
it, for I haven't any other money than what I earn with my pen and
by lecturing, and never had. So their appeals only make me poorer
by a two-cent stamp for an answer to tell them that, and make them
no richer.
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