126.
1929:
[Ottawa, Ont.] August 8,
1929.
My dear A.L.P.,
Coming home, last night, from a 1000-mile jaunt in the car,
through Sask. , I found your letter and hasten to answer
in order to correct an erroneous impression. We don't have
a bit of the blues. We are merely trying to look facts in
the face. Considering what we have had to live through, you
couldn't find another couple of people who get through day
after day more cheerfully than we do; it is the talk of our
friends, the few whom we have. That there is a background
of sorrow and of things which we must not touch on and which
often threaten to overwhelm us, you must not blame us for.
But suppose that otherwise this town were bearable to us,
what would ever come of our staying here? I have lived here
for seven years; and fundamentally I am no father advanced
than ever. I published a book last fall; and some 5000 copies
were sold of it. I am not publishing a book this coming fall.
I went out three times on lecture tours which brought me
$ 2200 which are invested. But I have covered the territory;
such an opportunity will not come again; besides, I cannot
repeat the feat: I have nothing to talk about; and if I had
anything, I could not undertake such tours again because
I am physically no longer what I was twenty years ago: that
sort of thing has come too late: in other words, these sources
of income which have brought me altogether $ 6000 during
the last eighteen months have dried up: it is capital we
are living on, not interest. You speak of Powell's review
in the men's residence: but who put it there? I have no doubt
that there is a Grove trail left behind wherever you go,
old man. And another such trail wherever Alexander goes;
and perhaps two or three more. But I have the distinct feeling
that the success of OUR DAILY BREAD, such as it was, was
an artificial thing; manufactured by my lecture tours and
personal propaganda, plus advertising by the publishers.
Sales in England and the U.S.A. have been negligible; reviews,
prevailingly unfavorable; in the U.S.A. , they said the book
was not worth reviewing; Alexander was quite mad about it;
but perhaps they are right and he is wrong? In Canada , 5000
copies, I am told, is the most that can be sold; Eayrs is
so pleased that he pays me 15% now. Well, on the royalties
on one book every (It need to be said sold 72 copies to date
and is as dead as a roasted duck) second year - the most
the market will stand of me, I am told - selling even 5000
copies (which I do not expect to be repeated) I cannot possibly
expect to live. It seems plain commonsense that I should
use my present prosperity to establish myself somehow: that
is what I propose to do. Nothing of the blues about that,
is there?
Well, we are now planning to stay here for another month
or six weeks; then go east, straight to Toronto , board there
while I deliver a number of addresses which I have promised;
and then, what?
Let us know about your moves, will you? Since we are not
going to Ontario at once there will be no trouble about the
things we'll send to East Gate. I gave to ABE Spalding what
I could and dismissed it from my thoughts. Alexander will
read the book for Macmillan's; and in course of time I'll
offer it at New York and London . Meanwhile I am writing
a few unsalable short stories.
How and where is Mrs. Phelps? All well?
As ever,
F.P.G.
