Well--God knows you're right! I've shown you often enough how incompetent I am to do anything but write jingles!" "You do some more of them--without the whiskey, Crailey.

They're worth more than all the lawing Gray and Vanrevel have ever done or ever will do.

Good-by---and be kind to yourself." He descended to the first landing, and then, "Oh, Crailey," he called, with the air of having forgotten something he had meant to say.
"Yes, Tom ?" "This morning at the post-office I found a letter addressed to me.

I opened it and--" He hesitated, and uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to the other, with a feeble, deprecatory laugh.
"Yes, what of it ?" "Well--there seemed to be a mistake.

I think it must have been meant for you.