One was from Reeve-Howard; he put it by.

Another had a printed address in the corner--an address that started his pulse a beat or two faster; for he had not yet reached that blase stage where he could receive a personal letter from one of the "Eight Leading" without the flicker of an eye-lash.

He still gloated over his successes, and was cast into the deeps by his failures.
He held the envelope to the light, shook it tentatively, like any woman, guessed hastily and hopefully at the contents, and tore off an end impatiently.

From the great fireplace Gene watched him curiously and half enviously.

He wished he could get important-looking letters from New York every few days.