chuckled aloud, was as follows:

MY DEAR CALVIN GRAY: Work him--work the rascal hard! He's a lazy chap
with a way with him which plays the deuce with my foolish old heart. I
could make my own son work, and did; but this son of his--that seems to
be another matter. Yet I know well enough the dangers of idleness--know
them so well that I'm tickled to death at the mere thought of his
putting in his time at any useful task. He did well enough in college;
there are brains there unquestionably. I didn't object seriously to his
travelling--for a time--after his graduation; but that sort of life has
gone on long enough, and when I talk to him of settling down at some
steady job it's always "after one more voyage." I don't yet understand
what has given him the impulse--whim--caprice--I don't venture to give
it any stronger name--to accept this literary task from you. He vows
he's not met the women of your household, or I should think that might
explain it. I hope he will meet them--all of them; they'll be good for
him--and so will you, Cal. Do your best by the boy for my sake, and
believe me, now as always,

Gratefully your old friend,

MATTHEW.

"Eleanor, have you five minutes to spare for me?" Judge Gray, his old
friend's note in hand, hailed his brother's wife as she passed the open
door of his library. She came in at once, and, though she was in the
midst of household affairs, sat down with that delightful air of having
all the time in the world to spare for one who needed her, which was one
of her endearing characteristics.