Peter Vandyne really is a wonderful man, and he will enrich American letters greatly after he has had time to live a lot of the things he has planned to write.  Farrington, the great producer and dramatist, had read the first act of his epic and said good things about it, Farrington is not a friend of Peter’s sister, Mabel, nor does he own or want to buy any of Judge Vandyne’s stock in railroads or things.  He’s just really the dean of the American stage.  Could anybody blame Peter if he had used ten pounds of paper, if paper comes by the pound, and a quart of ink telling about it?  But he didn’t; about five of the seven pages were all about me and Farrington.  I never was so astonished.  The morning I got home I had written Peter about how all my friends had been glad to see me, and the way the different ones had shown it, and Peter had read that part to Mr. Farrington and he had said that Peter ought to get me to supply some of the human comedy that Peter’s play lacked.  Peter knows so much about life from his literary researches that it goes off and hides from him when he sets out in search for it, and I understood immediately what the great dramatist meant, though Peter probably did not.

So weave some of your heart spells for me, dearest dear Betty [Peter wrote], I am sending you the manuscript of Act I and part of Act II, and I know you will read them carefully and let me know fully what you think of them.  Criticize them from your splendid human viewpoint.  The dear old governor has been rather hard on me of late, and I may have to go into the office yet.  Death!  Help, rescue me, dear, for to put a play across will be my salvation from his prejudices.  I must do it this summer, and then—­then by the new year perhaps I can lay the gems of success at your feet.  May I come down and talk to you soon about it all?  No one knows what’s in my heart but you, my own Betty.  May I come?

    Peter.

I was extremely happy and excited over the poetical way in which Peter was calling on my common sense to help him in his crisis, but I felt weighted down with the responsibility.  Yes, I understood the great Farrington.  He felt as I did—­that Peter’s genius needed to see and help old Dr. Chubb drench Buttercup with a can of condition-mixture.  Now, could I supply all that, or enough of it to keep Peter from being murdered in his father’s office?  The inky bundle at my side began to look as if it weighed a ton, but my loyalty and affection for Peter made me know that I must put my back to the burden and raise it somehow.  If it had been a simple burden, like three sick cows, it would have been easier to take upon my shoulders.  Then suddenly, as I was about to be in a panic about it all, the thought of the cows reminded me of Sam, and immediately, in my mind, I shared the weight of the manuscript with him and began to breathe easier.  The way Sam and Peter love each other inspires positive awe in