The letter shook in Galusha’s fingers as he began to read.  Mr. Thomas was glad to hear from him, glad to learn that he was in better health, etc. . . .  All right enough, this beginning, but not at all important.  Thomas also felt sure that he, Professor Bangs, would be grateful to know that Mr. Cabot’s condition was, so his physician seemed to think, steadily improving.  The improvement was slow, of course, which was to be expected, but . . . a long paragraph here which Galusha skipped.  He was highly pleased to know that Cousin Gussie was better, but at present that was sufficient; he could not waste time in reading details of the convalescence.  Why didn’t the man get down to business?

Ah, here it was!  Mr. Thomas wrote: 

“In your letter to Mr. Cabot I note your inquiry concerning the stock of the Wellmouth Development Company, its desirability as an investment, the likelihood of present sale, and so on.  I know nothing of the matter personally, and am not in a position to ascertain at the present time.  Speaking in a general way, however, and with my only knowledge of the facts in the case that supplied by your letter, I should suggest that your friend keep his stock and await developments.  I am quite sure that a forced sale—­if such a sale could now be made at any price, which I doubt—­would involve the sacrifice of almost the entire amount invested.  I should suggest holding on and waiting.”

Galusha passed his shaking hand across his perspiring forehead.

“Oh, dear me!” he said aloud.

“This would be my advice,” went on the letter, “but if you wish a more positive answer I suggest your writing Mr. Minor at our Boston office.  He will be very glad to look into the matter for you, I am sure, although I am practically certain his views will agree with mine.  Of course, as you will understand, it is quite impossible to mention your inquiry to Mr. Cabot.  He is here to regain his health, which is still very far from normal, his doctor is with him, and the one word which is positively forbidden is ‘Business.’  Mr. Cabot is supposed to forget that there is such a thing.  By the way he spoke of you only the other day, and jokingly said he wondered how mummies and quahaugs were mixing.  The fact that he is beginning to joke once more we all consider most encouraging. . . .”

A paragraph or two more of this sort of thing and then Mr. Thomas’ signature.  Galusha stared at the letter dully.  This—­this was what he and Martha Phipps had awaited so long!  This was the outcome of his brilliant idea which was to save the Phipps’ home . . . and its owner’s peace of mind . . . and Primmie . . . and . . . .

Oh, dear me! dear me!