to Bill, it meant far more to Gregg; for Bill had always had brothers of his own in Bay City, but Gregg was one of those only children who ought to have been born in a large family. To come back to his own possessions meant, to Gregg, to return to things shared by Bill; he could never enter his door without at once thinking of Bill; and to-night this was with special keenness when he went to his room and picked up the letters from his dresser.
The one which Dora had left on top was from his father in Muskegon; and the sight of the familiar blue paper and the firm, friendly handwriting gave Gregg an image of the doctor, sitting at his old desk in the office overlooking the lake, away up there on the Michigan shore, and writing his regular Saturday letter. Gregg opened it and glanced through its three pages to make sure that everything was all right at home; then he ripped the envelope addressed in the impulsive, interesting-looking writing of Marjorie Hale.
His hand suddenly clamped upon the note and he looked down, breathing a little quicker while he listened to a strong, steady step which told him that Whittaker had come home. Billy went on to his own room, so Gregg read:
Dear Mr. Mowbry:
You knew me better than I; for I didn't like "Aphrodite" a bit; but still I'm glad I saw it. And that's not inconsistent.
But the purpose of this epistle is this: mother's having a few people in for dinner before we go over to the Lovells' dance; will you come? Mother or I've telephoned mostly for this spur-of-the-instant gathering; in comparison, this invitation to you is pompous. So just 'phone and come.
