ss a braver thing than that before I die, but
I doubt it. I tried, of course, to get him not to do it. But it was
very simple to him. It was his job. Nobody else knew the part; it was
too late to substitute. The rest would lose their salaries if they
closed down for the week, and God knew they needed them. So he said
nothing--and was funny.

I don't know what you'd call it, but I think you know why I've told it
to you. There's a splendor about it and a glory. To do one's
job--isn't that the big thing, after all?

Meantime, mine's waiting for me on the other side of this desk. He has
laid hands on every article in the room at least three times, and for
the last few minutes has been groaning very loud. I think you'd like
him--he's so alive.

Your letter saves me the cost of the western papers, and now that I
know you'll--but you said not to write about you.

The Job has stopped groaning, and wants to know if I'm "writing all
night just because, or, for the reason that."

It's night now--big night, and so still down-town here. Sometimes I
stay up late to realize that I'm alive. The days are so crammed with
happenings. And late at night seems so wide and everlasting. You've
got the idea that I do things. Well, I don't. There are whole rows of
days when it seems just a muddle of half-started attempts--a manner of
hopeless confusion. There's a good deal of futility in it, first and
last. That boy tonight for instance. And, sometimes, I get to
wondering if, after all, one has the right to meddle in other people's
lives. It's curious, but with you I've been quite sure. Always it has
been as clear as light to me that you must come through this--that it
will be right. I don't know how. Even that day you came, I was sure.
As soon as _you_ are sure, the thing is done. That man isn't to be
worried about--or the doctors. Easy for me to say, isn't it?

Are you interested to know that I'm to have my building on the West
Side? There was a meeting today. It's the best thing that's happened
yet, that is, parochially. Maybe she's human after all. I mean Mrs.
Jameson. She's going to pay for it.

I think that's all. You can't say I've tried to thunder at you this
time. I really didn't last time. I've known all along that you
wouldn't be impressed by thunder. The answer to that young devil's
question seems to be: I'm writing "for the reason that," and not, "just
because." Every time I think of that