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By Root 6047 0

in the slow summer air from the doorway. She blinked at me and her pupils seemed narrowed to vertical slits. 'Well, we'll see,' I said to her. 'That always the best thing to say, isn't it, dear?' said Mrs Tinckham. At last I took up Sadie's letter. I was extremely nervous of it. I felt sure that it would contain something unpleasant. Mars stirred at my feet and snuffed against my shoe. I opened the envelope. There were two enclosures which I set aside and unfolded a long perfumed sheet down which a narrow column of writing flowed in Sadie's elegant hand. Her letter read as follows.

DARLING JAKE,

About that wretched dog--you must think me awful not to have written sooner, but the truth is that your letter got mixed up with the most enormous pile of fan mail. (What a problem that is! One never knows whether to look at the stuff or not. Just to see it there is rather uplifting for the ego--though I suppose it does undermine the character a bit. Not that I'd ever dream of reading it even if I had time. My secretary just classifies it into cretins for, cretins against, cranks, professionals, intellectuals, religious, and offers of marriage!) I must say, I was just a little hurt by the tone of your letter--that is, until I realized that of course you didn't write it. (Did you, darling?) Yes, now about the dog. The fact is, S. and I have so much on our hands at the moment we really can't cope with the brute. (You've no idea what a bother an animal picture is. The most impossible men in tweeds come in and wander about the set--and the next thing is the Dumb Friends' League are sending in spies disguised as continuity girls.) S. thought the easiest thing would be for you to keep him if you'd like to. That is, we'd expect you to buy him, of course. (Sorry to be a business girl, but one has to watch the cash, with the cost of living and partly living what it is, and the income tax people absolutely inventing ways to make one poor. Anyway, it's S.'s thing, you know, not mine. I'm just writing on his behalf.) I should say �700 and call it quits. That covers all film rights, book rights, ad. rights, and so on. (You've no idea how many rights there are in this business! Talk about the Rights of Dog!) Of course he's a bargain at the price. But S. got him cheap in fact, and we only want to cover our costs. If you'd like to buy, perhaps you'd get in touch with my solicitor--I enclose his card, if I've remembered to do so. If you don't want to buy perhaps you'd get in touch anyhow and make some arrangement about returning the animal. Sorry not to look after this in person; I'm madly busy getting ready to go to the States. By the way, if you do decide to buy the dog, don't forget to work the ads. I enclose (ditto) a letter from the dog-biscuit people, I forget their name. They want to use photos or something. Whatever they offer, ask for twice. Forgive this fearful scribble. It was good to see you. Let's meet again, shall we, when the hurly burly's done. Tho' heaven only knows when that will be. Perhaps in a year or two. I have a long and tender memory.

Yours ever, SADIE

P.S. S. seems to have a typescript of yours which some woman lent him. I'll get him to lodge it chez my solicitor, so you can pick it up when you call about the dog.

This letter absolutely delighted me. I didn't know which pleased me most, its gentleness or its cunning. I had no doubt that Sadie thought it quite possible that I would be fool enough to buy Mars, she probably wasn't sure whether I knew the secret of his age, she must think it unlikely that she would find a better buyer in her own well-informed milieu, she asked a sum of money which was about the maximum that I would be likely to be able or willing to cough up, she then hastened to indicate a way in which I might manage to recoup myself; and the final paragraph clearly came from the heart, or whatever cool yet sensitive organ Sadie kept in place of one. I looked at the two enclosures. One was the card of Sadie's solicitor, which I stowed away in my pocket. The other was the letter from the dog-biscuit people.