Now although Mr. Bucket walks upstairs to the little library within the larger one with the face of a man who receives some scores of letters every day, it happens that much correspondence is not incidental to his life. He is no great scribe, rather handling his pen like the pocket-staff he carries about with him always convenient to his grasp, and discourages correspondence with himself in others as being too artless and direct a way of doing delicate business. Further, he often sees damaging letters produced in evidence and has occasion to reflect that it was a green thing to write them. For these reasons he has very little to do with letters, either as sender or receiver. And yet he has received a round half-dozen within the last twenty-four hours.

Now although Mr. Bucket walks upstairs to a little room in the library with the face of a man who receives scores of letters every day, his life does not involve much correspondence. He is no great scribe, and discourages letters from others as being too artless and direct a way of doing delicate business. He often sees damaging letters produced in evidence and reflects that it was naive to write them. For these reasons he has very little to do with letters, either as sender or receiver. And yet he has received half-a-dozen within the last twenty-four hours.
