[George Milmine Bodman to his brother, Herbert Bodman Sr., circa 1907]

Milmine Bodman & Co.,
401 Produce Exchange.
New York.

Dear Herb
 
      I feel like a mutton for not having written you for several days, but if you had seen the way I have been sweating since Sunday, you would understand why I have not written, but probably would hardly be able to understand your brother. I have not left the office before 6:30 yet this week and when one starts writing and figuring at 9:30 and keeps it up for nine hours, just as tight as they can go, by evening they are pretty well used up, which has been my case. We have been very busy especially in grain and stocks, and the brunt of it has fallen on me. The Market has been crashing steadily since last Friday, until the majority of people consider it bottomless, --a pit engulfing the unsuspecting widows and orphans.
      After a consultation with many internationally prominent financier[s], on Saturday I lept [sic] into the market about noon, and electrified the brokerage world by my wild purchases--consisting in one share of International Salt and one share of Penn at 37, and 136 respectively, making the net outleigh [outlay] of $105, which was the amount of money to be invested by Herbert Bodman Esq. I have had them transferred and they now stand on the books of the company in your name, while the certificates rest safely in Father's box. So much for finance.
      The house party over Sunday was pronounced by Noyes & Bodman, now professional connoisseur on such matters, a pronounced success. Clive Du Val, Ben Low, a dark fellow named Beekman & Ray & I formed the cluster around Dorothy, Charlotte, Elizabeth & Margaret Hess. Alexandra Stevens disappointed us the last minute--a sad blow.
      Saturday afternoon we all rode 4 $ per. Dorothy and I took a turn around the country and about 6 dropped in at Dom's for a glass of water, whereupon we were treated to most refreshing tea & cake & a walk around the grounds. Haven't they a beautiful location? It was beautiful there. Dom had spent the afternoon at work on the [John?] and looked it. The evening we spent in the pale moonlight--beautiful but chilsome, trying to sing close harmony with Noyes. The moon couldn't stand it long and went out, whereat it became more chilsome and I negotiated a cold.
      Sunday we hired a buss [sic] and drove way back in the country to some beautiful woods, where after carrying a packet, weighing about 60 lbs 2 miles through an African jungle, Beekman & I finally passed away, in a beautiful rocky glen near an old broken down Mill and thus compelled the party to halt, while we came to. It was a beautiful spot where I am going to take you some day. Ray and I cooked some of our far famed coffee and served it sans sugar or cream in ginger ale bottles, --a handicap I confess, but it was appreciated by the few.
      Later Sunday afternoon I took the whole party down to Doms [sic] to tea and they were most hospitable to the crowd.
      Sunday evening to save a nights board, Ray and I gave out that the condition of the Stock Market demanded our early presence Monday morning, and so we left Sunday evening about 9:30. Since then it has been eat, sleep, and work, & my head is beginning to be pretty [tired?]. I am looking forward to a run up to a Cromwell [immensely?] either this Sunday or next. Everyone has left the office and if I do not want to be late to dinner I must start uptown.
      You don't know how I miss you old man during the few hours I am at home. It will be worse this summer, but if you are getting strong, I can put up with anything, for we can get together later.
      I wrote Chris today telling him we would not want him till toward the end of June. You ought to be a regular Sampson by that time.

Your loving brother
        George M. Bodman

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