iting in the
Army and I never want to sign my own name again. "Yours sincerely,
Herbert Asquith," "Faithfully yours, J. Jellicoe"--these by all means;
but not my own.

However, I wrote a letter in the third year of the war; it was to the
bank. It informed the Manager that I had arrived in London from France
and should be troubling them again shortly, London being to all
appearances an expensive place. It also called attention to my new
address--a small furnished flat in which Celia and I could just turn
round if we did it separately. When it was written, then came the
question of posting it. I was all for waiting till the next morning, but
Celia explained that there was actually a letterbox on our own floor,
twenty yards down the passage. I took the letter along and dropped it
into the slit.

Then a wonderful thing happened. It went

_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--
flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--FLOP._

I listened intently, hoping for more ... but that was all. Deeply
disappointed that it was over, but absolutely thrilled with my discovery,
I hurried back to Celia.

"Any letters you want posted?" I said in an off-hand way.

"No, thank you," she said.

"Have you written any while we've been here?"

"I don't think I've had anything to write."

"I think," I said reproachfully, "it's quite time you wrote to your--your
bank or your mother or somebody."

She looked at me and seemed to be struggling for words.

"I know exactly what you're going to say," I said, "but don't say it;
write a little letter instead."

"Well, as a matter of fact I _must_ just write a note to the laundress."

"To the laundress," I said. "Of course, just a note."

When it was written I insisted on her coming with me to post it. With
great generosity I allowed her to place it in the slit. A delightful
thing happened. It went _Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
flipperty--flipperty--FLOP_.

Right down to the letter-box in the hall. Two flipperties a floor. (A
simple calculation shows that we are perched on the fifth floor. I am
glad now that we live so high. It must be very dull to be on the fourth
floor with only eight flipperties, unbearable to be on the first with
only two.)

"_O-oh!_ How _fas_-cinating!" said Celia.

"Now don't you think you ought to write to your mother?"

"Oh, I _must_."

She wrote. We posted it. It went.