put it on to me.

"Why, just--_say_. When you're paying the rent, you know."

"I--I see."

I retired to the library and thought it out. I hate writing business
letters. The result is a mixture of formality and chattiness which seems
to me all wrong.

My first letter to the landlord went like this:--

"DEAR SIR,--I enclose cheque in payment of last quarter's rent. Our bath
won't run out properly. Yours faithfully."

It is difficult to say just what is wrong with that letter, and yet it
is obvious that something has happened to it. It isn't _right_. I tried
again.

"DEAR SIR,--Enclosed please find cheque in payment of enclosed account.
I must ask you either to enlarge the exit to our bath or to supply an
emergency door. At present my morning and evening baths are in serious
danger of clashing. Yours faithfully."

My third attempt had more sting in it:--

"DEAR SIR,--Unless you do something to our bath I cannot send you
enclosed cheque in payment of enclosed account. Otherwise I would have.
Yours faithfully."

At this point I whistled to Celia and laid the letters before her.

"You see what it is," I said. "I'm not quite getting the note."

"But you're so abrupt," she said. "You must remember that this is all
coming quite as a surprise to him. You want to lead up to it more
gradually."

"Ah, perhaps you're right. Let's try again."

I tried again, with this result:--

"DEAR SIR,--In sending you a cheque in payment of last quarter's rent I
feel I must tell you how comfortable we are here. The only
inconvenience--and it is indeed a trifling one, dear Sir--which we have
experienced is in connection with the bathroom. Elegantly appointed and
spacious as this room is, commodious as we find the actual bath itself,
yet we feel that in the matter of the waste-pipe the high standard of
efficiency so discernible elsewhere is sadly lacking. Were I alone I
should not complain; but unfortunately there are two of us; and, for the
second one, the weariness of waiting while the waters of the first bath
exude drop by drop is almost more than can be borne. I speak with
knowledge, for it is I who----"

I tore the letter up and turned to Celia.

"I'm a fool," I said. "I've just thought of something which will save me
all this rotten business every morning."

"I'm so glad. What is it?"

"Why, of course--in future _I_ will go to the bath first."

And I do. It is a ridiculously simple solution, and I cannot think why
i