fectly
aware that the calcalus is asphalt and not concrete." Of course I do
know that much about it.

My letter kept the ball rolling all right, for Petherton replied:---

SIR,--Have you no sane moments? If you have any such, I should be glad
if you would employ the next lucid interval in setting your affairs
straight and then repairing to the nearest asylum with a request that
they would protect you against yourself by placing you in a padded
cell. This done and the key lost, the world, and Surbury in
particular, would be a happier place.

You cannot seriously suggest that any society for literary discussion
could be formed here or elsewhere which should include yourself,
and even so you must know that your being a member would prevent my
joining it.

Has the call for National Service not reached your ears yet? You
appear to have plenty of leisure time on your hands which might be
better employed. Or have you offered yourself and been rejected on the
grounds of mental deficiency?

Faithfully yours,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.

I didn't feel called upon to make a song about my method of doing my
bit, which, I am glad to say, has the approval of the authorities;
but I was anxious to hear Petherton's joints crack once more, so I
wrote:--

DEAR FREDDY,--Your letters get better and better in style as your
writing deteriorates. I am very sorry to gather from your last that
you look coldly on my scheme. I am sure that those to whom I have
mentioned the idea would decline to entertain it if it lacked your
active support, so I trust you will reconsider the matter.

I am thinking over your asylum stunt. It would certainly save some
expense, and if this terrible War continues much longer it will, I
fear, drive me to such a refuge; though I trust in that event that I
shall be allowed to choose pleasanter wall hangings than those you
suggest. I'm rather fond of light chintzy papers, aren't you? They're
so cheerful.

Hoping to hear from you _re_ our little society at your earliest ("The
Surbury Literary and Scientific Society" would sound well, and would
look rather nice on our note-paper--what?)--

I am, yours as ever,
HARRY.

Petherton saw red again and bellowed at me, thus:--

SIR,-- ---- you and your beastly society. I don't know who is the more
execrable, you or the KAISER.

Faithfully yours,
FREDERIC PETHERTON.

Common decency compelled me to reply, so I wrote:--

MY DEAR OLD BOY.--You don't know h