study window being near my field. The name "study" suggests literary
efforts. Is it in your case merely a room devoted to the penning of
senseless and impertinent letters to unoffending neighbours, who have
something better to do than waste their time reading and answering
them? I hope this letter will be the last one I shall find it
necessary to write to you.

_Re_ your postscript. Try prussic acid, but pray do not confine it to
the toilets of your carrots. A few drops on the tongue would, I am
sure, make you take a less distorted view of things, and you would
cease to worry over such trifles as the braying of a harmless animal.

Faithfully yours,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.

Of course I simply had to reply to this, but made no reference to
the _tu quoque_ question. He had evidently failed to grasp, or had
ignored, the rather obvious suggestion in the last few words of my
first letter on the subject. I wrote:--

MY DEAR CHAP,--Thanks so much for your prompt reply and valuable
information about prussic acid. There was, however, one omission in
the prescription. You didn't say on whose tongue the acid should be
placed. If you meant on the donkey's it seems an excellent idea. I'll
try it, so excuse more now, as the chemist's will be closed in a few
minutes.

Yours in haste,
HARRY F.

Petherton was getting angry, and his reply was terse and venomous:--

SIR,--Yes, I did mean the donkey's. It will cure both his stupid
braying and his habit of writing absurd and childish letters.

But if you poison _my_ donkey it will cost you a good deal more than
you will care to pay, especially in war-time.

It is a pity you're too old for the army; you might have been shot by
now.

Faithfully yours,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.

I had now got on to my fourth speed, and dashed off this reply:--

DEAR FREDDY,--I like you in all your moods, but positively adore you
when you are angry. As a matter of fact I am very fond of what are so
absurdly known as dumb animals, and am glad now that the chemist's was
closed last night before I decided whether to go there or not. BALAAM
himself would have been proud to own your animal. It roused me from
my bed this morning with what was unmistakably a very fine asinine
rendering of the first few bars of "The Yeoman's Wedding," but
unfortunately it lost the swing of it before the end of the first
verse.

Yours as ever,
HARRY.

Petherton gave up the contest; but I let him have a fin