"You are late again," said Clara, as I entered our domestic portal.
"What is it this time?"
Gently but firmly I explained the reason. A certain amount of tact was
necessary, for my wife does not care for any remarks that appear to
reflect upon her sex.
"Owing to the present abnormal state of things, my dear," I said, "our
office is now almost entirely staffed by women. In many ways this is
an improvement. Their refining influence upon the dress and deportment
of the few remaining male members of the staff is distinctly
noticeable. But there are, I regret to say, certain drawbacks.
Admittedly our superiors in many respects, in others they are not,
I am afraid, equal to the situation. Take, for instance, matters of
detail where you--I mean they--should excel. I asked Miss Philpott to
write a letter--"
"Did you post that letter for me this morning?" said Clara. "If Mrs.
Roberts doesn't get it she won't know where to meet me to-morrow."
It is a woman's privilege to wander from the point at issue. I
told Clara somewhat shortly that I had posted the letter, although
naturally I did not remember doing so. A man who has hundreds of petty
details to deal with every day, as I have, develops an automatic
memory--a subconscious mechanism which never fails him.
I explained this to Clara. "Not once in five thousand times would it
allow me to pass the pillar-box with an unposted letter in my pocket.
Perhaps it is the vivid red--"
"And perhaps your vivid imagination," said my wife. "Well, I am glad
you posted the letter, for Mrs. Roberts, as you know, never received
the one you posted ten days ago."
"I took that matter up very firmly with the local postmaster," I said.
"He explained to me that letters are now almost entirely sorted and
delivered by women, and he was afraid mistakes sometimes happened.
And just to satisfy you about this last one, which I put as usual in
my breast pocket at the back of my other papers--" I produced the
contents of my pocket. As I expected the letter was not there.
"Why do you carry so many papers in your pocket? What are they all
about?"
"Candidly, my dear, I do not know. Without the element of surprise
life would be unbearably monotonous. That element I deliberately
carry with me in my breast pocket. When a dull moment comes I empty
my pockets. It would surprise you--"
"Nothing you do surprises me," said Clara. "Now go upstairs, please,
and make yourself tidy. Have a dull moment--not more than one, for
dinner is nearly ready--and get rid of those papers."
Although my wife has not a logical process of thought, at times she
makes sensible remarks. I took her advice. As I anticipated I had some
surprises.
A few important business memoranda, a sugar form, two income tax
demands, a number of private letters and an unpaid coal account made
up the collection. There was really nothing I could part with. Luckily
I found two duplicates of the coal account. These I could spare. As I
opened one of them Mrs. Roberts's letter fell out of it.
I had just time to catch the post. I managed to reach the front-door
unobserved. My wife opened the dining-room window to tell me that
dinner was ready. I told her I had forgotten to post a very important
business letter.
"A most unusual occurrence," I said.
"Mary can post it for you. Dinner's on the table." Clara extended her
hand for the letter. I explained that it was so very important that I
could not even trust Mary.
"Mary's sex is, of course, against her," said my wife, "but I'll tell
her to hold the letter out at arm's length. You can see her all the
way from the window and watch her put it in the pillar-box."
A little candour is sometimes necessary.
"Strangely enough," I said, "the five-thousandth chance has come off.
It is true the letter is important, but the business is yours, and
the letter is addressed to Mrs. Roberts. I forgot to post it this
morning."
"I know you did," said Clara. "You left it behind, and I posted it
myself."
Here I saw that I was going to score. "Then what is this?" I asked
in triumph.
"This," said Clara, taking it from me, "is the letter you forgot to
post ten days ago."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Mrs. Judkins_ (_beating up against the draught in the
Tube_). "THANK GOODNESS WE SHAN'T 'AVE NO AIR-RAID TO-NIGHT, MRS.
'ARRIS. IT SEEMS TO BE BLOWIN' UP NICELY FOR RAIN."]
* * * * *