I'm beginning to think that Petherton has taken a dislike to me, and
it is not at all pleasant in a more or less country retreat to be on
bad terms with a neighbour.
It is especially trying, when one has made every endeavour to be
friendly, to meet with a chilling response. I'm sure I have written
him some very genial letters on matters which less good-tempered
individuals than I might have taken more seriously.
The Annual Concert in the village, a great event in local circles,
has been another cause of unnecessary friction between Petherton and
myself.
As one of the older residents and knowing most of the people here, I
am usually consulted as to the programme, sale of tickets and other
details of the concert, and my house is often used for rehearsing the
solos, part songs and choruses which are rendered by the local Carusos
and Melbas.
Our passage of arms was over the tickets. We who are on the Committee
are supplied with so many tickets each, which we endeavour to sell.
I sent two to Petherton, half-crown ones. I forgot to enclose the
printed notice that usually accompanies them, but evidently he
recognised my handwriting on the envelope, and sent the tickets back.
He wrote a letter with them:--
SIR,--I received the enclosed, presumably from you, because
the almost illegible scrawl on the envelope was yours
without a doubt. Why you should try to bribe me with five
shillings-worth of tickets for the Annual Concert I cannot
conceive. Perhaps you are going to sing at it and are anxious
that I should come to hear you. I shall deny myself that
pleasure. I hear quite enough of you in the afternoons (this,
no doubt, referred to the rehearsals). Should I change my
mind, which is unlikely, I am quite able to purchase tickets.