Dear Fred,--Only a few words to say that I have just heard the
great news. Heartiest congratters. As a
strafe-scent-manufacturer you are IT. _À bas les Boches!_
But why so close about it all this time? If you had only let me
know about it sooner I would have dug a trench in my garden and
slept in it, instead of complaining. Henceforth I shall turn my
nose (well respirated) to the south-east every morning as an act
of homage.
Give it 'em hot, old man; don't mind us; we love it now. When
you get stuck for any fresh ingredients refer to _Macbeth_, Act
4, Scene I, though I should be inclined to think you have done
this already.
Yours gratefully, H. J. Fordyce.
So far I have received no reply from Petherton. In the circumstances I
excuse his apparent hauteur.
* * * * *
"Ships that pass in the Night."
"A large number of our kinsmen from over the seas were
unmarried, and he would like to see for every shipload of them
that came over a shipload of women from this country sent out to
be mated to them."--_Daily Paper._
It looks as if it might be stalemate.
* * * * *