I am, Sir, your obedient Servant,

H.W. HUTCHINSON.'

"This," I said, as I finished reading the letter, "comes from the
Great North-Southern Railway, and is addressed to _me_. What do you
think of it?"

"The miserable man," said Francesca, "has split an infinitive, but he
probably did it under the orders of the Railway Executive."

"I don't mind," I said, "about his treatment of infinitives. He may
split them all to smithereens if he likes. It's the monstrous nature
of his demand that vexes me."

"What can you expect of a Railway Company?" said Francesca. "Surely
you didn't suppose a company would display any of the finer feelings?"

"Francesca," I said, "this is a serious matter. If you are not going
to sympathise with me, say so at once, and I shall know what to do."

"Well, what will you do?"

"I shall plough my lonely furrow--I mean, I shall write my lonely
letter all by myself, and you shan't help me to make up any of the
stingers that I'm going to put into it."

"Oh, my dear," she said, "what is the use of writing stingers to a
railway? You might as well smack the engine because the guard trod
on your foot."