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.