I notice that your writing has gone to pieces rather, old man--through
writer's cramp, I fear. You say what looks like "you are perfectly
aware that the calcalus is asphalt and not concrete." Of course I do
know that much about it.

My letter kept the ball rolling all right, for Petherton replied:---

SIR,--Have you no sane moments? If you have any such, I should be glad
if you would employ the next lucid interval in setting your affairs
straight and then repairing to the nearest asylum with a request that
they would protect you against yourself by placing you in a padded
cell. This done and the key lost, the world, and Surbury in
particular, would be a happier place.

You cannot seriously suggest that any society for literary discussion
could be formed here or elsewhere which should include yourself,
and even so you must know that your being a member would prevent my
joining it.

Has the call for National Service not reached your ears yet? You
appear to have plenty of leisure time on your hands which might be
better employed. Or have you offered yourself and been rejected on the
grounds of mental deficiency?

Faithfully yours,
FREDERICK PETHERTON.

I didn't feel called upon to make a song about my method of doing my
bit, which, I am glad to say, has the approval of the authorities;
but I was anxious to hear Petherton's joints crack once more, so I