Yours sincerely,

    HARRY FORDYCE.

Petherton was breathing hard by this time, and let drive with:—­

SIR,—­It is like your confounded impertinence to overhaul the few things I sent to Miss Gore-Langley, and had I known that you would have had the opportunity of seeing what my wife insisted on sending I should certainly not have permitted their despatch.

I have already told you what I think of your ridiculous claims to kinship with my family, and shall undoubtedly try to thwart any impudent attempts you may make to acquire my discarded belongings.  The photograph you mention was of course accidentally included in the parcel, and I am sending for it.

    Yours faithfully,

    FREDERICK PETHERTON.

In the cause of charity I rushed over to the Dower House, and pointed out to Miss Gore-Langley how she might swell the proceeds of the sale.  I then wrote thus to Petherton:—­

DEAR OLD MAN,—­Thanks for your jolly letter.  I’m sorry to tell you that Miss G.-L. holds very strong views on the subject of charitable donations, and you will have to go and bid for anything you want back.  I’m very keen on that photograph, if only for the sake of your pose and the elastic-side boots you affected at that period.  Everyone here is quite excited at the idea of having Cousin Fred’s portrait among the family likenesses in the dining-room, and its particular place on the wall is practically decided upon.

    I shall probably let the braces go if necessary, but I shall
    contest the ownership of the bowler up to a point.

Why not have your revenge by buying one or two of my things?  There is a choice pair of cotton socks, marked T.W., that I once got from the laundry by mistake; they are much too large for me, but should fit you nicely.  There’s a footbath too.  It leaks a bit, but your scientific knowledge will enable you to put it right.  It’s a grand thing to have in the house, in case of a sudden rush of blood to the head.

    Cheerio!

    Yours ever,

    HARRY.

Petherton simply replied:—­

SIR,—­It is, I know, absolutely useless to make an appeal to you, and I shall simply outbid you for the portrait if possible; if not, I shall adopt other measures to prevent your enjoying your ill-mannered triumph.

    Yours faithfully,

    F. PETHERTON.

The Auction was held last Wednesday.  I didn’t attend it, but got Miss Gore-Langley to run up the price of the portrait as far as seemed safe, on my behalf, which resulted in Mrs. Petherton getting it for L5 15s.  I got the hat, but Mrs. Petherton outbid my agent for the braces.

    DEAR FREDDY (I wrote), Wasn’t it a roaring success—­the Auction, I
    mean?  I didn’t manage to attend, but have heard glowing accounts
    from its promoter.