A STRONG SOUTH-EASTER.
I have been having further trouble with my neighbour, Petherton, whose place adjoins mine, being divided from it by a hedge. Beyond the hedge lies Petherton's small paddock, where his poultry amuse themselves, and, beyond that, Petherton's house and garden.
But, however good a fence may be, it will not keep out, or keep in, smells. Therefore when Petherton engaged in apparently chemical operations giving off the most noxious gases I was rapidly forced to the conclusion that he ought to have a different kind of boundary between his property and mine, and also that the air of our neighbourhood no longer rivalled that of Bexhill, especially when the wind blew from the south-east.
Wishing to remedy this state of affairs without recourse to unpleasant measures, I sat down to write to Petherton.
Dear Petherton,—These continual south-easterly winds portend rain, I fear, and so I hope you have wrapped your parsnips up to protect them from the probable excess of moisture which is so injurious to all such plants.
My primary object in writing is not so much anxiety about the health of your vegetables, but to ask whether you have noticed a most unpleasant odour which seems to be heading north-west; at any rate it is more unpleasant if possible when the wind is from the south-east than at any other time.
It does not appear likely that the smell should have come from the German lines, so we must look nearer home for the cause of the trouble. Don't you think we ought to take joint action to get the nuisance ended?
Yours, H. J. Fordyce.
Petherton's reply was a bulky packet which, being opened, revealed a tin of dog soap. I could only infer that he wished to saddle Togo, our prize-bred Airedale, with the blame. Coward!
However, true to my determination to be friendly if possible, I wrote:—
Dear Fred,—Thanks for the Camembert. Thomas our cat has not quite completed the Moonlight Sonata which he has spent several nights in composing, but as soon as it is published I will send you a copy of it in return.
My nephew, over from France on short leave, came to see us yesterday but left hurriedly. He said that the air was too reminiscent of a place where he was severely gassed. Don't you notice anything?
Yours as ever, H. J. Fordyce.
Within an hour of the delivery of this letter another parcel arrived from Petherton. It contained three ordinary clothes-pegs and a brief note, which ran:—
Sir,—I thought even you would be able to take the hint contained in my previous parcel. As however it was evidently lost on you, I am writing to suggest to you more plainly that you should wash your dog. I noticed its deplorable condition when I passed it in the road the other morning, and am surprised that the simple explanation of the trouble has not occurred to you before.
Should the course I recommend have no good effect, I can only suggest your shooting, selling or otherwise disposing of the malodorous pest, or else wearing one of the protectors of which I enclose three. They are somewhat archaic in design, but should just suit you and your household.
Yours faithfully,
Frederick Petherton.
I replied:—
Good old Freddie,—What a genius you are! Of course the dog is the culprit. I was offered fifteen pounds for him the other day and refused it. No doubt I should have received a better offer but for the defect, which you so readily noticed, in the animal's condition. I have just had him shampooed and when he is dry I will examine him and report to you at once.
Many thanks for the charming nose-protectors, which however I return, as they are all too large. I wonder if you would mind changing them for sevens; these appear to be eight-and-a-halfs.
I am glad the wind has veered to the north-east. Your parsnips will no doubt share my joy. By the way was it you I saw yesterday in your paddock holding your nose just before the wind shifted round? The man, whoever it was, was looking at your poultry, which appear to be drooping.
Yours till the wind changes,
H. J. Fordyce.
P.S.—If I can get a good stamp-album in town to-day I will send it to you. A change of hobby is often very beneficial.
I followed this up with another letter in the afternoon, couched in more formal terms:—
Sir,—In fulfilment of the promise contained in my previous letter of to-day's date I have the honour to inform you that my dog Togo is not the cause of the trouble. As soon as he was dry I fastened him up in the middle of my drawing-room, and my household, myself included, sniffed at him from all points of the compass. Then, leaving him still chained up, we went into the garden and nearly fainted from the pestilential odours borne on the breeze, which was again south-east.
If you have not suffered it seems clear to me that either (a) you have a curious taste in scents, or (b) you have no sense of smell. I think you should call in an expert, in the case of (a) a brain specialist, or in the case of (b) a nose-plumber. In the meantime I intend to consult another sort of expert, the Sanitary Inspector.
Yours obediently, except in such a matter as this, H. J. Fordyce.
I wrote to the Inspector that night and received the following within twenty-four hours:—
Dear Sir,—Yours of yesterday's date to hand, and in reply I regret that I am unable to assist you in the matter as your neighbour, Mr. Petherton, is engaged on important experimental work for the Government in connection with the manufacture of asphyxiating gases, thus causing the unpleasant odours about which I have received several complaints recently. I have been in communication with Mr. Petherton on the matter, but he seems unable to abate the nuisance. I am surprised that he has not explained the position to you himself.
I remain, Yours obediently,
M. Tarbutt.
pp. A. C.
On receiving the above I wrote to Petherton:—
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.