PETHERTON'S DONKEY;
or, Patriotism and Publicity.
I hadn't had a letter-writing bout with Petherton for some time, and, feeling in need of a little relaxation, I seized the opportunity afforded by Petherton's installing a very noisy donkey in his paddock adjoining my garden, and wrote to him as follows:—
Dear Mr. Petherton,—I do not like making complaints against a neighbour, as you know, but the new tenant of your field does not seem to argue a good selection on your part, unless his braying has a more soothing effect on you than it has on me.
Yours sincerely, Harry J. Fordyce.
I was evidently in luck, as I drew Petherton's literary fire at once.
Sir (he wrote),—I should have thought that you would have been the last person in the world to object to this particular noise. Allow me to inform you that I purchased the donkey for several family and personal reasons which cannot possibly concern you.
Faithfully yours, Frederick Petherton.
I translated this letter rather freely for my own ends, and replied:—
Dear Petherton,—I apologise. I had no idea that the animal was in any way connected with your family. If it is a poor relation I must say you are fortunate in being able to fob him (or should it be her?) off so easily, as he (or she) appears to live a life of comparative luxury, at little cost, I should imagine, to yourself. I shall be glad to know whether the animal, in exercising its extraordinary vocal powers, is calling for his (or her) mate, or merely showing off for the amusement of your fascinating poultry who share its pleasaunce.
Can't you possibly fit the brute with a silencer, as the noise it makes is disturbing, especially to me, my study window being very close to the hedge?
Yours sincerely, Harry Fordyce.
P.S.—I am thinking of laying down a bed of poisoned carrots for early use. Perhaps with your chemical knowledge you can suggest an effective top-dressing for them.
Petherton rose to the bait and wrote—the same night—as follows:—
Sir,—In your unfortunate correspondence with me you have always shown yourself better at rudeness than repartee. Did you not learn at school the weakness of the tu quoque line of argument? You speak of your study window being near my field. The name "study" suggests literary efforts. Is it in your case merely a room devoted to the penning of senseless and impertinent letters to unoffending neighbours, who have something better to do than waste their time reading and answering them? I hope this letter will be the last one I shall find it necessary to write to you.
Re your postscript. Try prussic acid, but pray do not confine it to the toilets of your carrots. A few drops on the tongue would, I am sure, make you take a less distorted view of things, and you would cease to worry over such trifles as the braying of a harmless animal.
Faithfully yours, Frederick Petherton.
Of course I simply had to reply to this, but made no reference to the tu quoque question. He had evidently failed to grasp, or had ignored, the rather obvious suggestion in the last few words of my first letter on the subject. I wrote:—
My dear Chap,—Thanks so much for your prompt reply and valuable information about prussic acid. There was, however, one omission in the prescription. You didn't say on whose tongue the acid should be placed. If you meant on the donkey's it seems an excellent idea. I'll try it, so excuse more now, as the chemist's will be closed in a few minutes.
Yours in haste, Harry F.
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.
Petherton gave up the contest; but I let him have a final tweak after seeing the announcement of his splendid and public-spirited action to help on the War Food scheme.
Dear old Boy (I wrote),—How stupid you must have thought me all this time! Only when I learnt from the paragraph in this morning's Surbury Examiner that, in response to the suggestion of the Rural District Council, you have lent your field to the poor people of the neighbourhood for growing War Food did I realise the meaning of the dulcet-toned donkey's presence in your field.
The growing of more food at the present time is an absolute necessity, but it was left to you to discover this novel method of proclaiming to Surbury that here in its midst was land waiting to be put to really useful purpose.
I do not know which to admire the more, your patriotism or the ingenuity displayed in your selection of so admirable a mouthpiece from among your circle of friends.
Yrs., H.
Petherton has left it at that.