"All right," she said, "I'll go to the plumber to-day."
"Not the plumber," I begged. "On the contrary. The plumber is the man who stops the leaks. What we really want is an unplumber."
We fell into silence again.
"But how silly we are!" cried Celia suddenly. "Of course!"
"What's the matter now?"
"The bath is the landlord's business! Write and tell him."
"But—but what shall I say?" Somehow I knew Celia would put it on to me.
"Why, just—say. When you're paying the rent, you know."
"I—I see."
I retired to the library and thought it out. I hate writing business letters. The result is a mixture of formality and chattiness which seems to me all wrong.