Peggy was standing at the top of the staircase.
"Phil," she said, rather breathlessly, "don't forget to post your letter!"
Then she fled.
One second later Philip was standing by the lamplit table. His letter was gone, and another had taken its place. It was addressed to "Most Excellent Theophilus."
He took it up, dizzily, and turned it over. On the back was written:—
I have saved you a stamp by reading your letter before you posted it.
P.S. You will find the stamp on the inkstand.
Finally he opened the letter. His own had occupied many pages; this, the answer, consisted of three words.
Philip read them through. Then, rocking on his feet, he read them again, and again. Finally he raised his head and gazed dumbly about him. His eyes fell upon a twinkling circular object lying upon the table close beside the place where he had found the letter.
With a swelling heart he snatched it up, and strode to the hearthrug.
There, with one devastating sweep of his arm, he rendered the mantelpiece a solitude. Everything went with one glorious crash—pipes, tobacco-jar, cigarettes, Bulgarian Atrocities—all. Last, but not least, with a heavy thud, went the Meldrum Carburettor. The day of Things was over.