and
Mr. Eric Chartres
To His Club,
Come to the house and get the Royal Sèvres tea-service on which you and Lisa had your first tea together and a check made out to you in my check book in the library table drawer.
Uncle Pelleas.
And so on, with the witnesses’ names properly in the corners.
“Perfect,” said I with enthusiasm. “O, Pelleas, let us get a bill through to this effect.”
“But we may live to be only ninety, you know,” he reminded me.
We went to the window, presently, and threw it open on the chance of hearing the bird of dawning singing all night long in the Park, which is of course, in New York, where it sings on Star of Bethlehem night. We did not hear it, but it is something to have been certain that it was there. And as we closed the casement,
“After all,” Pelleas said seriously, “the Telegraph Will Bill would have to do only with property. And a will ought to be concerned with soberer matters.”
So it ought, in spite of its dress of diction, rather like the motley.