When I showed this to Jones he expressed his chagrin with a freedom and resource surprising even in a Civil Servant; but, having put our hands to the plough, we felt we could hardly leave Mary Smith in the cart. So we set to again, and I posted the following poem to Grace:--
Though, O budding Inter-M.B., You may now perchance pro tem. be Not indifferent to a simple English maid, Soon the daughters dark and dingy Of the land of Ranjitsinhji, Will be throwing her completely in the shade.
And shall Mary thus be stranded, When she had you almost landed (Yes, the metaphors are mixed, but never mind)? Oh, imagine her emotion When the cruel Indian Ocean Separates you from the girl you left behind.
It was nearly a week before I heard from Grace. Then she wrote:--
"Dear Edwin,--It was really _too_ sweet of you to send the second set. We have discovered, however, that Mary's friend is a Parsee, and therefore a worshipper of the sun, and she thinks the last line in the first verse would offend his family's religious scruples. She fears, too, that he might not endorse the epithet 'dingy' as applied by you to his female compatriots. So we have decided not to write in his album. I think however that the first poem (with modifications) would do for the album of a friend of my own, whose name, as it happens, _is_ George. So I have asked the vicar to tone it down for me. He is a Durham man. Do you mind?
I read her letter, and breathed a deep sigh. Then seizing a telegraph form, I wired: "Have no objection to Durham vicars. Am ordering salt-cellars. Do not write again. Edwin."
Peter goes to a dame's school in Armadale Gardens, round the corner.
On Tuesdays and Fridays he comes home at twelve, changes into his football things, and goes off to play soccer till one.
Yesterday, Friday, he came in as usual and, after changing, he put his head round the door of my study and shouted excitedly,
"Well, old chap," I said, "out with it. I'm busy."
"Have you heard? Italy joins Austria. Official."
"Heavens above!" I said. "Official, did you say?"
"Hi! Peter," I shouted, "do get me a paper; it won't take you----" But the banging of the front door cut my appeal short.
I couldn't get a paper myself. I had a cold, and had been ordered to stay indoors, and I had an article to finish by three o'clock.