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Updated: May 29, 2025
"Are you going to write to Mrs. Ludberry or the Froplinsons?" "To neither," said Egbert, drawing a stack of notepaper towards him; "I'm going to write to the editor of every enlightened and influential newspaper in the Kingdom, I'm going to suggest that there should be a sort of epistolary Truce of God during the festivities of Christmas and New Year.
"No," said Janetta, with a note of tired defiance in her voice; "I've written eleven letters to-day expressing surprise and gratitude for sundry unmerited gifts, but I haven't written to the Froplinsons." "Some one will have to write to them," said Egbert. "I don't dispute the necessity, but I don't think the some one should be me," said Janetta.
Colonel Chuttle knows that we are grateful for the Stilton, without having to be told so, and the Froplinsons know that we are bored with their calendar, whatever we may say to the contrary, just as we know that they are bored with the bridge-markers in spite of their written assurance that they thanked us for our charming little gift.
"Oh, something like this: 'What do you think of the New Year Honours List? A friend of ours made such a clever remark when he read it. Then you can stick in any remark that comes into your head; it needn't be clever. The Froplinsons won't know whether it is or isn't."
Aunt Susan, for instance, who writes: 'Thank you very much for the ham; not such a good flavour as the one you sent last year, which itself was not a particularly good one. Hams are not what they used to be. It would be a pity to be deprived of her Christmas comments, but that loss would be swallowed up in the general gain." "Meanwhile," said Janetta, "what am I to say to the Froplinsons?"
"It is not a bit more perfunctory than the present system," said Egbert; "I have only the same conventional language of gratitude at my disposal with which to thank dear old Colonel Chuttle for his perfectly delicious Stilton, which we shall devour to the last morsel, and the Froplinsons for their calendar, which we shall never look at.
"It was a fearsome beast," she observes to Bertie, "but I always feel that it was instrumental in bringing us together." Which, of course, was true. "Have you written to thank the Froplinsons for what they sent us?" asked Egbert.
The moment I saw it in the shop I said to myself 'Froplinsons' and to the attendant 'How much? When he said 'Ninepence, I gave him their address, jabbed our card in, paid tenpence or elevenpence to cover the postage, and thanked heaven. With less sincerity and infinitely more trouble they eventually thanked me." "The Froplinsons don't play bridge," said Egbert.
There is such a thing as writing oneself out." "I've written nearly as many," said Egbert, "and I've had my usual business correspondence to get through, too. Besides, I don't know what it was that the Froplinsons sent us." "A William the Conqueror calendar," said Janetta, "with a quotation of one of his great thoughts for every day in the year."
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