give me another letter to translate, this
time signed 'Your loving Herbert.' Herbert, I discovered, was a sapper
who'd been transferred to Boulogne and, judging by his hand, was
better with a shovel than a pen. As an amateur in style I couldn't
translate his drivel word for word. Like _Cyrano_, the artist in
me rose supreme, and I manicured and curled his letter, painted and
embroidered it, and nearly finished by signing 'Ronnie' instead of
'Herbert.'

"She was quite surprised when she read the translation.

"_'C'est gentil, n'est-ce-pas_?' said she, kissing it and stuffing it
away in her belt. 'I did not think,' she went on in French, 'that the
dear stupid 'Erbert had so much eloquence.' I saw my error. I had made
a probable of a horse that hadn't previously got an earthly. So, to
adjust things, I refrigerated the next letter--which happened to be
from 'Orace--to the temperature of codfish on an ice block. And the
consequence was that Georgette sulked and would scarcely speak to me
for three whole days.

"The situation, coldly reviewed, appeared to be like this. When 'Orace
or 'Erbert pleased her I got a share of the sunshine, but when their
love-making cooled her displeasure was visited on poor Ronnie. Any
advances on my own part were countered with sales of soap, customers
apparently being rarer than lovers. So I had to bide my time.

"But one day letters from 'Orace and 'Erbert arrived simultaneously,
and were duly handed to the fourth party for necessary action. It
occurred to me that when the time came for me to enter the race on
my own behalf I need have little fear of 'Erbert as a rival, so I
determined to cut 'Orace out of the running.

"I translated his letter first. I censored the tender parts, spun out
the padding and served it up like cold-hash. Then I set to work on
'Erbert. I got the tremolo stop out and the soft pedal on and made a
symphony of it. I made it a stream of trickling melody--blue skies,
yellow sunshine and scent of roses, with Georgette perched like a
sugar goddess on a silver cloud and 'Erbert trying to clamber up to
her on a silk ladder. To read it would have made a Frenchman proud of
his own language. Then, for dramatic effect, I took the letters, put
them on the counter and walked out without a word. 'That,' thought I,
'will do 'Orace's business--and then for 'Erbert!'

"Next day, when I went to see the result, to my surprise I found
that her place behind the counter was taken by t