ced, and I thought that
probably he was worrying over the behaviour of his little son, who, tiring
that afternoon of his motor scooter, had done incalculable damage to the
orchid-house with a home-made catapult.

When we were left alone with our cigars he unburdened his soul. It appears
that, ever since the Armistice, ambition has spurred Aitchkin to be
something more than the "& Co." of a firm which has become torpid with war
profits. He had decided to start in business "on his lonesome," and to make
"Aitchkin" and "forage" synonymous terms. Already he had taken over the
premises of a sovereign purse-maker at a "reasonable figure." (When
Aitchkin is "reasonable" somebody loses money.) But his bargain did not
include a Telegraphic Address, and that morning, working from his
letter-heading, "Alfred Aitchkin," he had brought himself to compose an
appropriate word. To the "Alf" of the Christian name he added "Alpha"
representing the initial of the surname (I suspected the assistance of his
lady-typist), making the complete word "Alf-Alpha" or, written
phonetically, "Alfalfa"--Spanish for lucerne. It was a word which could not
fail to fix itself indelibly in the minds of his clients, for it recalled
not only Aitchkin's name, but the commodity he dealt in. Full of the pride
of authorship he had driven round to the G.P.O. in his touring car.

"But they crabbed it at once," he said sadly. "Telegraphic addresses
nowadays have to conform to a lot of rotten new rules."

He handed me a slip of paper on which, over the dead body of "Alfalfa," he
had jotted down the following notes:--

(1) Not less than eight, not more than ten letters.

(2) Must not be composed of words or parts of words.

(3) Words or parts of words may be accepted if they appear in the middle.

(4) Must not look like a word.

(5) Must be pronounceable.

(6) Russian names, on account of their unusual spelling might be accepted.

"And what's more," Aitchkin continued, "even when you've got a word which
the Department will accept, it has to be submitted to a Committee who take
'ten to fourteen days' to make up their minds."

A faint tinkling of the piano came to our ears. Mrs. Aitchkin was waiting
to sing to us. I produced pencil and paper and threw myself heart and soul
into Aitchkin's problem.

"Rules 2 and 3 are a little contradictory," I said, "and it will require no
slight ingenuity to form a combination of letters which shall be
pronounceable (Rul