Chapter IV

One starts again. Simcox—funny little man—walks in jerks—talks in jerks—like one’s style. _Le style c’est l’homme._ There you are! Simcoxical! One writes Simcociously.

Simcox then—or Simcox now—the phrases are interchangeable—man of letters, very well posted, one may say. Busy all day writing letters to himself, skipping out to put them in the pillar-box, skipping home to receive them from the postman. Whimsical idea. Oh, very! One quite chuckles at having conceived it.

Then Simcox dies—_cacoëthes scribendi_, complicated with writer’s cramp.