Dear Dr. Smith,

I wonder at your truculence- truly I do. This is my second letter since your hike up the Matterhorn and still I have received no comment on the collar I bought my second-oldest Pekingese. Betsy is beside himself with fury- even his mustache is apoplectic. And yet, as always I know that your independence is of the utmost concern and that no harangue of mine will convince you to behave otherwise. The truth is, I value your opinion for many reasons but that alone might stand supreme among your mammoth qualities.

The girls are fine, of course, as they always are. It was such a blessing that we could afford the third maid. Now they’re cared for day and night with nary a moment of ill-gotten layabouttery. It was a perfect solution to our Boy Crisis, and if I may say: I am simply astounded at the way in which these ideas pop so fully-formed into my head. I suppose it comes from a lifetime of financial solving, what with the problems coming thick and fast and there being no guardrails for the upper crust.

How are the mountains? I inquired in the last post but as you’ve not deigned to return my sentiments I am at a loss for how they might be described. Majestic, perhaps? Divine? I received a letter from your youngest- I suppose in apology, though of course I did not read it. You know my peccadillos regarding handwriting- and so am pleased to say that at least that Mitsy is in writing form. That much I can relay to you. Further glorification of Betsy’s new collar is, I’m sure, unwelcome, but if you fail to receive my previous letter let me know post-haste and I will extoll its virtues for you in such a splendid passage of the horus that you’ll wonder how you ever lived without having heard it before. As an aside, it being a custom collar studded with fresh diamonds straight from the vaults in Amsterdam you couldn’t possibly have been told before, but that is neither here nor wherever you may be.

My dear friend I do so miss your kind, considered words. Just last week at the conference I was telling some joke that I thought you’d be most well-placed to snicker at and was met with silence by the buffoons which surrounded me at the time. Between the two of us I begin to think they have no sense of frivolity to them. Not one of them laughed when I put my tie around my head and attempted to swing from the overhang at the bar- though of course all of them laughed when Alistair Donnelbrook made his little jest about the market of late. It was, you may be certain, Alistair the third, though his father and son might have made the same joke despite both wearing diapers, so I am more than certain a bit of glory-boy hero worship played into the proceedings. Ah, to have been that during our glory years, eh Smith? What a wonderful happening that would have been.

I’m hearing the gardeners now, which means I’ve spent far too much time here. Do give my best to whatever collection of sherpas you’ve brought with you this time- though of course not to the one responsible for delivering your mail. And I suppose it would be best not to let him read this letter of course, as I’ve been rather harsh. I am, just in case, enclosing a ten dollar note to assuage the anguish which I’m sure my remarks have caused. If it is gone when you open this letter, then know that one of your men is a thief whose feelings can be bought and paid for, and cherish him accordingly.

Take care, my good friend. There was some news on the television about an avalanche in Switzerland, so be grateful you find yourself in more mild South American climes. I welcome your stories of conquering the ‘horn, as I’ve heard the folks at the club call it, and wait on great tenterhooks for your imminent return.

Yours ever,

Steven P. Zygamole,

Financier.