“Be a dear”, said Aunt Agatha, “and write to that nice man about the things”.
“Which nice man about what things?” I asked.
“The man who collects beetles about the hymn-books”, replied my aunt without hesitation. “Here’s his address:
“That doesn’t sound right, dear”, interrupted Aunt Maud. “I’m sure he’s not Baggins. Where’s my book? Yes, here we are:
“That’s not what I’ve got”, put in Aunt Jobiska. “I’ve got:
“Not Biggins, Jobiska, Boggins”, this from Aunt Kate.
“Stuff!”, said Aunt Tabitha rudely, “He is called Ernest Buggins, poor man, and his address is:
As no Aunt was willing to give way, I had to ring the vicar and he, it turned out, was both deaf and loquacious. However, I got the name and address in the end and found that each aunt had been right in exactly two out of her five particulars.
What is his name and address?