Really, it gets on my nerves sometimes." At the railway station it is just the same.
"Another man who wants to go to Antwerp! Don't seem to care for rest, these people: flying here, flying there, what's the sense of it ?" It is this absurd craze on the part of the public for letter-writing that is spoiling the temper of the continental post-office official.

He does his best to discourage it.
"Look at them," he says to his assistant--the thoughtful German Government is careful to provide every official with another official for company, lest by sheer force of _ennui_ he might be reduced to taking interest in his work--"twenty of 'em, all in a row! Some of 'em been there for the last quarter of an hour." "Let 'em wait another quarter of an hour," advises the assistant; "perhaps they'll go away." "My dear fellow," he answers, "do you think I haven't tried that?
There's simply no getting rid of 'em.

And it's always the same cry: 'Stamps! stamps! stamps!' 'Pon my word, I think they live on stamps, some of 'em." "Well let 'em have their stamps ?" suggests the assistant, with a burst of inspiration; "perhaps it will get rid of 'em." Why the Man in Uniform has, generally, sad Eyes.
"What's the use ?" wearily replies the older man.

"There will only come a fresh crowd when those are gone." "Oh, well," argues the other, "that will be a change, anyhow.

I'm tired of looking at this lot." I put it to a German post-office clerk once--a man I had been boring for months.