A novel concerned with stamp-collecting, written for serialisation in a Stanley Gibbons magazine.
This was a good while ago, you know, before many people made collections of stamps, and when the boy who collected crests or hair-oil bottle capsules was thought just as much of a scientist as Phillips—or even Me and Myn.
But now I must tell you who we are, Myn and I. We called ourselves “Me and Myn,” because— well, I won’t tell you that just yet, but it wasn’t because we couldn’t speak grammatically. For Myn took the first prize in Grammar in the Sixth at Old Currycomb’s, which would have been mine if I hadn’t let her. I got second, though.