To the Most Charming Miss Gearsworth,

To the Most Charming Miss Gearsworth,
Inhabitant of House Number 17, Cog Street,
City of Plumes and Unexplained Inventions

My dear and mechanically admired Miss,

May this letter reach you before the stagecoach explodes (which happens more often these days than the brochures admit). I am writing from my workshop, where my latest invention—a self-ironing moustache curler—has just nearly strangled me. A great success, I should say.

First of all, I want to congratulate you on your beautiful new airship in the garden. It is undoubtedly the most elegant conveyance in the neighborhood, although my aunt complains that her hats are constantly being sucked off her head when you take off. She calls it "uncivilized," I call it "fashionable ventilation."

Furthermore, I wanted to let you know that your tea-steam clock is working exceptionally well. Yesterday I was passing by and heard them chime three times for 2:30, which, according to Professor Steamington, means it's about time for lunch. Science is a wonderful thing.

I must also confess that I admire your latest outfit. The brass corset tops and the monocle with built-in telescope gave you the air of an "aristocratic pirate with a diploma." That's rare, even in our city.

Finally, I'd like to invite you for a ride on my experimental steam bicycle. It has three gears: "standing still," "reasonably fast," and "insurance matter." I promise I won't forget to install the brakes this time.

Write back to me soon, preferably by pneumatic tube. The carrier pigeons are on strike because they've formed a union and are demanding better crumbs.

With the most respectful, oily regards,

Your humble admirer,
Professor Archibald von Puffington

(inventor, amateur poet, and professional chaos-maker)