One of Mr. Kipling's trees was injured by a bus, the driver of which was also landlord of an inn. Kipling wrote this man a letter of complaint, which the recipient sold to one of his guests for ten shillings. Again the angry author wrote, this time a more violent letter, which immediately fetched one pound.
A few days later Kipling called on the landlord and demanded to know why he had received no answer to his letters.
Why, I was hoping you would send me a fresh one every day, was the cool reply. "They pay a great deal better than bus driving."