Volume 156 — THE DOMESTIC QUESTION SOLVED.
Reading edition
Last Thursday, at a registry-office, I obtained the favour of an interview with a domestic artist and was able (by reason of a previous conference with my friend Freshfield—like myself a demobilised bachelor author) to face the ordeal with some degree of confidence.
Mrs. Milton, widow, fifty-five, exceptional references, who proposed, if everything about me seemed satisfactory, to rule my household, was as suave as one has any right to expect nowadays; but when she dictated the terms I gathered that she would be sufficiently dangerous if roused.
She knew what bachelors were, she did, and wasn't going to take a place where a lot of comp'ny was kept.
I assured her on this point. My friend, Mr. Freshfield, I said, would come once a week, every Monday, to dine and sleep, but beyond that I should put no strain upon her powers of entertainment.
Mrs. Milton further said that she would require at least two afternoons and one evening a week. Here was my opportunity to appear generous.
"Two afternoons and one evening?" I said. "My dear friend and fellow-worker, you can have every Wednesday and Thursday from after breakfast on the former to practically dinner-time (eight o'clock) on the latter. No questions will be asked of you or of the piano or gramophone, both of which instruments you will find in smooth running order. I am away," I added, "every Wednesday and Thursday."
That clinched it. Hiding her surprise as well as she could under an irreproachable bonnet and toupee, Mrs. Milton expressed her readiness to accompany me then and there, and to superintend the disappearance of my coals and marmalade.
Perhaps you have guessed that I propose to spend every Wednesday night at Freshfield's place, and that the complete success of the scheme has been assured by the making of a similar agreement between Freshfield and a person holding corresponding views to those of Mrs. Milton.
Thus Freshfield and I have each secured the full seven days' attendance by a device pleasing to all concerned. After locking up the MELBA and GEORGE ROBEY records on Wednesday mornings and with the knowledge that the piano is past serious injury, I depart for Freshfield's (viâ the Club for lunch) each week with a light heart.
My collaborator is all for keeping this solution of a harassing problem to ourselves. I say "No." The general adoption of such a scheme, with alterations to suit individual cases, would, I think, be a nail in the coffin of Bolshevism in the home.
Mr. Wilson Rubs It In.
"The Echo de Paris says, 'Mr. Wilson believes he can play the rôle of the Popes of the middle ages. In the éclat of his public messages he tries to set peoples against governments.'"—Scots Paper.
"General Monash making an imposing figure on his grey horse, where he rode with General Hobbs and three Brigadiers."—Times.
The R.S.P.C.A. must look into this.
"GOLF BATTLE OF THE SEXES.
The latest Jack Johnson story is that he is training in Mexico City for a series of fights, which will take place in the bull-ring.
Ladies: Miss Cecil Leitch, Miss Chubb, Miss Barry, Mrs. McNair, Mrs. Jillard, Mrs. F.W. Brown, Miss Jones Parker and Mrs. Willock Pollen."—Daily Sketch.
We are rather sorry for Massa JOHNSON.
Bored Cadet (in Westminster Abbey). "LET'S SHOVE OFF NOW, MATER. HATE HANGIN' ROUND A PLACE WHERE ONE MIGHT BE BURIED SOME DAY!"
THE CHURCH AND PEACE.
The acquiescence of the Coventry Peace Celebration Committee in the Bishop of COVENTRY'S view that the Lady GODIVA of their pageant should be fully clothed is leading not only to many innovations in the representations of history all over the country, but to a recrudescence of ecclesiastical power which is affording the liveliest satisfaction to Lord HUGH CECIL.
For already several other divines have followed suit. It is agreeable, for example, to the very reasonable wishes of the DEAN and Chapter of Westminster that the Westminster Peace Celebration Committee have decided that NELL GWYNN shall either be excluded from the Whitehall procession altogether or shall figure as a Mildmay deaconess.
Acting under the influence of a local curate, the Athelney Peace Celebration Committee have unanimously resolved that in these hard times, when (as the curate pointed out) food is not too plentiful, it would be better if KING ALFRED cooked the cakes properly and they were afterwards distributed.
So many watering-places claim CANUTE as their own that he may be expected to be multiplied exceedingly in the approaching Peace revels; but from more than one Pastoral Letter it may be gathered that the Episcopal Bench is very wisely in favour of the King's retirement from the margin of the ocean before his shoes are actually wet. It is held that in these days of leather-shortage and the need for economy no risks should be run with footwear.
Other laudable efforts in the direction of economy are to be made, again through the earnest solicitude of the Establishment, in connection with the impersonation of Sir WALTER RALEIGH and KING JOHN. With the purpose of saving Sir WALTER'S cloak from stain and possible injury the puddle at QUEEN ELIZABETH'S feet will be only a painted one, while, owing to the exorbitant price of laundry-work at the moment, it has been arranged that only a few of KING JOHN'S more negligible articles shall be consigned to the Wash.
Hun Duplicity in Paris.
"Count von Brockdorff-Rantzau replied simply, pointing to Herr Dandsbery and saying: 'I present to you Herr Landsberg.'"—The Star.
HOME FATIGUES.
How oft I tried by smart intrigue To do the British Army, And dodge each rightly-termed Fatigue Which nearly drove me barmy. In vain! Whoever else they missed My name was always on the list. And so, while other minds were set On smashing Jerry Bosch up With rifle, bomb and bayonet, I chiefly learned to wash-up, To peel potatoes by the score, Sweep out a room and scrub the floor. Thus, now that I have left the ranks, The plain unvarnished fact is That through those three rough years, and thanks To very frequent practice, I, who was once a nascent snob, Am master of the menial's job. To-day I count this no disgrace When "maids" have gone to blazes, But take our late Eliza's place And win my lady's praises, As she declares in grateful mood The Army did me worlds of good.