The study door burst open and one end of Elizabeth--the articulate end--was
jerked into view.
"Wot will you 'ave for lunch?" she demanded breathlessly. "Lamb or 'am?"
Abruptly recalled from the realms of fiction-writing, I (her mistress)
looked up a little dazed. "'Lamb or 'am,'" I repeated dully, "lamorram?
Er--ram, I think, please, Elizabeth."
Having thus disposed of my domestic obligations for the day I returned to
my writing. I was annoyed therefore to see the other end of Elizabeth
travel round the doorway and sidle into the room. Her pretext for
entering--that of dusting the roll-top desk with her apron--was a little
thin, for she has not the slightest objection to dust. I rather think it
cheers her up to see it about the place. Obviously she had come in to make
conversation. I laid down my pen with a sigh.
"I yeerd from my young man this morning," she began. A chill foreboding
swept over me. (I will explain why in a minute.)
"Do you mean the boiler one?" I asked.
"'Im wot belongs to the Amalgamated Serciety of Boilermakers," she
corrected with dignity. "Well, they've moved 'is 'eadquarters from London
to Manchester."
There was a tense silence, broken only by Elizabeth's hard breathing on a
brass paper-weight ere she polished it with her sleeve.
"If 'e goes to Manchester, there I goes," she went on; "I suppose I'd quite
easy get a situation there?"
"Quite easy," I acquiesced in a hollow voice.
She went out leaving me chill and dejected. Not that I thought for one
moment that I was in imminent danger of losing her. I knew full well that
this was but a ruse on the part of the young man to disembarrass himself of
Elizabeth, and, if he had involved the entire Amalgamated Society of
Boilermakers in the plot, that only proved how desperate he was.
I have very earnest reasons for wishing that Elizabeth could have a
"settled" young man. You see, she never retains the same one for many weeks
at a time. It isn't her fault, poor girl. She would be as true as steel if
she had a chance; she would cling to any one of them through thick and
thin, following him to the ends of the earth if necessary.
It is they who are fickle, and the excuses they make to break away from her
are both varied and ingenious. During the War of course they always had the
pretext of being ordered to the Front at a moment's notice, and were not,
it appears, allowed to write home on account of the Censor. Elizabeth used
to blame LLOYD GEORGE for these defects of organisation. And to this day
she is extremely bitter against the Government.
In fact, she is bitter against everyone when her love affairs are not
running smoothly. The entire household suffers in consequence. She is
sullen and obstinate; she is always on the verge of giving notice. And the
way she breaks things in her abstraction is awful. Elizabeth's illusions
and my crockery always get shattered together. My rose-bowl of Venetian
glass got broken when the butcher threw her over for the housemaid
next-door. Half-a-dozen tumblers, a basin and several odd plates came in
two in her hands after the grocer's assistant went away suddenly to join
the silent Navy. And nearly the whole of a dinner service was sacrificed
when LLOYD GEORGE peremptorily ordered her young man in the New Army to go
to Mesopotamia and stay there for at least three years without leave.
You will now understand why I was dejected at the perfidy of the follower
belonging to the Boilermakers' Society. I saw a dreary period of discomfort
ahead of me. And worst of all I was expecting the Boscombes to dinner that
very week. They had not before visited us and Henry was anxious, for
business reasons, to make a good impression on them. I will not elaborate
the case. All I can say is that there is no earthly possibility of making a
good impression on any living thing if Elizabeth is in one of her bad
moods. And it would be no use explaining the situation to Mrs. Boscombe,
because she has no sense of humour; or to Mr. Boscombe, because he likes a
good dinner.
Finally, the Domestic Bureau failed me. Hitherto they had always been able
to supply me with a temporary waitress on the occasion of dinner-parties.
Now it appeared these commodities had become pearls of great price which
could no longer be cast before me and mine (at the modest fee of ten
shillings a night) without at least fourteen days' notice.
The Bureau promised to do its best for me, of course, but reminded me that
women were scarce. I asked, with bitterness, what had become of the surplus
million we heard so much about. They replied with politeness that, judging
from the number of applications received, they must be the million in
search of domestics.
Returning home from the Bureau I found Elizabeth studying a time-table. "I
see it's a hundred and eighty-three miles to Manchester," she commented,
"an' the fare's 15_s._ 5-1/2_d._"
"That's an old time-table you've got," I hastened to remark; "it is now L2
6_s._ 4-1/2_d._--return fare."
"I shan't want no return ticket," said Elizabeth grimly.
Sickening outlook, wasn't it?
* * * * *
The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was
raging. Things got so bad in fact that about mid-day I decided I must
telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been taken ill;
and I was just looking up the doctor's book to find something specially
virulent and infectious for Henry when Elizabeth came in. Amazing to
relate, her face was wreathed in smiles.
"They've sent from the Domestic Boorow," she began.
"What!" I exclaimed, "did they get me a waitress after all?"
She smirked. "They've sent a man this time. A footman 'e was before the
War, but since 'e's been demobbed 'e's been out of a job. That's 'ow it is
'e's takin' temporary work and----"
"He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already," I
interposed.
She smirked again. "I 'adn't been talkin' to him ten minutes before 'e
asked me wot was my night out. 'E isn't 'arf a one."
"It seems he isn't," I agreed. And I sent up a silent prayer of
thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau. "But what about the
amalgamated boilermaker?"
"Oh, 'im!" She tossed her head. "'E can go to--Manchester."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Lady_ (_tendering half-crown_). "I'M _SO_ SORRY, I HAVEN'T
A PENNY."
_Conductor._ "DON'T YOU WORRY, MISS--YOU'LL SOON 'AVE TWENTY-NINE."]
* * * * *
A Legacy of the War.
No one will lightly forget the noble services rendered by the Y.W.C.A. to
our troops and those of our Allies during the War, and many of Mr. Punch's
friends must have given practical expression to their gratitude. But we are
liable to forget that the end of the War has not brought an end either to
the work of the Y.W.C.A. or to the claim which that work has upon our
recognition. There is pressing need of accommodation and protection and
healthy environment for the large army of girls who have been demobilized
and are now engaged in, or seeking for, civilian employment. The funds of
the Y.W.C.A. do not admit of the establishment and maintenance of
sufficient hostels for this good purpose. At the moment a chance is offered
to them of purchasing a large, suitable and perfectly-equipped
house--rented during the War, and after, by the Y.W.C.A.--in a
densely-populated district in South London. The offer holds good for only a
few days, and, if it is not taken, over two hundred girls will be turned
adrift to wander in search of lodgings. The price is thirty thousand
pounds. It is difficult to think of any cause to which money could be more
usefully subscribed. Mr. Punch begs his readers to send to the promoters of
this good work some token of their sympathy and appreciation. Gifts should
be addressed to the Hon. Emily Kinnaird, 4, Duke Street, W.1.
* * * * *
"UNITED STATES AND ARMENIA.
It would be grossly misleading to say that Congress, in its present
frame of mind, would accept actual responsibility for a country whose
place on the map of Europe is not even known to the average
citizen."--_Daily Paper._
Even we ourselves were under the impression
that it was still in Asia.
* * * * *
"The Conference of San Remo is virtually over, but the caravanserai of
peace must make yet another journey before its goal is reached."
_Irish Paper._