"Everybody's doing it," I said, "so as to have more for the Funds. Also
for other reasons. The only question is what?"
"Well," said Ursula, "let's make a beginning." She produced a silver
pencil and some celluloid tablets that are supposed to look like ivory.
"What first?" she asked, frowning.
I reflected. "Clearly the superfluities ought to go first. What about my
sacrificing sugar-cakes for afternoon tea? And burnt almonds?"
"M' yes," said Ursula. "I was thinking myself about giving up cigars."
"Heroine! But let us be temperate even in denial."
"As a matter of fact," she said, "I'm getting to detest almonds."
"And I simply loathe--I mean, I'm sure pipes are ever so much better for
one than cigars."
"Good!" observed Ursula. "Cigars and almonds go out. Only if you have
your pipe there ought to be some cheap and filling substitute for my
almonds."
"Turkish delight," I suggested, "supposing it turns out all right about
the _Goeben_."
"And, if not, I could get along with Russian toffee. That settles tea.
How about other meals?"
"We're at the end of that Hock."
"I'm glad of it," said Ursula. "Nasty German rubbish. I wonder it didn't
contaminate the cellar. Now we must drink something patriotic instead."
"What about good old English water?"
"My dear! With all those spies simply picnicing round the reservoirs!
Goodness knows what they've put in. My idea was a nice, not
too-expensive, champagne, like what they get for the subscription
dances."
"Dearest! Ask me to go out into the road and sing the _Marseillaise_.
Ask almost anything of me to display my pride and affection for our
brave allies, but do not, do not ask me to drink sweet champagne at
lunch!"
"You shall choose it yourself," said Ursula, "and it isn't for lunch,
but dinner. At lunch you will continue to drink beer. Only it will be
English, not German."
"Glorious beer! _C'est magnifique!_"
"_Mais ce n'est pas lager!_" said Ursula quickly.
This was rightly held to constitute one trick to her, and we resumed.
"About clothes," I said.
"There was an article I read in some paper," observed Ursula, "pointing
out that if everybody did without them no one would mind."
"Still, even in war time----"
"Of course I meant new clothes and fashionable things."
"An alluring prospect!" I agreed wistfully. "Fancy reading in the
frock-papers that 'Ursula, Mrs. Brown, looked charming in a creation of
sacking made Princess fashion, the _chic_ effect being heightened by a
bold use of the original trade-mark, which now formed a striking _décor_
for the corsage.'"
Ursula did not smile. "No man can be amusing about clothes except by
accident," she said coldly. "The article went on to advise that if new
things were bought they should be specially good. It called this the
truest economy in the long run."
When Ursula had sketched out a comprehensive wardrobe on truest economy
lines, and I had mentally reviewed my pet shades in autumn suitings,
there was a pause.
"What about the green-house?" I asked suddenly. "Do we need a fire there
all winter just that John may swagger about his chrysanths?"
John, I should explain, is the gardener who jobs for us at seven-and-six
weekly, and "chrysanths" is a perfectly beastly word that we have
contracted from him. In summer John mows the lawn (_fortissimo_ at 6.30
A.M.) and neglects to weed the strawberries. In winter he attends to
what auctioneers would call the "commodious glass."
"M'yes," said Ursula reflectively. "But what about John himself?"
"My dear girl, surely it is obvious by the simplest political
science----"
"Sweetheart!" interposed Ursula anxiously, "John isn't going to have
anything to do with the Moratorium or hoarding gold, is he? Because, do
remember how cross you got trying to explain that!"
"I remember nothing of the sort!"
"And, anyhow," she continued, "now we're saving in so many other things,
I intend to pay John an extra half-crown, in case food goes up."
There was obviously only one thing to do, and I did it. I retired in
fair order, abandoning to Ursula the task of preparing the schedule of
our domestic retrenchment. At lunch she produced it.
"The bother is," she observed, "that what with truest economy clothes
and champagne, and John, and some other things, it seems to work out at
about two pounds a week more than we spend now."
"That," I said cuttingly, "is at least a beginning!"
However, since then I have discovered an article in another paper
denouncing panic economies as unpatriotic. So we shall probably return
to the old _régime_, plus John's half-crown. Even with this, it will
mean a distinct saving of thirty-seven-and-six on Ursula's proposals. It
is not often that one gets a chance of serving one's country on such
easy terms.
* * * * *
Illustration: _Father_ (_who has been stung by a wasp on the back of
his neck_). "I DON'T CARE IF IT'S FULL OF GERMANS, _I'M_ NOT GOING TO
LOOK UP AT IT."
* * * * *