HAPPY CHRISTMAS FOR MR. STUTTLE

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 215, 10 September 1940, Page 13

HAPPY CHRISTMAS FOR MR. STUTTLE

Short Story : : : :

EVERY well-informed person within *-• five miles radius of the cottage at Rattler's End knows how Mrs. Stuttle was unsensed by a motor car. The driver, elderly Mr. Polkington, of Market Waldron, was travelling at a moderate pace and had sounded his horn when rounding the corner. That Master Ablett, of Pargeters, who was hopping clods in the nearby field and happened to be straightening* his back at the time, saw, heard, and was able to testify. He helped a bewildered Mr. Polkington to collect Mrs. Stuttle, deposit her in the car, and take her to Market Waldron's Cottage Hospital, where they spoke of slight concussion and advised Mr. Polkington to report to the police. That worthy man did more. He sought eut Mr. Stuttle, who received the bad news with amazing courage and resignation, expressed due satisfaction on hearing that his wife was alive, and still more when he heard that she was in hospital "along of her concussion." He remarked that, pending developments, he would need someone in to "do" for him, and Mr. Polkington produced two Treasury notes of the superior varietv.

When he had gone his agitated way, Mr. Stuttle took the notes from his pocket, slapped them affectionately, hummed a merry tune, took certain vegetables to the cook, borrowed what he called a ""mite o' paper an' a onvelope," and sat down in the conservatory to send a little note to his brother, Jabez Stuttle, seafaring man, paid off from a trawler. He wrote a3 follows:—

"My dere jabe i take up my pen to rite these few lines hopin' you are quite well as t.g. it leaves me middlin my dere jabe the old woman's in horspittlc becos somebody bin an onsensed her along of his moty car my dere jabe i hope you will com and spend Xmus along of me being o'll be alone be myself and i got plenty of vittles and i am your affec brother james Stuttle." Mr. Jabez Stuttle is stout, sturdy, whiskered, and earringed, on the best terms with his brother, and on no terms at all with his brother's wife.

He accepted what he called the invite in a letter bearing close resemblance rn the one he had received, for he, too, is of the marshlands. In the meantime, Mr. Stuttle sat in receipt of custom. The tenant's cook made dainty dishes for Mrs. Stuttle, and Mr. Stuttle took a reasonable part of them to Market Waldron twice a week, when he paid brief visits to a dazed but contented spouse. He asked anxiously on the occasion of his first call if there was any hope that she would be home by Christmas, and was reassured.

The tenant's cook has a heart; from all outward indications, it must be a large one. She suggested to her mistress that a Christmas pudding might help to assauge Mr. Stuttle's grief; the grief he kept so firmly under control. So the pudding was provided, and Mr. Stuttle, having annexed a chicken from the poultry yard on his own account, and sufficient vegetables from the garden and apples from the store-room to provide for'all reasonable needs, went home on Christmas Eve with the true holiday feeling in his heart.

Jabez had arrived, bearing gifts, sausages, and a bottle of rum. He is a handy man; he can cook a dinner, steer a boat, and sing a song. The brother supped on sausages that Jabez fried; mashed potatoes and tea, laced with excellent spirit, completed the feast. Mr. Stuttle made but one reference to his absent spouse. "A clanjanderin' osyd faggit ever you see in a day's walk," he remarked from the fireside seat; "that's a pity somebody on't come round an' onsense her regular."

By S. Bensusan

"You don't want to bother about the likes of her," said the seafarer, as he heaped logs on the fire, "hem' she ain't here."

When morning light came, each brother washed beneath the pump at the sink. Then Mr. Stuttle rearranged the table, the seafarer fried more sausages, they braakfasted, and, after tramping across fields for two or three hours, returned to prepare dinner and ate as countrymen should. '•"We'll leave them things," said Mr. Stuttle, gardener, who is a sloven at heart.

"Xit a piece." retorted Mr. Stuttle. seafarer. "I filled the kettle a' purpose." He retired to the scullery and washed up everything and put the tea things on the table. It was then that a knock came at the door.

"Come you In!" demanded Mr. Stuttle, and Miss Arabella, the squire's sister, responded to the invitation. "Good afternoon!" she said "radons ly. "I'm afraid I mustn't wish you a happy Christmas, for it can't be that; •but I hope Mrs. Stuttle is better, and I'm glad you have company." "Same ae. me brother, ma'am." explained Mr. Stuttle a little thicklv. while the seafarer pulled a forelock after a fashion no longer familiar. "I've brought a port wine jellv for your wife," continued Miss Arabella. "Same as pork wine," muttered Mr. Stuttle. "I'm behowden to ye; she'll be wunnerful pleased along* o' that. Happen you'll sit down, ma'am?" The hot room and several tots of rum had deprived him of complete coherence; the seafarer, a bachelor, is ever nonplussed by the fair sex. "I won't stay," said Miss Arabella, "I have a few other visits to pay. Give your wife my best wishes."

"I felt sorry for Stuttle," Miss Arabella told the squire an hour later as they sat at tea. "He was so overcome with grief that he couldn't speak really clearly. He seemed dazed, and yet he had his living room quite clean and tidy. I expect they're a very devoted couple." "Wake up, Jim!" said the seafaring man. "I've made the tea." Mr. Stuttle, gardener, rousing himself with an effort. "Lord!" he remarked, as he took his place at the table. "It's the fust time I've liked meself come Christmas this many a year." He cut and buttered some slices of bread and picked up the jelly. "That's mosly th' same as jam," he remarked after tasting it. "Well, well," remarked the seafarer, as he took his half. "Happen she'll be better soon an' on't want no jellies." "You dedn't oughter talk so," replied his brother reproachfully. "She don't wanter git well yit. There's plenty o* time f'r that."

It was closing time in the ward. "Well," said the sister to an elderly patient, "you've had a nice quiet day. Just drink this and you'll have a good night." "I've bin thinkin' o* my Jim," said the patient. "It will have been a dull Christmas for him, I fear," replied the sister. "Sarve he right!" cried Mrs. Stuttle with sudden asperity. "He'll feel the mi*« o' me. He can't cook so much as a pertater, an' there's nobody'll com* out f'r him, Christmas Day. That'll larn him, th' owd muck." "You don't get on very happily," suggested the sister. "If a angel come an' done f'r him," explained Mrs. Stuttle faintly, "he'd be late f'r his meals an' bring his dirty boots inter her clean kitchen. Don't tell me." She emptied the medicine glass and fell asleep. THE END.