HEIGHT OF ABSURDITY.

Dominion, Volume 6, Issue 1860, 20 September 1913, Page 12

HEIGHT OF ABSURDITY.

You've heard of tliem, lio doubt. Mr. and Mrs. Twitter liad lived on the Heights of Absurdity ever since thoy had married, and had begun to take their placo m tho world. Everybody they knew lived there. They were never lonely. '

Mr. Twitter's salary was not largo. They had to economist) in many ways. Thoy kept ono maid—not that Mrs. Twitter was frail; qui to tho reversebut so that sho mijilit have leisuro to go around amongst lier friends and play bridgo and annuo herself while Mr. Twitter' was at tho office. They had 110 children-7-really couldn't afford them on Mr. Twitter's salary I —but they managed to bo fairly happy without them. Ono thing that did worry thorn a littlo was that thoy were both inclined to put on flesh. There wore two reasons for this. Ono was that they "lived well'—l think that's what thoy call it on tho Heights of Absurdity— had threo "good, squaro meals" a day, and a "snack" at bedtime. Tho other reason for their unduo stoutness was lack of exorcise. Mr. Twittor motored to tho train in the morning, and back again at night. Ho rarely put a foot to tho ground. Mrs. Twitter, too, rodo everywhere in tho auto. Sho wasi most uncomfortable, what with increasing flesh and tho demands of tho modes for slimness I She was girded so snugly, poor lady, that had it not been for tho nuto, sho couldi never have gotfvn 'round to thc\ luncheons, teas, and dinners that filled up her waking hours. Obviously, something had to be done. Thoy (xinsulted an eminent (and very expensive) physician. Ho advised tho uso of aerated waters at meals (since he could hardly advise them to eat lessl) and exercise—yes, exercise. If tho Twitters had lived on tho Plains of Common-senso they would undoubtedly havo seen that tho obvioijs thing to do was to discharge th© maid and get rid of the auto. Mrs. Twittor would have cooked plainer things and fewer of them, and the exercise involved in doing her own work would havo made her as slim as n young girj —to say nothing of tho luncheons and dinners sho would have missed for tho lack of tho auto—and time to go to them. As for poor, fat Mr. Twitter, there was—had lie chosen to consider it' —tho lawn to mow, or the snow to shovel —as tho season provided—or tho furnace to tend to, or all sorts of odds and ends of things about the house to do—to say nothing of the walks to and from the station which he might havo taken.

.It seems strange, but the solution never occurred to the Twitters. Instead, they joined a country club, though it strained their resources a bit. Mr. Twitter played golf nearly every afternoon, while Mrs. Twitter sat around on the porch of the club-house and waited for him to bo through. Then they had a bountiful supper and motored home. Mrs. Twitter went to a fashionable gymnasium twice a week, and swung clubs and loarnt fancy dancing, and other days she had an energetic masseuse roll and punch her till sho wept and bemoaned her fato.

It was at this point that a fiat went forth from the heads of the firm for which Mr. Twitter worked, to reduce expanses. So salaries were cut right and left. Mr. Twitter suffered with the rest. ' . • ■

Then, indeed, they did worry, if you like I Tho first of every month was martyrdom to both of them. Nothing but bills—bills—bills! that they could ■ not pay. It was only in mid-month that tfio Twitters were happy—then they could forget! But it did not enter their poor, troubled minds that they could,;relinquish anything they had.-■ ' "It isn't as though we were extravagant," wailed Mrs. Twitter, dabbing her eyes with a "lace-edged handkerchief. "We have nothing that our neighbours have not. Wo buy only neoessaries!" She pushed back across the breakfast table tho bills Mr. Twitter had handed her—her dressmaker's bill, the bills for her gym and fanov dancing, her masseuse's account, and tho bills overdue at the department stores. Mr. Twitter wriggled uneasily. "I'll pay the chauffeur and tho servants," he said miserably, "and let my' olub bills go for the present—everyone else is behindhand. Tho steward told mo so last month."

And so they literally worried along. They got deeper and deeper into debt. By. decrees anxiety wrote itself on their fat faces. They got careworn and old. Still they kept on tho routjne—the treadmill, if you please—of their little "set." There are all sorts of ways to be happy. This was the Twitters' way. Every onco in a whilo there were whacking big doctors' bills in addition. The strain gave Mm. Twitter nervous prostration. An operation was in order. Mr. Twitter, too, suffered from the effects of a heat stroke acquired one very hot day in town. Mr. TVitter was dressed in heavy woollen tweeds—lie wore a thick coat and waistcoat. : It never ocucrred to the poor man to' take them off and be cool. None.of liis "set" ever did such a thing! There are glorious martyrs amour; tho men folks on ! Absurdity eights. So Twitter sweltered and succumbed. Tho Twitters still live on the Heights of Absurdity. They have plenty .of company. They think this world is a cruel place. But they pay out good ■money to the doctor to keep them in it — who knows, they might bo worse off in the other world 1 And all the time there are the quiet, peaceful Plains of Common-sense lying in full sight. Sometimes, at the first of the month, when bills flutter down like evil-winded bats, tho Twitters puzo wistfully across to theso level plains. They look at each other, brightening with a sudden thought. Perhaps—yes, perhaps they could But no. All their "set" live on the Heights of Absurdity.— C. Hilton-Turvey in New York "Life."