THE "ROOMER" AND THE DINNER

Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2882, 21 September 1916, Page 6

THE "ROOMER" AND THE DINNER

—-—* - AN IDYLL OF AN APARTMENT '"' HOUSE For most women whose husband* have to go to work at a specified hour each day of their daily lives in order to make the domestic wheels go round, the business of life begins when they open . their eyes in the morning. Somo men will get up of their own accord, dress themselves, cat their breakfast, and walk tranquilly out of the house with a five-minute margin. The fortunate wives of these well-oiled machines lead serene, if uneventful, lives*. Another brand of husband has literally to be kicked out of bed, his garments thrust unde.- his nose, and various elusive impedimenta of the male toilet table discovered in places where somo unknown criminal—identity gloomily hinted at —has deliberately and of fell purpose secreted them. Follows a series of gulps, which lie calls his breakfast, a frantic collision with the cat, a flying exit, and Act I, Scenu 2, closes with a tableau in which a perspiring and prostrated woman, an outraged cat, a litter of a _ breakfast table, and an upturned chair are the outstanding features. The addition of s few children to the cast may be relied upon to stimulate the action of the piece. ■ ' After an interval of ten minutes, to give the atmosphere time to settle, the curtain rises for tho secotid aot, upon which .the wholo drama of domestic life is supposed to revolve—tho preparation of the dinner. With this supreme office-' it is not "To be, or not to be," that is the question, but "To satisfy, or not to ' satisfy," hnd here, 1 think, it will bs opportune and fitting to present tho little story of Mrß. John Henry Smith, of tho City of Wellington, New Zealand. For the trifling sum of twenty shil- , lings weekly, Mr. and Mrs. John Henry Smith are acknowledged as accredited tenants of a single room in a large, commodious family mansions—by the way, this is a true story. Some 6ix other families, for a similar trifling' offering, are duly accredited to oho room each in tho same large, commodious family mansion. At ten. o'clock on.the morning after the Smiths joined the ranks of "roomers," Mrs. John Henry Smith, with a chunk of raw meat, some vegetables, a knife, and other culinary impedimenta, descended to the .communal kitchen, prepared to 6olvo the great problem upon which domestio bliss 'is, .popularly supposed to have, its true basis. Other mesdames, similarly inspired, prepared to do likewise,. and in this communal battlefield, with its big cooking-stove, and its battery of pots aad pans, a conflict of just' rights, alimentary ideals, and personal interests prevailed in a super-heated atmosphere. Mrs. John Henry Smith, resolved to achieve a triumph with a pot-roast, looked round for a suitable pot, just in time to seo its handle grasped by a larger aggressive ->la.dy, slapping the to be regaled tha't day with pickled pork, carrots, and. onions. "Do you really want that pot?" she asked, in a hopeless yo!c<j. "Looks like it, my dear," said tho large, aggresive- ladsy, slapping tho lid on with an air of finality. "I got up early to make sure of it." Sbe_ looked at Mrs. John Henry, not unkindly. "You want to be very spry here, you know." Then she dropped her voice. "And don't leave your things lying about, or they'll walk." "Dear raei" said Mrs. John Henry, swallowing her emotion. . "What am I to do with this meat? I /wanted to. make a pot roast, you know." "You can't now," said the other. "Tho pots are all booked. Here, take this pan, before somebody else get* it. I'll' give you a hand—l'm through with my preparations, so 1 don't mind. I sometimes find my vegetable pan pushed on one side to make room for somebody else's, iron—these sort of littlo things are apt "to happen when your back's turned. ' Mrs. John Henry smiled through hor tears, aad the two crossed over to the oooking table. _ » . "Well, I declare!" exclaimed an exasperated toiler from tho depths of an adjacent cellar, in the voice whiclt coarser males uso when they say they'll be d d. "Somebody in this place knows how to make a bag of coal do the work of two!" Further remarks from that region were drowned by the rattle of coal into a bucket. " "It's a great life, this," said Mrs. John Henry's now friend, as she busiod herself with the vegetables. "The. other night I wanted something from the_ kitchen. I came down, put the candle on the table just here, and then, went up to get something I'd forgotten, and if you'll believe me, when I got back—l wasn't gone more than a minute—that candle had walked." "Gracious 1" "Your coal goes, too, if you don't watch it. I get sick of it sometime*, and sigh for a kitchen of my own." And so on, and so forth. In the fulness of time Mr. John Henry Smith dined heartily on roast beef, with the usual succulent embellishments of onions, parsnips, and cauliflower, and enjoyed himself hugolv. But Mrs. John Henry's dinner sluck in her throat. "What's up?" asked John Henry. "Lost your appetite P" With knife and fork suspondod in the air, he paused for a reply. Mrs. John Henry burst into tears. Mr. and Mrs. John Henry had been married for about five years, which is probably the reason why, instead of dropping his knife and fork, with a clatter, and rushing round to the other end of the table in a turmoil of distraction and sympathy, he made furious passes with his dinner implements,' and repeated his question in the form of a demand. "What IS the matter now?" he demanded. "I—l—hate this p—place," she managed to say. John Henry stared. "Why? What's tho matter with it. Nice big room, lovely view, NO housework, only a little cooking, and there you are — twiddle your thumbs , all day if you like. What more do you want?" Hopaused for breath. Mrsw John Henry dried her tears, and sot her. littlo face determinedly. "John Henry," said she, "I want a kfloiicn of my own, and if you. won't, get mo one, I'll go and live with mother —so there." •'Well, I'll be hanged. If you women aren't the dizzy limit. AVhere's my hat?" He pounced on his headgear, crammed it on, and slammed out of Hie room. Verily, dear ladies, you are a sorely misunderstood sex. But after tea that night, when John Henry had the offico behind him instead of.before.him, and was smoking tho pipe of peace, he was brought to see the sweet reasonableness of it all. "It may be all you say, John Henry Smith," said she, "but it isn't home, is it?" AnuJo'iii Henry, as he listened to tho antics.of a two-step artist doing his light fantastic in. the room above, and tho pathetic cadcnais of a throaty soprano next door, agreed tha't if* wasn't. —"Wi."