Dobson's Half=Holiday..

Free Lance, Volume III, Issue 116, 20 September 1902, Page 20

Dobsons Half = Holiday..

WEEN Mr. Dobson reached home at 1 o'clock on Saturday he found his wife and family in the throes of preparation for going out. "It is such a lovely da^ John," said Mrs. Dobson, enthusiastically, "that I have determined to take the children to Island Bay. Hurry up with your dinner, and you will overtake us on the way to the tram." John murmured a faint assent , but as he swallowed his half-cold dinner he meditated darkly and rebelhously. He was naturally lazy, and he knew what going to the Bay "with the children" meant. He would have to carry a heavy baby or an equally heavy basket under the broiling sun-glare. He would have to build sand castles, and submit to be "buried," and go about thereafter with sand in his eves and ears and down his back. He would have to chase and chastise the bad little boys who invariably stole Bobby's spade and Nellie's pail. He would have to wander about drearily seeking lost shoes and stockings, and suffer scorn and contumely if he found them not. It was hard, cruel, thankless work, and his heart sank at the mere thought of it. But Dobson, like most people had his moments of inspiration. A bright, tempting thought stole into his mind. When his dinner was only half eaten, he pushed the plate away, and leant his head on his hand with a plaintive moan. ' Whatever is the matter, John ? Aren't you well " queried his wife, pausing in a struggle with the baby, whose protests against being dressed were vigorous. John shook his head, and the moan deepened into a groan. "It's nothing," he murmured, hvpocntically, "at least, nothing new. Only this racking headache that makes my life a burden." "Why, John, you never told me you were troubled with headache'" uttered his better half, reproachfully. "I didn't want to worry you about it dear but — I reaJlv don't think I can go with you to-day. A quiet afternoon on the sofa would do me good, I believe. All the doctors advise rest for this sort of headache." "But the sea air might do you good, John'" "No, no, it's not that kind of pain." he said, hopelessly. "You had better hurry, or you will lose your car, dear. I will attend to the fire, and have tea ready for your return, if I can keep my head up," he added, heroically. When the door had closed upon the forms of his wife and four children and the last echo of their sympathy and regret had died away, Dobson went back to his dinner and finished it to the last morsel. Then, with a seraphic smile, he lit his pipe, and stretched himself reposefully on the sofa, where the soft touch of Morpheus presently lulled his deceitful soul into oblivion. Some hours later he awoke with a feeling; of duty unperformed. What had he to do? Oh, yes, of course ; the kitchen fire and the kettle and the tea ! Well he was in good time yet! The pleasure-seekers would not return for nearly an hour. He sprang from his couch with an exuberant flinc of arms and legs, and hurried into the kitchen. The fire was not quite out, and a few sticks soon revived it. Then, Dobson filled the kettle and set it on, with the triumphant remark, "Now we shan't be lone: 1 " And the kettle, being, presumably, included in the observation, promptly justified it by toppling backwards off the pinnacle of coal where Dobson had placed it jauntily, and emptying its entire contents into the. fire. For an instant, Dobson stood paralysed with horror and dismay, enveloped in a cloud of ashes, suffocated by the smell which attends such catastrophes, stricken mute by the sight of the flooded hearth and devastated fireplace. One minute before it had been a perfect picture of shining steel and polished blacklead. Now' — What would his wife say? What he himself said we refrain from repeating. What he did we can only hint at ; to describe his operations for the next half-hour would take an abler pen than ours. He was not "domesticated," and he went to work clumsily, but he was in deadly earnest, and at the end of thirty minutes the water was mopped up, the fire reconstructed, the stove almost restored to its pristine lustre. Then, the gallant heart beneath Dobsons waistcoat beat more freely, and, as he applied a light to the combustibles in the grate he muttered once more the cheering words : "Now, we shan't be long'" But his anticipation of a speedy end to his labours was doomed to disappointment. The fire would not light and at last Dobson fled for the kerosene tin, and emptied half its contents on the smouldering, rebellious heap of coals and sticks The_ result went far beyond his expectations. With a sudden roar a wide

sheet of fiaine leapt upwards, and outwards scorohin" his face and hands, and seemingly intent on devouring him altogether. Then, all the tongues of flame seemed drawn back into the chimney, and roared widly up its blaok, yawning throat. Then, a great cloud of soot came down with a lush and a whirl, and wrapped the bewildered Dobson in it® clinging, sable folds. While he! yet stood gazing at the conflagration, there came a thundering rattat on the front door. A wild gleam of terror sprang into Dobsons eyes. It was succeeded by a look of dogged despairing defiance, as he went to open the door, still clutching the kerosene tin mechanically. But it was not his wife who stood on the doorstep. It was a policeman, backed up by a crowd of children. The latter rent the air with howls of laughter when Dobson appeared, and even the grim features of the "bobby" relaxed into a broad grin. "Your chimney's on fire," he said, laconically . "Great Scott l you needn't come to tell me that'" flared Dobson. "No seems as if you knew it Dretty well. Still, I like to be friendly, and I want your name and address, you know. It's a clear case of 'wilfully' " , and the nodded at the kerosene tin. Dobson gave the information with a snarl, and banged the door. When he got back to the kitchen the fire was burning cheerfully, and the roaring in the chimney was over. With a preat, weary sigh he set himself anew to the labour of cleaning up the fireplace. While he toiled and sweated, and, sooth to say, swore over the task another knock came to the door. Again that look of fear clothed Dobsons face Slowly, shrinkingly, he opened the door. Mrs. Dobson, tired, but radiant with the expectation of tea all ready, looked at him, gasped, and took a hasty step backwaids. "John! Oh, mercy, what has happened'" "Come in," he roared. "Do you think I'm going to tell you outthe.e?" They came in then, full of fear, and trembling, and hei led the w T ay to the kitchen, and told, in a few grim words, what had befallen. Over his wdfe's troubled, terrified face there broke a sunny, joyous smile of relief. "Is that all?" she cried. "Oh, John, I thought your headache had driven you mad I You look frightful l Just peep in the glass." He obeyed, and was constrained to admit the justice of her words. His hair> was thickly powdered with white ash, his face darkly coated with soot, his general aspect wild, dishevelled and demoniac. He turned away from the gruesome image with a ghastly smile, but the contortion made him so hideous that his youneest-born wept wildly. Dobson laughed but there was no real joy in his heart. It took him hours to clean himself and his clothes ; it took him w r ecks to pay the fine for setting the chimney on fire out of his pocketmoney — a measure which Mrs. Dobson insisted on. Moreover, she took to dosiner him incessantly to prevent "those dreadful headaches." Who shall say that Nemesis sleeps?