OIL AND STEWED EELS.

Temuka Leader, Issue 96, 21 April 1883, Page 1

OIL AND STEWED EELS.

“ 1 can’t screw my old man along at all,” said Mrs Gihbett to her neighbor Mrs 'Tompkins. “He won’t drive anyhow ; I think men are the plague of women, what with worritting them to marry them, and then not behaving to them as they ought. I wish there were no men in the world at all, or if there m'ist be that they’d keep themselves to themselves, and let os women alone.”

“ Well,” answered Mrs Tompkins, “ my old man doesn’t want leading or driving ; he runs along by himself, for all the world like a steam-engine—only he doesn’t make any of those snortings and whistles ; he used not though. At one time he was crusty enough, I can tell you, Mrs Gihbett; but d'ye see ” and Mrs Tompkins looked very significantly—'“ I oiled him. I bought a tract called ‘ The Oiled Feather,’ one day—and a good twopence worth it has been to me—and then I found out how to deal with my old man. I used to be rating and screaming at him, and he never took any heed. One day he says to me, ‘ D’ye see, Mrs Tompkins, whenever you begin to scold, I always lights my pipe ;’ but the oil made a new man of him, and a new woman of me too.”

Let’s hear what ’tis about,” said Mrs Gihbett, “ and I’ll give my old man twopenn’orth too.”

“ Well, ’tis about a man called ‘ Polished Bam,’ who was always saying kind words to his wife and maid, and all the people he dealt with, and he slipped along like an eel; while another fellow, called ‘ Rusty Joe,’ who had no civility in him, and so could bring no civility out of him, was scraping against ever) body and everything, and making himself and evsry one about him as miserable as they could be. You get it and read how he couldn’t get in his stiff boots, and how he tore his nail down to the quick, and how his harness broke, and how he took to better ways at last; and ’twill do you good, if you get the big copy with pictures, to see him at the end with his arm round his wife’s waist—”

“ Oiling her, I suppose,” said Mrs Gibbet.

“ Well, folk are sometimes oiled that way,” answered her neighbour ; “ but you just get it, and read yourself.”

The idea of getting a triumph over her husband was worth any money, in Mrs Gibbelt’s eyes; so off she went and bought the tract; and not only read it, but mused long over its contents.

“I see,” said she, “I must grease my old man—no —oil him—that’s the word ; ’tis a cleaner kind of word too. I must say something kind to him, aye, and do something kind 100 : ho shall be oiled to-night when he comes home.” Now poor Joe Gihbett bad not had a really kind word from his wife for many a day ; therefore what was about to come upon him was likely, as indeed it was intended, to produce a tremendous effect.

“ I’ll do it with a stewed eel,” said Mrs Gibbett. “An eel’s a fine oily creature when ’tis stewed, and I’ll put in lots of butter besides. There’s that one he brought home a day or two ago. I shouldn’t wonder if it were good still, though I threw it where the potato-peelings are.” Now the reason why a stewed eel was peculiarly suited to the present occasion was because an individual of this species had in point of fact made the match between Joe Gibbett and his wife. He bad eaten stewed eel at her father’s house, and it was of her dressing, and as her father said on that occasion what a treasure she was, Joe. when the eel was finished, transferred his affections to herself, and very fond he became of her. Only just from being too bustling and hard, and never having time or thought lor a kind word, she slipped into being somewhat of a scold ; and ho, poor fellow, found out that there was something else in the world besides stewed eels.

<• She’ll be at me before ever I get tnv foot inside the door,” said Joe, as he turned Ids steps homeward, “ for I’m rare mucky with cleaning out that ditch. Well, now, if only I had a big eel for'supper, I shouldn’t mind the mud, but she's thrown it awsy, depend upon

it; ’tis now two days since I took it home. Time was when she’d have cooked it first-rate, hut now all I’ll get is a blowing up ; but, never mind, I’ll light my pipe.” On entering the cottage, a whiff of something savoury crossed Joe Gibbett’s nose, and, softly o’er bis senses stealing, memory now brought hack the feeling of—“ stewed eel.” Mrs Gihbett was not a woman to do things by halves ; she had dope her best on the dish, and now she ear/ied off her boots and brought him his old slippers, and set befoie him the stewed eel. Joe looked and wondered. He ate and wondered. He waited in wonder to see what was com ing, and had his pipe ready at a mo ment’s notice.

But there was no need for it ; nor was there the next night, when the remainder of the eel was served up again ; nor was there for an entire week, during which time Joe had stewed eel twice, and a clean shirt twice, and was told three times he was a good fellow for taking so dirty a job, and four times had it hinted to him that“ ’twusn’t every man ; n the parish who would do so much tor his family.”

Joe Gihbett couldn’t make this out at all. A man can’t be lak-n off lemons and put on loaf-suirar without feeling the change of diet, and Joe said little, thought much, and fell still more

At last the mystery was out. Jip spied “ The Oiled Feather ” one even ing, when his wife had gone out for an hour. “ Ah, ah.” said he, “ she’s been oiling me ! No doubt of it! This lu re little book stewed the eel, and all the rest of it I” Then he tucked it away quietly into the place where lie found it, determined not to say anything to any one about the matter, hut just to do to her what she was doing to him, and oil her well too. “ I’ll see how she’ll look after the touch of the book and feather,” said Joe. “ I’ll oil her all over, if it costs me twenty pounds.” “ Wife,” said Joe Gihbett, on coming home next evening from the dirty job, “ I don’t think ’tis right to be dirtying your floor after you hare just cleaned it; so I’ve made up ray mind, while this job lasts, I’ll just take off my boots in the back yard, and so keep the place tidy.” “ And I’ll have your slippers there ready for you, Joe.” “ I wish she hadn’t said that,” thought Joe Gibbett. “ I’ve got as good as I gave. I must oil her again.” The next day Joe spent much of his time while working in the ditch in thinking how he could give his wife another dab of tl The Oiled Feather.” At last he hit on it.

“ Wife,” said he, as he sat in bis slippers, “ I’ve been thinking that while this job lasts I can give you five shillings a-week more ; as tt won’t be over a month, that will be a pound.” “ That will just do to buy you a new pair of breeches with, Joe, and you want them very badly, and ’twill be so nice to see you respectable on Sunday.” *• I’m done for again,” said Joe Gibbett to himself; “ that woman is up to the oil-bottle and no mistake. Wbo’d have thought she cared so much for rae ?_stewed eels, and slippers, and breeches—what next ? But I’ll oil her, I will 1 I’ll be upsides with her yet.”

Now it so happened that a pedlar came round, and produced from his pack, amongst other things, such a beautiful corded petticoat; but, alas! with a sigh, Mrs Gibbet t—who would have made no little sacrifice to get into that petticoat had to decline the purchase. She could not afford it; and her husband agreed with her, and the pedlar went off.

“ But though she can’t, I can,” said Joe Gibbett to himself, “ and I have her oow. She gave me back before os good as I gave ; hut whatever she does she can’t give me a petticoat, I’ll oil her now and no mistake,”

So Joe Gibbett traced the pedlar, and bought the garment and brought it triumphantly home. “ Here, wife, here’s a little present for you,” said Joe ; “ ’tisn’t much, but a feather shows how th« wind blows, sncl

’twill do to show you that your husband thinks of you.” “Joe 1” said Mrs Gibbet t. “ Hah,” said he to bimsrlf, I kn>>w by the way she said J >e, th ii tin* oil’s took.” “ Well, if ever 1” “ Hah,” said Joe, “ sure enough ’tig soaking in, and no mistake.” “Youare a good man,” continu-d Joe’s wife, “She’s getting sbinv, anl the oi’’s an»werng well,” sail! J -e. “ Only to think that you’re acting .-o kind, and ” “ She won’t hold much more,” said her husband to himself. “ On J y to.think I pvt .-aid a bird word to you 1” “ She’ll soon be so slippery,” sai Jnp, *• that there”! he no holding hr-r and by way ol preventing such n calamity he caught her in bis arms while the chance remained,—Collat'd