(SHORT STORY.) FRYING PAN AND FIRE

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 288, 5 December 1929, Page 30

(SHORT STORY.) FRYING PAN AND FIRE

;; A TKAGI-COMEDY. ■ ; {\ ". (By J.A.A.) Footle is a man. I meet at lunch oc casionally. What his business is l< do not know, but I think he is trusted, clerk ■who has-grown,grey in long, service, and has come to be regarded as a fixture. He is a dreamy, bigTheaded chap, short and rather itubby, who always seems a bit lost to: his surroundings. Matrimony has never apparently tempted him. For yea'rs aa. elderly housekeeper has looked after him. Some of his acquaintances regard, him,as a bit;touched. Any. man of fifty .who, let his. hair straggle over his collar; wore such sloppy clothes, had that far-away; look in" his watery eyes, and who wrote poetry must, in their view, haye a kink. makes no boast of his poetic effusicjusi but somebody had happened on a thuvvolume he had once published at his o-vjoi expense —the one sure way of poets getting into : print—and in j the opinion of the -.hard-boiled men who manufactured and factored,- old josser who wrote poetry, in his leisure must be dotty. They found their pleasures in knocking a small ball about, witnessing others kick or smite a ball, or in pushing balls into elusive pockets. Being fashioned differently, Footle found his in books, sober meditation, and versifying. - •'- •* I rather like him. He has never asked me to read his poetry, but, regarding me as somewhat of a kindred soul and being favourably impressed by my serious mien, he has at times given me confidences. About a month ago he told me over the coffee that he was getting out of his house. It appeared that he lived in a suburban road, which, although not exactly a main thoroughfare, • was the straight cut to a populous district, and that, since the buses had taken to rumble along it, he could no longer stand the noise. Noise which is a damnable' nuisance should-not be', tolerated. We were not intended to pass our days and most of our nights in ceaseless clamour. I can Bee no respite, in fact it becomes worse, and I: have bought' a small villa four miles out where I can find peace, he said. "And this little bijou • is the haven you desire?" I said. .. ,- : . . "It is ideal," he replied. "Not pretentions, Mt roomy enough. It is one of a pair 'recently 'erected in a quiet side road, and the bus passes the corner. The road is boundary for a great public park, dotted with fine old trees and left largely in its natural state. In spring and autumn from the windows the expanse of parkland, with the changing colour of the trees, will be a delight; in winter the whistling of the wind through

the boughs, the hooting of owls, while within the".fire glows,.- will prove inspiring. Haven is right. To get out of the din and turmoil of the city will prove a little paradise after hades. 'The Haven' it shall be named:" / That, as.l said, was about a month ago: Yesterday I met Footle again. Never at any time the picture,.of..rude health, he seemed; to me to have w-ilied somewhat. "Well, old friend," I said, cheerily. "Hpvy goes the muse?". Elbows ton" 'the table, head,.supported by his two' hands,. he glared at me as if crazedi while l frbin his - lips'" issued something which seemed like", profanity.

LfNotia stanza;.,not a line!?',he e^

while tne wind murmured in ..the tree tops, turning to shape the form of things" unknown and giving to airy nothing a local habitation and a name. Do you tell me that the- muse has proved fickle, even in your Arcady ?" "I am moving," he said. "The house is.for sale, and will be sold regardless. For the sake of sanity I must get out. I -want a cottage in some quiet lane which is road to nowhere. I care not how lonely or isolated it may be. This infernal noise is breaking me, mind, body ; and soul .'. ..." "But I thought you had found the quiet , retreat?" I said. "Four miles out, With the handy, bus passing the corner." "I thought so,, too," he confided. - "It seemed ideal and ~I invested my good money. For the first week after moving in we were fully occupied in making the house home. I took joy in it. The front room was to be.my brown study—the room where I should be undisturbe'd at nights to dream my dreams and to catch the fleeting fancies as they fled. I felt as it took shape to my ideas —my desk in the window, bookcase at my elbow, easy chair by the hearth—that in it I should do good work. Pleasing environment —the sense that all is familiar—to the creative mind ; is sedative which prompts • concentration and inspires the golden thoughts." "Yes, I can understand that," I 1 eturned. "Do you tell me that after all ... ." "The house was of pleasing exterior, one of. a pair," he went on. t . "When I bbught mine, the other was still for sale."lt sold the week before I moved in, and the people who had bought it took possession just as I had got mine nicely to rights. ■ I am somewhat reserved and do not make new friends easily. The newcomers would be nothing to me. Beyond the ordinary civility of neighbours I did> not wish to go. "It- struck me : . as they superintended the'unloading of their possessions that, for a small villa they were a large family—mother, &.ther, two youag men and two young (women—in all, six of them, and alii judging from the commotion, of a .boisterous nature. Their belongings did not interest me, but from Mrs. Flimp I had it that there had been a rare struggle to get in the piano. 'A musical lot, I should say,' she remarked. 'Wireless cabinet, gramophone, one of them big fiddles—chellos, I think they call 'em—and other contraptions in cases.' The hammering and bumping was only to be expected,-' and, although annoying, -I consoled myself with the thought that it;would soon cease. "No suspicion what'was impending did I get until;' on' returning from the pillar-box the third evening after they had settled in the man who was following me}-' seeing me turn into my , gate, made himself known as my neighbour. Red-faced, short, and fat, he struck me as a butcher or publican. It, transpired .that he wae but was'owner, of a

greengrocer's 6hop in the busy High Street. 'Sam Mogg,' he informed me. 'Everybody knows Mogg's. Lived over the shop for years, but the missue saw this little crib and thought she'd like to got away from the back yard and have a bit o , garden. All the same to me. Nice lot o' young 'une, mine, although I say, it. Musical, all on 'em, and got a name, too. Heard o' the Musical Moggs ? No! You surprise me. Well, they're them. In the Black Country they're the big draw wherever they appear, and they get some dates, believe me. Bit awkward over the shop for them when they rehearsed. Alwus a bloomin' crowd in the street. This'll be better—out o' the run, like.' "I did not ehow effusion. His remarks were a little disquieting. I had not bargained for any Musical Moggs. "They came in on Monday, and it was on the Thursday night following that the blow fell like a devastating thunderbolt. I was sitting in my den, with pad on knee, chasing a pleasing fancy which had occurred to me on the homeward way, when, without any warning, almost at my ear it seemed, came the banging of a piano. It seemed that these Mogg inflictions had set the infernal thing slap up against the single-brick dividing wall, and if the banging had been in my room I could not have heard it plainer. Away flew inspiration at the appalling din. To any poet soaring in the high region of his fancies—l care not who—such racket would have proved crashing calamity. The muse is ever illusive; not as to the routine round' is imagination to be stirred to effort. For me the night was loet. "On Friday it was even worse. The Musical Moggs had evidently a date, and from nine until' ' twelve they, went through their programme. The din was indescribable. It seemed that these people were no ordinary musicians, but specialists in noise production from any darned old thing. The piano appeared merely the buiding string which held the wild team together. Banjo, ukulele, saxophone, and jazz outfit were easily recognisable, but when it went to other noises which resembled the clatter of tin cans and the hitting of plates and bottles with a stick, the ringing of hand-bells, the beating of xylophone, the bellowing of loud-toiied accordion, and heaven knows what else, the infernal riot became pandemonium. "I am a man slow to wrath. For an hour I suffered the torment of' the damned until at last it 'seemed that my head would burst and, in a frenzy, I banged on the wall. The racket stopped at my thumping. I caught the sound of an outburst of laughter, and again it went on with added devil. Primed to murder I shot out of the house and pounded their door with my clenched fist. "'This cannot go on,' I shouted, as Mogg opened it. 'My brain is reeling. You're driving me insane.' . ...... ...

"Somehow or other, I hardly know how, I found myself in the front room, and, as the terror of it bit into me, my knees sagged and I clutched at the door. Beyond four light chairs set in a row and a long table draped in a cloth emblazoned with the name of the troupe, it was devoid of furniture; but in it, on the table, on the floor, everywhere, was such assortment of musical instruments, including some of weird fashioning, as made the eyes start from the head. Ranged in a group were the four blights—the , Musical Moggs—each with face cast in the same ugly mould, the same lumpy snub nose, the same squint, and the same grinning slit of a mouth. " 'This cannot go on,' I bleated. 'I say it cannot go on. . . ." ".'What's the matter with the funny old gentleman, Alf?' one of the hussies asked. . ." 1 don't think he quite appreciates our efforts, Bet,' returned one of the grinning clowns. " 'My head is buzzing. Do you people tell me that you propose to use this room ...?'. " 'That's right—studio/ returned Alfred. 'Booked fairly well for the winter. We have to keep practising and inventing. Can't get stale. Gent would like to hear our "Annie Laurie" on the tin cans with your obligato on the beer bottles, Bert.' '"Heaven defend us—NO!' I yelled, as I stumbled to the door. • : "I could see it Avas no use to argue. The Musical Moggs were local celebrities. Smethwick had acclaimed them;.at Cannock they had won renown. Their, attitude plainly showed that they thought themselves star artistes. An album no doubt bulged with their press notices. They would have regarded anybody who failed to appreciate their turn as beneath notice. _ "The only thing to be done, under the circumstances, was to consult a solicitor. I did next morning. I saw Halibut, who advised, me the issue would. be doubtful. He took my money and all I got from him was the suggestion to buy some cotton wool. I've tried cotton wool. I've moved into the back room, but the maddening din still penetrates. For the past fortnight the four of 'em have been practising 'Sonny Boy , and 'Shout Hallelujah' on some devilish instruments of torture which turn the screech of a one-stringed fiddle into tinned howling. How the deuce they can persist without getting awful internal gripes I don't understand. The blighters revel, positively revel, in the din they create. Nothing will, stop it, and I've got to get out at any sacrifice. Another month of the Musical Moggs will have me a raving maniac. . ." As I said' I rather like the distressed old lad. If anybody knows of an isolated cottage for sale or to let which will permit the tenant to get to the, city for business, the information would-be, appreciated. I promised if I heard of a likely place I would let him know, . . .'."..: