"THE GOSPEL OF HEALTH." MR. FLIPP IN FADLAND.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVIII, Issue 57, 4 September 1909, Page 10

"THE GOSPEL OF HEALTH." MR. FLIPP IN FADLAND.

Mr. Flipp, retired grocer and provision dealer, caressed his side whiskers, and thoughtfully watched his wife pour out the morning coffee. "I think I will have an apple and a piece of brown bread for breakfast, Jane," he remarked, lifting the cover off the dish and sniffing at the bacon I "and kidney ». "What's the matter with you? One of your bilious attacks, I suppose," replied Mrs. Flipp, handing him a cup" of coffee. "Nothing of the kind. 1 have no bilious attack. I do not intend to have any more bilious attacks. I am going, to lead a sensible, natural life.'' "Oh, John/ sighed his- wife, "are you ' going to break out again? Have you forgotten when you went in for the fresh air" cure, and we all caught colds and the servants gave notice?" Mr. Flipp coughed uneasily. "No, 1 have not forgotten, Jane," he replied, "nor am I likely to forget so long as you are good enough to remind me three times a week. I repeat once more, that the reason we caught colds was not the fault of the .system ; it was caused by the abnormally severe- weather which prevailed during the experiment." Mrs. Flipp shrugged her shoulders, and Mr. Flipp proceeded to ostentatiously peel an apple. "Please pass the cruet," requested Mrs. Flipp, helping herself to the bacon and kidneys. "My dear," observed Mr. Fipp, with his hand on the cruet, "do you know that if you place a spot of mustard on your arm and bind it round with linen, the mustard will eat info the skin and cause a painful and unsightly sore?" "What &f> you want to put mustard on your arm for V enquired Mrs. Flipp. "I am simply pointing out, my dear Jane, that it is practically suicidal to introduce mustard to the sensitive coating of your stomach." "Rubbish," retorted Mrs. Flipp, seizing the cruet. "My dear, I warn you that there is death in the cruet. I attended a lecture on health by an American gentleman last evening, and I came away deeply impressed by the force of his arguments. In future I intend to refrain from all flesh foods, all poisons like tea and tobacco, and to live entirely on a natural diet. 1 have joined the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel of Health, ■ and hope, Jane, that I shall ultimately prevail upon you to become one of us.'' "If you think I am going to starve myself for the sake of your silly gospel, you are very much mistaken," declared Mrs. Flipp. "Will you have some more coffee?" "No, thanks. I am not quite sure whether coffee is banned or not. To-day I am getting a list of non-dangerous foods, and you will please instruct the cook to prepare my meals from the list. ' "And she is such a good cook, too," sighed Mrs. Flipp. "I'm sure I shall not be able to get another like her." After breakfast Mr. Flipp visited the office of the S.P.G.H., and was warmly received by the secretary, the lecturer of the previous evening. 'My dear sir, I am de-lighted to see you. I noticed your, face among the audience last night, and I said to myself, Elijah P., there is an intelligent face, there is the face of an enthusiast, the owner of that face was never intended to consume gory carcases and poisonous drugs. No, sir, that face is destined to go forth as a shining light in the cause of the Gospel of Health. Sir, 1 welcome you as a worker in the cause, of which Elijah P. is the humble founder." Mr. Flipp beamed with delight, and, having paid over a guinea and signed his name in the members' book, he received a printed list of the only ditthes which the society considered to be harmless and beneficial. "In three months from now," said Mr. Elijah P. Perks, filling in a receipt for the guinea, "you will come to me and thank me for saving your body from damnation, and, if I may say so, a body like yours, my dear sir, is well worth saving." During the next few days Mr., Flipp saw a good deal of his fellow members of the S.P.G.H. What they lacked in numbers they / made up in enthusiasm. He drank cereal tea •with ladies of uncertain age and still more uncertain temper; he munched cerea' sandwiches ! with gouty old gentlemen, and with Mr. Elijah P. Perks he had many scien- % tific conversations over the nuts and water. He made a holocaust of bis cigars, and poured his whisky down the drains, and at every meal he spoiled Mrs. Flipp's digestion by enlafging on the terrible effects of flesh meats and condiments on the human system. Twice the cook gave notice on account of having to prepare what she described as heathenish meals, but by promises of an increase in wages, and sundry dark hints as to the uncertainty of all institutions, including societies for the propagation of health, Mrs. Flipp prevailed upon her to stay. "Well, mann, seem' that you 'aye to live with 'im, I don't want to give you any more trpuble," said the dame of the rolling-pin, <r but when 'c comes into the kitchen an' tells me my steaks are death- i traps, it's more than flesh an' blood can stand." . At the end of the week Mr. Flipp be gan to grow restive ; he developed a trying temper, and his advocacy in and out of meal times of a natural diet was tinged with bitter attacks against the vicious indulgence of perverted appetites. "I don't know how you can tolerate the presence of that indecent carcase," he exclaimed, irritably, when Mrs. Flipp commenced operations on a shoulder of lamb. "It's the very best English lamb, and highly recommended by Bates," replied Mrs. Flipp. "I hope your ground nuts are to your taste, clear," she added, sweetly. "This is food for the gods," declared Mr. Flipp, toying with his spoon. "Quite so, dear; but yon see I am merely a human being," replied Mrs. Flipp, helping herself to the mint sauce. "People eat too much," growled Mr. -Flipp, pushing back his chair. "I won't eat any more. How can a man eat with the smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils?" "I'm sure it isn't burnt; ifc is deli cious," retorted Mrs. Flipp. "Bah !" exclaimed Mr. Flipp, flinging out of the room in a pet. Mrs. Flipp smiled an inscrutable smile, and, ringing the bell, gave a whispered order to the smiling wailing maid. Two more days passed. Mr. Flipp's temper became unbearable. He was always worst at meal times, and the pretty waiting maid observed to the cook that if she were the missus she would apply for a divorce. But Mrs. Flipp continued to smile, and when on the evening of the seventh day, Mr. Flipp with a more energetic sniff than usual asked what particular dish she was poisoning herself with, she replied : I "It is pigeon-pie, my dear, your favourite dish, you know, before you became — er, converted. "It always gave mo indigestion," growled Mr. Flipp. "Mast injurious food. The worst thing you can eat. What has Mary flavoured this powdered wheat with?" he went on, digging his spoon viciously into tho dry porridge. "I'm frurc I don't know, tthe always follows tho directions on the list," remarked Mrs, Flipp, cutting into the E*g«QH pis*

"D the list," ejaculated Mr. JTlipp. "My dear!" remonstrated Mrs., Flipp, but she smiled behind her hand. That night Mrs. Flipp awoke with a start. Listening with straining ?ars she heard suspicious noises in the kitchen. "John, wake up ; there are burglars in the house," she whispered. But there was no response, and on making investigation she found that Mr. Flipp was not by her side. Without hesitation the good lady slipped on her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers and tiptoed down to the kitchen. A faint light streamed from over the door, and the rattle of crockery came from within. Mrs. Flipp cautiously pushed open the door and beheld — Mr. Flipp at the kitchen table in his pyjamas, a knife and fork in his hands, and the remains of the pigeon-pie on his plate. He paused with open mouth when he caught sight of his wife by the open door, and the look in his eyes was the look of a trapped animal. But Mrs. Flipp was a wise woman and a good wife. "You will find a box of cigars and a decanter of whisky on the sideboard, John. I sent for them on Thursday," w~as all she said. Then she closed the door softly and returned to bed. — James Cornthwaite, in the Manchester Chronicle.