THESE BACK-BLOCKS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20596, 21 June 1930, Page 25 (Supplement)

THESE BACK-BLOCKS.

3X ANON.

THE BREAD AND BARBARA.

"It would be splendid," Barbara began, and I shuddered involuntarily, for I had learned to dread that expression. " It would be splendid," sho continued firmly, " if I were to bako the bread myself." Even after five years of the backblocks my wife remains an optimist, and this frame of mind leads us both into endless complications. Nevertheless, tho bread problem. was threatening to become acute; we had lived on scones for three days, and last night I had dreamt that my mortgage had taken material form and was sitting on my chest. "It was all right when we could buy our bread "from Mrs. Webb," my wifo was saying, " but now that we are dependent on Percy's tender mercies it s quite impossible." Percy, I must explain, is our nearest postmaster and storekeeper, ten miles away, and from him the heathen Chinco could have learned many ways that wore dark. The present , crisis was induced by tho fact that Peicy seemed constitutionally incapable of remembering our bread, or if he should chance to do so nothing would induce him to send it in our direction. Ihe previous week they had eaten it themselves; on Monday he had given it away to tho Monros, while a Maori tangi had absorbed it tho time before, for Percy s generosity is as impulsive as his bills. " Well, if you are determined, 1 ventured, greatiy daring, ( " best get some neighbour to teach you." , . , " Any fool can bako bread, retorted my wife tartly, and I was silent, for wo all have our foibles, and Barbara s was that of omniscience in all matters culinary. So we got down tho cookery-book and studied it, and presently, " You go down to the Smith's and borrow a little yeast, ' Barbara ordered; u the stupid stuff seems j to need somo encouragment." Getting the Yeast. Whether I gave it too much, or whether it was Dobbin's celebrated jog, I cannot say, but certainly I arrived home with most of Mrs. Smith's yeast in my-pocket. If buoyancy is the test of quality, then her yeast is excellent, for it had travelled incredibly far. I even tipped some out of my boot, and despite Barbara s efforts my suit carried for many weeks tho unpleasant odour of a brewery without its beautiful consolations. On my return my wife niade caustic comment on the strength of a habit that induced me to carry all bottles in my pocket, and then said unexpectedly, " I've just had a telegram from Uncle David; he's coining for the week-end." " I told you lie would recollect the relationship when he heard about those fossils that had beon found here," I replied. Despite this cynicism, I was delighted to welcome Barbara's Uncle David; he is a charming old man, a retired professor with a passion for anything that is prehistoric, and a very vague realisation of the present. He arrived early next morning and- the day was spent in conducting him to tho sacred spot where the fossils were to be found, and in ultimately collecting him again and persuading him, with immense difficulty to return home rather than spend the night upon the spot. ~ Meantime, Barbara had been experimenting with the yeast. She met me with glowing eyes and led me to a row of bottles, firmlv corked, snuggling upon the kitchen hearth. " It's beginning to work already," she crooned; "see the little bubbles!" An Alarm. Uncle David went to bed early, that he might rise to yearn over his fossils in the pale light of dawn. We were all in bed and the hour must have been close upon midnight, when a loud and terrifying explosion rang through the sleeping house. I awoke with a start, and the horrible conviction of tragedy. Barbara was safe; could it then be Uncle David ? I arose hurriedly, conscious of the immeasurable loss to science if that blameless old man had unaccountably felt roused to rise at midnight and toy with my rifle. Not waiting to strike a light, I rushed into tho hall; then I heard someone moving in the kitchen and wondered if some wretched " down-and-out" had felt it incumbent upon him to commit suicide upon our kitchen floor. Confirming my fears, Uncle David's voice called frantically, "John! John! Come quickly, for heaven's sake. There has been a terrible accident—some poor fellow has shot himself." I hurried to the door; the room was in darkness, and I heard Uncle David's voice muttering, " Gore, gore, seas of gore." There was a thrill of horror in the whisper that mado my blood run cold, and I searched frantically for matches. Then, even as the vesta sputtered, a sudden and blinding light flooded my sleep-bemused brain, and in the revulsion of the moment I rocked with painful mirth —tho lighted candle revealed the chaste form of the professor, clad in the most antediluvian of night-shirts, wading ankle-deep on a hearth flooded with a luke-warm, sticky mass of yeast. Three uncorked bottles testified to tho excellence of my wife's recipe. But Barbara is a dauntless spirit, and even as she heated water and bathed her relative's outraged feet, she murmured, half to herself, half m defiance to me, " There are two bottles left. I shall make bread to-morrow." Despite his disturbed night, the professor passed a day of perfect bliss with his fossils; Barbara joined us for a picnic lunch, whispering to me, " I set bread before I left, it looks splendid." I registered ecstasy, for I had just finished the fourteenth consecutive lneal at which scones had figured prominently. " I left it by the stove," sho continued, " and I'll bako it when wo get home." Then imagination ran away with her, and she added dreamily, " Just think of having lots of bread—bread whenever you want it!" " It's a noble thought," I agreed, deeply stirred. " Besides, we shall bo able to flout Porcy at last." That proud boast, I believe, was what subtly influenced Albert. The Fate ol Albert. Presently the ecstatic look faded, and my wifo came down to earth. " Poor Albert has hurt his leg," sho reported. " Ho will try to fight the lawn-mower. I wrapped him up and left him in a box in tho scullery." I commcudod her care, for Albert is much to us both. One of Barbara's passing enthusiasms had been turkeys. "How splendid to grow your Christmas dinner," she had thrilled, and 1 had weakly agreed. Ho was now at the scraggy, long-necked stage, bearing so devastating a likeness to tho bishop who had confirmed mo that my affection was deeply tingod with awe. I was disturbed that he had met with an accident, but Barbara seemed to have behaved creditably. At last we toro the professor away and led him homo. " Come and vsco how the bread has risen," cried Barbara, and we rushed into tho kitchen. Tho next moment wo fell back appalled; the bread had risen, indeed, but, protruding from the midst of the soft and doughy mass, were the narrow head and agonised eyes of Albert. Ho had escaped from his box and onco moro his dauntless spirit lmd led him into trouble. Tho dough had risen superbly, and it says much for the buoyancy of tho yeast that it had raised Albert too, and thus saved a valuable life. I stalked moodily to the telephone, rang the store, and, with craven supplication, besought Percy to send us bread by tho cream-lorry in tho morning.