THE FRYING PAN AND THE FIRE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21845, 6 July 1934, Page 18

THE FRYING PAN AND THE FIRE

BY RAYNF.It

I was making one dress out of two and a bit. I had cut the neck too low, and put a sleeve in wrong way round. Sick to death of it, I threw it at the cat and sot to work to make something of the oddments. Any woman will tell you that the hours fly when the sewing machine is in the middle of the spare bedroom floor. A far off memory—jilmost like an ancestral recollection—t6ld me that the hour had come for the milking of the gentlo cows, but I heeded it not. 1 was almost disrobed, partly because continual undressing for fittings was a weariness and partly because the oddments were being sewn to my petticoat. The mess —there is no other word tor it —was unholy. Clippings and cuttings lay like autumn leaves after a storm; pins were on the machine, on the table, and on the floor. Feverishly I stitched and cut and' joined, in order that I might finish and clear up, once and for all time. It was —amazing discovery—close on seven when I put the last shovelful of rags and pins in the fire. I was very considerably overdue at the cowbail. As I walked across, picking my way among reclining porker pigs, who slept the sleep of the dead drunk within smelling distance of the whey barrels, I decided to be hearty in my greeting of Alexander. Against heartiness there are few weapons. But when I arrived and found nine of the twelve cows milked, and the tenth being washed, with a kind of savage thoroughness, I wasn't so sure that heartiness was the wisest course. Admiration now, that was the idea! A few staggering steps, expressing amazement; a clutch at the forehead, and a murmured, " My dearest Alexander, have you milked all the rest!" that was the programme. But, alas, for good intentions! Alexander got in first. He gave me a glance, the kind of glance he usually reserves for a stray hair in his soup. " Well, you're a beauty." Now, it did not need his expression to tell me that he didn't mean this to be taken literally. I'm aware that I'm not a beauty.

I loath being called a beauty. With a clatter I seized a bucket and leg-ropped Agnes, a crossbred creature, by Stripper out of Lashout. She has the kind of teats that feel like rubber and hang from the udder by thin threads. For every teaspoonful of milk you squeeze down half of it goes back up again. The fact that Alexander had considered me worthy of milking her did not bring about any return of the heartiness.

In silence I advanced for the pail of water and the cloth. Alexander has recently had all his teeth out. He is still slightly swollen where he hasn't sunk. I gave him the kind of glance that told him I found him mildly amusing to look upon. " It's a real pity for a farmer," I said, " when he has to milk nine cows himself."

" If you didn't intend to come across you should have said so," he countered. Alexander is a sheepman. He doesn't love cows.

When we married he said, " You'd better learn to milk in case I ever fall ill and can't do it."

And when I had learned and mastered the language, he said, ''You'd better come across and milk just to keep you in practice." Indignation boiled in me. " Here," I shouted above the thin, but noisy, squirt of Agnes' milk in the empty bucket, " Why should I come across at all and milk your rotten cows —?" " My rotten cows, I like that," he shrilled like a parrot. " Your cows, madam."

I burst into cackling laughter, and Agnes began to dance a hornpipe. " Well," I managed to gasp " it's the first time I knew I owned anything on this farm. My cows! By the holy—." But words failed me.

Alexander entered tho bail next me and leg-roped Silvery. " Your cows," he repeated, and the words had a toothless sound. " Do you think," he added with withering emphasis, " that I'd be milking cows if it wasn't for you! Why, I wouldn't have a blasted cow on the place if I wasn't married to you!"

My word! It knocked me speechless. I started to milk Agnes as though she was an ordinary cow, but, of course, nothing happened. I decided she must have given the lot, and in a dazed way unroped her and let her go. It was only when I poured tho couple of pints into the cooler that I saw my error, but I was beyond caring. Alexander had finished Silvery when I found words. These are they, and I delivered them with expressed fury.

" So you're carrying twelve cows because of me, are you, and you wouldn't have a blasted cow on the place if I wasn't here! Well, my dear husband, you can sell your cows or drown them, for there'll be nothing to keep them here after this. I'm going." He was white, and his lips were working with things unsaid. Finally he got two words out, and these because he didn't believe me. "Go, then!"

"I'm going!" I took off my apron and stamped on it, then I« went. I left at eight without another word. After setting his tea and turning down the—his—bed, I went, and beyond leaving my address, my brother's address, on the tobacco jar, I ignored him.

My brother Tom is a sheep man and a bachelor.

It was ten in the morning when 1 reached his place. I went round the house in search of the back door, and there it was behind some thistles. Tom had the stiff hair growth of the man who sleeps alone. But he seemed to be unconscious of it and of his shockingly untidy kitchen. 1 lifted a cat and a necktie from a chair and sank down. " I've left Alexander," I said.

He was mildly interested. "Have you, now!" He continued to eat his breakfast. " I've had nothing to eat since five." That moved him. He bustled about, and presently I was sucking a chop bone and feeling better.

We said little, and did not refer again to Alexander.

" Where are you bound for?" he asked in a casual way. " Why, I'm going to stay with you, of course," I retorted, surprised.

A NEW ZEALAND STORY

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"With mo!" " Sure." " But T don't know if I ran keep you, what with the bad times and all." 1 managed to laugh. " 1 won't be an expense to you," I assured hiin. " Why, I'll probably be a saving. Now, I'll bet you live on nothing but tinned food and chops." " No. Never had a tinned food in the house." I looked my astonishment. " What do you eat?" I asked. " Sausages. Three pounds every Monday and two large loaves. I have a pie in town on Thursdays, and, of course, 1 have a proper fill tip on Sundays. [ go out to my dinner on Sundays." He added this last as though it explained the universe. 1 continued to look my horror, and perhaps the sight melted him. Hp patted my shoulder. " You can stay," he said. " It'll be a big expense and all, but it can be managed. I'll go and see Richards tomorrow." " Richards! Who's he?" " The dealer." Tom waved an explanatory hand. " But what has he to do with it?" " I'll buy the cows from him. Ten or a dozen, maybe. If you're going to be here we'll need to milk to meet the extra expense, you know." My stars! To my numbed senses came the hiccough of a decrepit motor-car. Defeated, I staggered to the door and into the arms of mv husband.