COBLEIGH'S WET "SUNDAY AT HOME."

Star (Christchurch), Issue 2713, 8 December 1876, Page 3

COBLEIGH'S WET "SUNDAY AT HOME."

Banhwry New*. A rainy Sunday is a deoidod rolief to a man who works hard through fcho weok and is indifferent to his religious responsibility. So when Mr Oobleigh awoko sleepily and regretfully afc hie rogular hour on Sunday morning and heard tho dash of tho rain and tho soughing of tho wind, and saw how dark and dismal everything appeared, ho hoavod a sigh of rolief fchafc awoko his wifo. Mr Oobloigh was gratified through and through. Thero was no going to ohuroh. Ho could Uo thoro until he felt inolined fco gofc up, ovon if ifc was not till noon. Lying on his baok, staring at tho coiling, and fooling as if ovory norvo and organ of his body woro reposing ia a seven hundred dollar easy ohair, Mr Cobleigh soon beoamo awaro that tho plaster abovo him waß dissolving into vapour whioh rose in the form of an aroh. From (his slowly tumbling and ohanging mass of oloud omorgod old mon wifch long flowing beards and drossod liko the flguro of time. Thoy camo forth in battalion and waved to and fro, and foil imperooptibly away again to givo plaoo to ofchor forms loss diatinot, and thoy in turn melted from tho sight, leaving the tumbling mass of vapour as beforo. Softly as fcho fall of dow camo tho sound of distant tolling. Noaror, still nearor ifc grew upon his oar. Ib oamo in waves of tinkling sound, gathering foroo as ifc advanoed. " Oobleigh !" Mr Cobleigh was sitting up in bed wifch tho dresser and mirror before him, and rubbing his eyos with desporato but aimless forco. Mrs Cobleigh was oalling him, and thoro was tho sound of a bell in the street before tho , house. i " Thore's thafc milkman ringing and thoro ain't a drop of milk in the houso !" cxi olaimod Mrs Cobleigh, and Mr Cobleigh i thought his wifo's voioo never before sounded i so harsh. i " Lofc's go without," ho rookloeßly suggested, hardly yet clear in his mind «b to what was ooourriug. ! " Yes, that's easy onough to say, but you'll i growl hard enough if there ain't any milk in ■ your coffoo," sho retorted. Tho samo viow struok Mr Oobloigh with i unpleasant foroo. Ho eoramblod out of bed as the bell ceased to ring. ; " Hurry, or ho'll bo gone," urgod his wife. , Mr Cobleigh audibly assooiated a process i for curbing rivors with tho milkman. Tho boll started up again. i "O, dear," groaned Mrs Oobleigh, in a tono betokening despair. i " Shut up, will you ?" snapped Mr Oobloigh, as ho disooverod one log of his drawers turned inside oufc [ " Why don't you tell him to wait?" oried

the unhappy woman, as tho ringing increased in violenoe. "He is waiting, ain't he P" sarcastically observed Mr Oobleigh, diving around for bis stookinge. Tho ringing inorcased. Mr Cobleigh was tightly clutohing his trousers, and revolving around like a manioc for a missing sook. "What on earth are you after P" oried his wife. But he made no reply. Tho bell stopped again. "Gftull blQBt that stocking!" aaid Mr Oobleigh betwoon his olonohed teeth, while his oyes, like two burning orbs, swept about the room " Ho's going ; holler to him," impatiently ■houted the nervous woman, as she heard the movement of wheels. Holding up his trousers, and witb one foot bare, Mr Cobleigh dashed to the front door. " Hold on there ! I'll be out in a minit," he yelled to tho reooding waggon. And then ma lowor tone, as if more to ease his own mind than for the information of the milkman, he added—" you orazy old fool ! " Thon he oamo baok and found the stocking, and slapped it on with the heel up, yanked on his shirt, dashed into his slippers, flew under a coat, snatched up a pitoher, and ambled out in tho rain, bare headed, and with his bair Eointing to tho weeping heavens in five und red dirootions. All out doors reeked with gloom. Tho rain fell steadily ; puddles lay on all sides ; tho waggon was dripping ; the horse steamed liko a swamp; and the milkman, muffled in an army overooat, appeared like a swathed demon out of a job. Mr Cobleigh oyod him viadiotivoly. " Hard rain P " suggested the demon. Mr Oobleigh folt it beneath his dignity to argue tho matter. " Looks as if we're going to havo a reg'lar soaker all day," added the demon, in a conciliatory tono. Mr Cobleigh grunted, took his pitoher and stalked moodily baok to the house His wifo heard him enter and move into tho kitohen. "Did you get it?" she asked from the bod. Did you get it ! Mr Cobleigh was sitting by tho stove, wringing out his stookings in the coal souttle. There was a shadow of deep gloom resting upon his face— a shadow that it would seem nothing oould pierce. But oven it was penetrated by tbis query — so utterly senseless and absurd. A harsh bitter smilo lit up his faoe, like a flash of lurid flame from a pall of heavy smoke, and th«n disappeared. " Oobleigh !" sho oried. He made no reply, but the hard lines grew tighter about his mouth, while the fingers twined about the resistless sooks gave a convulsive twitoh whioh found a response in a faint tinkling on the souttle bottom. " Oobleigh ! where on earth are you P" Ho movod now. The tightly-repressed feeling found vonfc in an expletive, and a convulsive bound into the air. " Woman !" he yelled, in a voioe of frensy, "do you want to drivo me mad with your infernal gab, oab, GAB P" The awful velooity with whioh his voioe climbed up on the noun was simply dreadful. There was no response from the bedroom. Mr Oobleigh waited a moment and then sat down and stared morosely into the souttle. Even a rainy Sunday has its drawbacks.