PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16308, 24 December 1920, Page 4

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

A Caro! in Two Flats By W. E. NORRIS, Author of " The Warning Blast,” “ A Modest Machiavelli,” "Two Sons of France,” "The Incriminating Weapon,” etc., etc. (COPYRIGHT) Mr and Mrs Stevenson agreed that they could no longer go on living together, and, as this was really the only point as to which they were able to And themselves in agreement, it was perhaps about time,for them to part, io bo sure, there were the children to ho considered. Had it not been for Phyllis, Harry and Dick, an illassorted pair would have taken leave of one another years before. How can a quiet, studious, literary man be expected to got on with a wife who has advanced notions and practices respecting female emancipation and who is of a gregarious society loving disposition into the. bargain? Or, to put the matter front Mrs Stevenson’s standpoint, how is it possible for a woman very much alive and naturally desirous of keeping in touch with the world to put up with a morose, contradictious hookworm of a husband who objects to all her tastes, pursuits and friends and thwarts her at every turn? During the years of the Croat War there had been a sort of bad-tempered truce. Mr Stevenson, pronounced unfit for military sendee, had assumed, with deep distaste, the duties of a special conwhile Airs Stevenson, temporarily abandoning advocacy of votes for women, and the smashing of plat© glass windows, had busied herself with hospital work. But with the cessation of public hostilities domestic warfare had named up afresh; insomuch that one morning (it was towards the end of a summer holiday, spent dcaressingly at the seaside, and the chiAlren had just returned to school). Mr Stevenson announced in his cojcl, cut-and-dried way: "We shall not go back to our London house, Kate. 1 have let it furnished for the next six,months.” " Without so much as the common civility of consulting me?” cried his wife. " How like you!”

" I hope,” said Mr Stevenson, " that it is like me to avoid unnecessary and acrimonious discussions. I consider that this isms favourable an occasion as we arc likely to get of doing what we both loug_ for and setting up separate establishments. The difficulty, of _ course, has always been about the children. It is not desirable that they should grow up in the knowledge that their mother lias made herself insufferable.”

" Or that their father has.” . “H you will kindly allow me to finish, I will tell you how I propose to surmount that obstacle. I have taken a couple of adjoining flats in Kensington, one of which I shall 1 inhabit, leaving you in sole possession of tho other. Thus our separation, though practically complete, will not have to be proclaimed; for it will easily be believed that the important work open which 1 am engaged necessitates a measure of seclusion.; "While the children a,re at jve shall not meet at all, and if during their holidays some meetings have to take place, you will, I trust, be as careful as I shall to maintain appearances. "With regard to tho servants, I have decided to keep Taylor as ony personal attendant, and I have secured a respectable woman to act as cook and housemaid for me. The others will remain in your service.”

“You are always So thoughtful, John,” remarked Mrs Stevenson. “Thoughttui, 1 mean, for your own comfort. As for me, any discomlort that there may bo in pigging it in a stuffy flat will be more than made up for by the immense i' 3 y and, relief of independence. ■■■■ As far as I can judge, your scheme ought to Work well.”

i'or many weeks it worked admirably. Nobody appeared to be aware that a notoriously divided couple bad olfccted a permanent severance, and Mr Stevenson, who was writing a Life of Charles XII. of Sweden, which he hoped would rank as a classic when completed, was ablo to pursue his studies without daily vexatious distractions. Jt is true that in the way of material comfort he did not get quite all that he had anticipated. The woman who had undertaken to cook for him provided him with unappetising breakfasts and impossible dinners, ’and it was a bore to have to go and dine at ihe club on cold or wot evenings. Also Mrs Stevenson, whose flat was immediately below his, entertained large numbers of guests, and their loud voices, in addition to the horrid noise that they made on the piano, amounted at times to a positive nuisance. These, however, were drwbacks to which the philosophic mind could (with occasional accesses of exasperation) adjust itself Mrs Stevenson, for her part, cultivated u philosophy suited to the, upon the w.hole, agreeably changed circuras ■aiiccs. If she, who had been long accustomed to a spacious and fairly luxurious dwelling, did not altogether relish ciiig restricted to a single reception room and having her kitchen Under her imse she had, for makeweight, tho privilege of doing exactly what she UKod, and seeing whom she pleased. Besides which, there was the satisfaction o. knowing how John must hate turnss zSr •"* ” ight in ,air

Bub on the approach of the Christinas holidays it was obvious that she •ust open some sort of communication , lh ,ler 'pbnnd :so she «n termed hnu one afternoon <m the riairense (as nti•, 18y hurr, *l l«st one an'op,"’ 111 ?.''* greet,-mrs). and said; know l(? h! lt'". 1 bc . I,ero soon - you for them?” ‘' rC W ° S ° mg to maUf, g°

" You will tel] them.” was Mr Ster

1),1J . 1 suppose i or ihe k f dncnnoy you ought to be present their Christmas dinner, disagreeable though it will bo to you ami me.” I am not in tlie habit of being either disagreeable or indecent.'’ answered Jfr Stevenson acidly. "I wish could say as much . but no matter! I certainly shall not intrude upon your festivities. I propose to dme elsewhere on the day that vou mention.” • “

“As you please, llatber a disappointment for the children I’m air aid.” ’

.“ I wn ns sure that it will be nothing of the sort as I am that it will

I)e a let-off for you. No, thank yon, Kate, I must decline your suggestion. E should advise your, inviting one of your numerous bachelor friends to take my place.”

Afterwards he was rather sorry that he had been so churlish; but his wife had chosen an unfortunate moment to accost him, for ho had just been compelled to tear up a whole chapter of his " Life of Charles X 11.,” owing to the breakdown under examination of certain historical authorities upon whom he • had relied, and lie was feel‘ing a good deal upsat by this contretemps. _ However, he prided himself upon being a man of his w'ord and, as he had refused to dine with his family on Christmas Day, there was an end of it.

Of course, when the children arrived a few days later, something in the nature of a paternal welcome had to bo accorded to them; lint '.they were rather troublesome. Their mother, who might have shown a little more consideration, seemed to have launched them and their embarrassing questions upon him of malice prepense, leaving him to explain things which, could not be explained to them at their age. They invaded .him in a body wliile h© was stooping over his writing-table— Harry and Dick, aged respectively twelve and eleven, Phyllis, by two years the oldest of the flock, and in some ways tho flower of it, though for the time being as disconcerting as her brothers. All three were loud in denouncing their parents’ change of domicile, which, with the candour belonging to their time of life, they described as “a rotten moveall assailed him with inquiries of a, searching order and wero unanimous in wanting to hoar when thev were going back home. " Really, I don’t know,” protested the worried man, rumpling up his thin hair with both hands. "Perhaps never. You mnsu’t bother me like this. Ask your mother. I should have thought she would have told you that tho present arrangement is estontial to the peace and quiet that I*l©ouire for my work.” ' "'Well, you aren’t going to work in holiday time anyhow 7, dad,” observed Phyllis, perching herself upon the arm of her father’s chair and peering over his shoulder at the closely written sheet whereon Charles XH. lay extended lor dissection. ■ , . . , "Indeed, I aril,” the historian declared. " For me work is a holiday. " Oh—h—h!” groaned the two boys, expostulating in unison against so, monstrous a paradox. It was no easy matter to get nd of them, and by the time that they had been induced to beat a. reluctant retreat their disturbed father felt incapable of grappling any more with the vagaries of the Swedish monarch. Moreover, it behoved him to do what he should have remembered before, which was to go out and buy Christmas presents for his offspring. It was a perplexing job, hitherto always taken off Iris hands by his wife, who presumably know what'the children wanted. Mr Stevenson had not the slightest idea of what they were likely to want, not did busy and supercilious shopmen give him any help. He'acquired a number of articles which he could not imagine any human being wanting, and then came the question of whether he ought not to buy something for Kate. It had been his habit at Christmas to make her an ungracious offering (selected by herself), receiving - qn return some useless gift which he had -hastened to put sway in a drawer. Perhaps—always on the children’s account—it might bo as well to keep up a stupid custom. Yet why the deuce should he bestow an ostensible token of regard upon a woman with whom ho had ceased to be on speaking terms? It ended in his purchasing a massive gold bracelet which cost him a great deal more money than he had meant- to spend and which, as soon as it had passed into his possesappeared to him to be both intrinsically vulgar and altogether unsuitable to the occasion. All these blunders and futilities came of Kate's to take her proper share in the .relief of .a difficult, .situation. No doubt she was laughing, and rubbing her hands at the thought. of his distress Now. if j there was one thing that annoyed him more than another, it was being laughed at by silly, vacuous persons.

That evening, after dining at the club as usual. Mr Stevenson returned home in a ruffled mood which was not soothed by the terrific hubbub that was going on beneath his feet. A jollification of some sort was, it seemed, taking place downstairs, and he gathered trom the multitude of shrill voices that ins family were entertaining a numerous assemblage of juvenile guests. Work under such conditions * was out of the question,- -He-bore the noise as long as ho could, then ' jumped up and stamped violently three times on the noor, as a reminder to the roysterers that the whole building did not belong to them. Presently his man Taylor entered, announcing, “ A message for you, sir,” and in stepped Susan, Mrs Stevenson’s with—- “ The mistress’s compliments, sir, and if yon wish to join the party, would you please come down by the stairs, uot through the coiling.” “Go away!” exclaimed Mr Stevenson angrily. _ “ Yon know very well, Susan, that it is forbidden for you to trespass upon my flat.” “ Beg pardon, sir,” returned the unabashed Susan, “ but the mistress’s orders. . .

“ I don’t care a damn for your mistress’s orders 1” shouted Mr Stevenson. ' Go away!”

Susan went away; but there was no abatement of the uproar, nor was it possible for a harassed writer to stop his cars and wield a pen at one and the same time. Finally Charles XII. had, so to speak, to be put to bod! while his biographer was fain to follow suit.

riven the peace which might have been expected to characterise Christmas morning was denied to Mr Stevenson, whoso ears were assailed at an early hour by _ the sound from below of youthful voices uplifted in tong. “ Hark the Herald Angels,” they chanted; then “ AVhile Shepherds Matched.” Really it was too bad! “ Confound those imps with their carols!” he muttered. “I can’t think why the other tenants don’t complain. I shall. I know. The builders who run up tlieso flimsy modern constructions ought to be held criminally responsible. M hat is tho use, I ask you, of living in a so-called private flat if you’re liable to bc deafened day and night by ’•he yells and screeches of your neighbours?” .

The only answer to this pathetic appeal was the nearer approach of the songsters. They were coming upstnivs; there was no doubt about it! Yes. and that villain Taylor must have admitted them; for now they were stationed just outside flic bedroom door and had struck up a now carol which,

as it chanced, waste their hearer an mo ™ 6' associated with a certain Christ* na» of long ago when Kate and he lln j ? eea young lovers and the world 1 1 u , a Tcl 'y different, as well as a much happier, place. uernly rmg the Christmas bells V. 11311 ' greeting. Merrily friends aro one another meetmg. . . .>> isilly doggerel enough, and connected in his stirred memory with all manner or bygone silliness; yet—just for the moment and because of the well-nigh tor gotten lilt of the melody—somehow touching. It crossed his mind that Kate might have—but oh, Lord, no I Jho lust thing that the transformed ivate of to-day would have been disposed to do. Ho opened a chink, of the door and called out: “What’s all this? You can’t como in; I’m not dressed.” Hut the intruders wriggled themselves through the aperture in a trice, and Phyllis announced: “Had, we’re a deputation.” “Oh, arc youP” returned her father gruffly. ‘‘And what do you want, .pray?” " It appeared that, first of all, they wanted to thank him for their ripping presents. And they were to say that mother was awfully hucked with her scrumptious bracelet. Further, they Were sorry about the row last night. C* Wo had a Christinas tree and a lot of kids in,” Harry interpolated, adding., Tilth the condescending toleration of his twelve years, “ You can’t keep kids quiet on these occasions.”) Finally, they were to ask Had to be a brick and come down to dinner in the evening. Duly ourselves this time. Mother wanted us to say so.” “ Oh, well,” Sir Stevenson was constrained to reply, “if you all really wish it. . . . Yes, you may tell your mother that I will come. Glad you. liked the presents; I didn’t expect that you would. Now run along and let me finish dressing.” All through a'rather long and solitary day that contoimded carol haunted the historian, Th© past is as dead as Charles XII. of Sweden; still, it has existed just as much as the present exists, and when one’s thoughts. at© thrown back, on© is apt to wonder whether the unsatisfying present may uotobe in some degree the outcome of one's own. failure to adapt oneself to one’s environment. Not much question about the failure, anyhow, whoever might in equity bo deemed answerable for it. But the Christmas dinner, to which the head of the family brought n somewhat chastened spirit, could not be called a failure. In, fulfilment of her promise, Mrs Stevenson had asked no outsider to attend it, and it had to be said for her that (on the children's account, of course), she did her host to make it pass off as pleksantly ds though harmony had reigned beneath no less than upon the surface. Furthermore, it was noticeable that she was wearing her new bracelet, which did not, after all, look so vulgar now that it wa* on her arm. When at length’ the children had been dismissed to bed, after hilarities with crackers and paper caps in which their father did not ro. fuse to take a submissive part, the estranged husband and wife looked at one another a trifle awkwardly. Then Mr Stevenson made an odd request. “ I wish.” said he, “ you wouldn’t mind playing over that carol that the youngsters sang this morning. It keeps ringing in my head, and I can’t getrid of the thing,” Airs Stevenson sat down at tm* piano. She had a sift contralto voice. “Merrily ring the Christmas bells their greeting, Merrily friends *aro one another meeting. Gladly to all the Christmas news repeating, ...” “ Thunk you.” said Mr Stevenson, with a sigh, when she had finished. “The words are somewhat idiotio, but the tune is reminiscent of—what you have doubtless forgotten.' It occurs to me ” t “So it does to me,” Interrupted Airs Stevenson, laughing. “ That is, if you mean that this scheme of yours isn’t succeeding too well.” “H isn’t succeeding at all,” Mr Stevenson declared. “I find tha.t for me it means intolerable discomfort. In short, it’s neither one thing nor another. As we can’t have the one thing —a genuine separation-might it not be wise to try reverting to the other? For the children’s sake, you understand.” “Quite so, John, and perhaps just a little bit for our own. 1 won’t say that you are an easy man to live with. You’re not. On the other hand. I’ll go so *ir as to admit that I haven’t been the easiest of womdn. How about) turning over a. new leaf, both of us, now ’ that we’re on the verge of a new year?" 1 doubt whether I can turn over new leaves at my age,” answered Mr -Stevenson, “ but I’m willing to turn back to old ones if you are, Kate.” So on Wig following morning the children were given the good news that them next holidays would in all probability be spent in their former home.

FIRST CHRISTMAS CARD.

HOW IT ORIGINATED,

When we realise that for several seasons past something like 30.000.000 Christmas cards have been transmitted annually through the British Post Office alone, the fact that the production of Christinas cards forms no inconsiderable item in the world’s work is self-evident. Of all the national institutions with which we are accustomed to celebrate the festive season, the card of kindly greeting can boast of having had tho smallest beginning and the most steady growth. Not a few among us can look back at tho time when Christmas brought no cards; for, as far as ran he ascertained, tho first genuine Christmas card was not 'entrusted to the rare of the post office until the year 1844 or thereabouts.

Tim Render of this solitary token of goodwill, says a writer in “ Tho World’s 'Work,” was the late W. A. Dobson, 11. A. —at that time .just a very young man earning lus living as the master of the Government School of Design at Birmingham. He hod a friend from whom he had received certain courtesies of which he desired to show his especial appreciation. The time was Christmas. So, after some he made a sketch symbolising tho spirit of the festive season, and posted it to his friend. This sketch—the first Christmas card of which any record is preserved—was done on a piece of Bristol board about twice the size of the modern letter-card. It depicted a family group toasting absent friends among appropriate surroundings of holly and evergreen, mid was supported by panels illustrating deeds of benevolence.

The unpretentious little picture gave so much pleasure to its recipient, and was the cause of so much envious interest among his friends, that Mr Dobson was prevailed upon to repeat his experinient. Then, two years later, he etched another design. had a block made by a local lithographer, and posted copies to alii his friends. A reallv happy inspiration does not long remain " the exclusive pnpierty of the inspired. Hie next year, several of Mr Dobson’s artistic acquaintances were producing their own Christmas cards, iiud sending them to their own friends; and with each succeeding season this circle of imitators grew wider. Ton years or so later someone suddenly saw money in the notion, and thus the Christmas card of commerce was put upon the inarlcet.