Mrs M’Gifferty’s Gas Bill.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVII, Issue IX, 31 August 1901, Page 425

Mrs M’Gifferty’s Gas Bill.

If a conservative critic were asked what kind of a woman Mrs M'Giiferty is, he would not describe her as a blonde or a brunertte, or as being tall and willowy, or short and thick-set; he would simply reply by describing her as an uneclipsed champion of domestic economy.

The other day she decided to indulge in the long-dreamed-of luxury of a gas stove, the price of which was three pounds. “It’s an outrageous price,” she said to her husband, “but I’ll economise and save the price of the stove in two months. We’ll only eat things that

can be fried in a eouple of minutes, and I’ll save gas at every point, if I have to resort to the half-crown oil stove to do it, and then we'll have the beautiful gas range for next to nothing.”

Mr M’Gifferty, realising that there are two kinds of economy, said nothing in reply, but did some high grade long distance thinking.

That afternoon Mrs M’Gifferty went to the office of the gas company to buy the range. When she had made her selection, the clerk obligingly said: "We ean put this in for you this afternoon if you wish.” “1 don’t want it put in until the day after to-morrow,” replied Mrs M’Gifferty.

This declaration astonised the clerk: "If you put it in to-day.” continued Mrs M’Gifferty, in an explanatory tone, "you’ll send me the bill the day after to-morrow; but if you put it in the day after to-morrow, you cannot send the bill until the end of the quarter.” And the champion economist smiled all over in her wild ineffable glee. The range was finally put in and tested and explained at great length, that they might know how to manage it. And the battle of economy began ir real earnest. The cheap oil stove was brought out. and several pounds ot candles were purchased. “It is warm enough to sit in the porch.” said Mrs M’Gifferty. “and that

will save the candles and make them go further. Subtract the cost of this way of lighting and cooking from the amount of the average gas bill, and you’ll see how soon we’ll save the price of the stove, and be able to buy hats and gowns. I tell you I’m a manager.” said Mrs M’Gifferty, with great swelling pride.

"I suppose we shall be toasting bread over the lamp chimney and frying eggs over the candles before long,” said Mr M’Gifferty. “And won’t that be right, if we can ent down the gas bill by so doing? We shall have a three-pound bill for the range next quarter, and if we go on burning gas all the time it will be five more.”

“It the gas range will cut our gas bill down to nothing.” said Mr M’Gifferty. “I a in certainly very glad that ur have added it to our effects. I suppose the heat is so intense that you can give an egg an ordinary fourminute boil in a minute and a-h-alf. I suppost* you will boil alxnit 50 at a time until they «are as hit rd as door knobs, and then make a couple of quarts of tea at a time, and then we shall have cold breakfasits for a week ahead. which is just the thing for this kin<l of wHither. I suppose the best way to save gas is not to use it. and yet it serins a (siradox of economy to say that gas stoves were made to save and not to consume gas. If such is tin* case. I might 'argue that if one stove will save a pound a month, six stoves will, or should, save six pounds a month. This means that the more stoves one has the more money one will save. Now, as a method of raising a mortgage on the fly——” “Are you making fun of me?” demanded Mrs M'Gifferty. in measured tones, wjiile her nostrils dilated like those of a racehorse leading the way dow n the home stretch. “Not at all.” replied Mr M'Gifferty, “I was only making a few obvious remarks. And let me say that 1 only •trust that your economic zeal may be fully and justly realised.” All that month Mrs M'Gifferty scarcely lighted the gas range: she was equally careful with the illuminating jets, as she was on her metal to keep the gas bill down to a ridiculously low figure. She bought gretrt quantities of fruit for breakfast, and sturgeon for luncheon. In fact, she had apples instead of potatoes, and made it a point to eat as much uncooked food as possible. Mr M'Gifferty was becoming we.iry of cheese and Bologna sausage, and tinned beans and other ready-cooked foods, and he was very glad when the month came to an end. About that time the gas man came to look into the condition and standing of the meter. When he came up from the cellar his face was lit by a grin that seemed to flow off his features in continuous waves. ”5 ou have been economical this month. Mrs M'Gifferty.” I have tried to be.” she replied, with a smile of triumph. “J have certainly tried to be.” When Mr M Gifferty came home later, he found Mrs M'Gifferty looking as glum as if her gas bill was twenty pounds. “Do you know how much the gas bill is?” she asked. "No." said Mr M'Gifferty. “It is nothing!” “1 congratulate you!” “Don't do that.” she said “don't do that!" “Why not?” “Because 1 have thrown away all the money I spent for oil and candles, besides all 1 s|M*nt for fri.T and rc-.idv-cooked food.” “1 don’t understand you. my dear.” Mrs M'Gifferty burst into t ars. and replied, as she swayed wildly to and fro: “When the man said the bill was muhing* I thought 1 was a great economise r: hut w hen I found out why. 1 could I. 1 ive cried my eyes out.” “Well. wh\ was it?” “I’ -iuse.' : replied Mrs M'Giffertv.

“the mau told me fhtuf the two diaphragms in the meter hail been |>erfurated. and that this accident had rendered it impossible for the meter to register. So you see I spent money on oil and candles and rwdy-cooked food, when I might have burned a thousand feet of gas a day for nothing, for the man says no bill can be rendered. Isn’t it |M‘rfeetly awful?” “Not at all. Mrs M'Gifferty. not at all! It is very fine. But it would have been finer still if you had only ” “If I had only what?” broke in the poor woman, who virtually bowed beneath 'the load of chagrin and sorrow, while she wrung her hands in an ecst tsy of despair. “If you had only found out from the meter-man just where those diaphragms are located, and if they can be reached by an ordinary ha.tpin.” “And while Mr M’GifTerty laughed. Mrs M'GitTerty sank into a sea of sofa cushions in a swoon of anguish. Education Gives Woman More Self-Control. All education is of value only so far as it fits the student for the place she is to fill. College education, in rounding character, fits a woman to fill more various places. Insomuch as it tends to the perfection of the woman’s character in the abstract, it will, in the particular instance under discussion, fit her to be a more perfect wife, mother and helpmeet in the truest sense of the word.

Education fills up character, makes women more self-controlled, gives them a nobler purpose in living, and tends to cultivate the higher virtues. Education develops the finer qualities of the woman, and aims to the perfection of the noblest character. The more finely developed the woman the more capable she is of the highest quality of the human mind—which is love. She can be in the truest sense of the word a helpmeet to her husband and sacrifice her own fame to his.

1 have in mind a particular woman whose husband holds a high official position in the city. She is a graduate in the University, and he is a lawyer of position. She subordinates herself entirely to him. She is his companion and counsellor in business life and the ornament of his home. In his business life no one ever hears of her. yet I know that she is the inspiration of many of the moves

he makes which call attention to him and cause him to be looked upon as a great and rising man. Therefore, I say, that an education is of value only so far as it fits the student for the place she is to fill. I speak of this woman not as an exception. but as an example of many others who are equally benefited by the ennobling influences of college training, and conclude that an education is of value only so far as it fits the student for the place she is to fill, a life of “toil unsevered from tranquility.” Should Black be Worn as Mourning. It is only in face of public or national sorrow that the individual ventures to audibly question the meaning and utility of mourning garb. Under private bereavement the sufferer feels that it is essential to conform to custom, lest divergence might be held to indicate callousness. want of love for the deyeaised. or personal eccentricity. Everyday wisdom. that wisdom which neither courts martyrdom nor achieves greatness, makes an axiom of assent to what is usual, and many evils, recognised as such, are prolonged because they can be endured. The wearing of black clothing as an expression of sorrow for the death of relatives has much against it and little in its favour. Some people regard it as inhuman, uncivilised. unChristian. wasteful in the case of the well-to-do, and for the poor, often involving financial ruin.

Self-disfigurement Is barbaric. Familiarity Ims evolved comprehen-

sion of the symbolic meaning of mourning: but seen for the first time, a woman in black draperies is a terrifying object, at whose approach young children scream and hide their faces.

Mourning attiie is uncivilised, it is a crying aloud of our private *voes to the indifferent, a habit which it is the object of all culture, of all education. to control. While the unexpressed or barely expressed sympathy of those of like mind with ourselves—■ that sympathy which is like a cordial handclasp—proves a stimulant under affliction, the notice of the indifferent —their consciousness that we suffer, their passive acceptance of suffering as right and fitting for us—adds indescribably to human pain. Who wants to proclaim aloud that she is diseased, has borne mutilation, is impoverished? Are not valorous efforts made perpetually to appear well, to show no smart under defeat or disappointment, to create an aspect of prosperity? Why then should we advertise our bereavements? Looked at in the abstract, and apart from ourselves, manifestation of grief is vulgar. Are we hurt? Instinct tells us to draw the wounded member to ourselves and hide it from all but those who love us. yet the irremediable sorrow, the sorrow of death, we proclaim to tradespeople, dressmakers, milliners, all our neighbours. all the district in which we live. Who has not had reason to shrink from the careless condolence of the casual acquaintance who says, with kind intention it may be, “I see you have lost a relative.” Yet surely we invited this stroke on our wound. —“Sunday at Home.”