My Giddy Aunt.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 5, 31 January 1912, Page 60

My Giddy Aunt.

By

JOHN HASLETTS.

I LIVE with my aunt at Croydon. The malicious report, put about by some of my enemies, that I live on my aunt, is both unfounded and untrue. As a matter of fact, I earn my daily bread by acting as her secretary. 1 am also her heir, and hope, like all other dutiful nephews, that she will live to be a hundred. The lady in question, Miss Euphroeyne Briggs, is a good specimen, .as aunts go. Though unmarried, and seventy-live years of age, she does not keep a pet dog or a peevish parrot, but only an aged domestic vailed Tubbs, and a superannuated tortoise named “Biffin.'’ Tubbs is quiet and anecdotal, “Biffin’’ a grumpy old fellow, who buries himself in the garden during the winter, 'and disinters himself every I'pring. I have no grudge against either of these creatures. The other day I was slitting at breakfast with Aunt Euphrosyne, and wading through my correspondence, when I came across a very bulky letter, which had apparently been posted from some place in Mexico. “What do you think has happened, dear aunt?’’ I said, looking up. “Nothing less than the arrival of a letter •from my old friend Surges. He is in Mexico, you know, digging up old Aztee cities, and that sort of thing.” My aunt is regrettably deaf, but her face brightened up at this observation of mine. "It seems almost providential,” she Baid. “What does?” I asked perplexedly. “Why, that Sturges has been digging up the roadway, Horace. I always Baid the sewerage system was defective.” Now what is one to say to a thing like this? Sturges :s a local contractor, and no relation of my friend. I nodded, however, tore open the envelope, which was of stout material, and drew ■from it a hard something rolled up in a letter. My curiosity was piqued. Could it be that dear old Surges had vome across some Inca’s treasure, and sent me a specimen diamond as a reminder of our old friendship? But no; the something was a phial, made of a crystal, like glass, of great thickness. It seemed to contain a small quantity of fluid. “Your rheumatism again?” asked my aunt sympathetically. “A new thing I am going to try, aunt.” I replied unveraciously, and began to read the letter my friend had enclosed. As I went on, my eyebrows ■went tip. “Poor old ehap,” I thought; “his digging among fossil remains has turned his brain. He actually says this phial belonged to a long-dead Aztec princess called Azueati. and contains a rejuvenating elixir. What preposterous nonsense!” I lay back in my chair and laughed. "Horace! What are you laughing at?" asked my aunt. “Oh, something funny in this letter,” T answered, and continued to read Surges’ imbecile epistle. The foolish fellow had related at some length the story of this princess, who had grown old." and wished to grow young once more. There was a lot about the In-a'a magician, and more about the wonderful philtre he had manufactured, which could turn age into youth. Unluckily, the princess died before the stuff was ready, and the phial was buried in her tomb. Surges seemed to believe all this flamboyant nonsense. He said he had found the legend written on a wall in one of the old cities he is always bringing up out of the ground. At the end of the letter he actually informed me that he had found the liquid quite harmless, and that I might take a dose myself if I felt inclined.

I put the letter and phial in my pocket, finished my breakfast, and turned away to my strenuous secretarial duties, which occupied all my leisure from ten till eleven o’clock, put this morning I simply could not Work. I thought of the phial. It haunted me. I remembered Surges as I had seen him last, a serious, practical fellow, with a passion for the truth, wlii'h I, unfortunately, have never been able to share. And lie had believed tho • tory of the elixir!

Then the fatal, the fell idea came to me that I might try it upon my aunt. She was old enough, and, looking at it from an unprejudiced .point of view, her fave did need rejuvenation. At the time I totally forgot that there was a monetary side to the question. However, I need not go into all the detailed thought which persuaded me to test the powers of the elixir upon my beloved aunt. I did so decide, and the consequences which followed upon that rash decision I shall here proceed to relate.

Aunt Euphrosyne suffers from rheumatism, and it is part of my nightly duty to pour out her medicine and see that she takes it. This is just prior to her retirement for her beauty sleep. On this particular night I put the proper quantity of water in a glass, but omitted the rheumatic remedy, substituting instead about half the contents of the tiny phial. And my aunt drank it, and smiled. When I eame down to breakfast on the following morning, I was surprised! not to find my aunt in her accustomed place, and the horrible thought came to me that I had, perhaps, though with the best of motives, poisoned my generous, aged relative. I was preparing to rush upstairs to inquire, when Tubbs, in a dishevelled state, and with an expression of frozen rage, descended upon me.

“I never did!” she began wildly'. “Such goings on. Oh, mussy me I Such goings on! Oh, Master Horace, to think that you should have brought such a "creature into your good aunt’s house!”

“I never did!” I replied, unconsciously repeating Tubbs’ phrase. “What are you talking about, my good woman? Calm yourself and explain.” Tubbs looked at me with reproach in her eves.

“You just come upstairs and ask her to explain then,” she said. “A-sitting in your pore, dear aunt’s room as if she owned the place. Laughed in my face, she did, when I wanted to know where my mistress was.” This was horrible! I stared at Tubbs in amazement. It had never occurred to me that the potion could have

the powers Surges had attributed to it. As it was, I had to go upstairs to learn to what extent my aunt had discarded her age. Tubbs followed me closely. I reached the landing, and knocked at my aunt’s door. “Aunt Euphrosyne! May I come in?” I called.

A delicious ripple of laughter floated out to me, then a soft and youthful voice said: “You may come in.” Either - I moved forward or Tubbs pushed me. I am not sure which. But I found myself the next moment in the room, and gazing with fascinated amazement at a woman! She was beautiful; tall and slim, and gracious of presence, dowered with a wealth of soft, glistening hair, her faee a rounded oval, in which were set eyes of incomparable brilliancy. Could this be my aged relative? “Ask the hussy who she is,” whispered Tubbs in my ear. I couldn’t. I knew who it was, and trembled. But mustering up my courage, I stepped forward and spoke. “Did you sleep well, Aunt Euphrosyne?” I asked fatuously. “You look wonderfully well.” The lady shot a demure glance at me. “I feel very well,” she answered.

I noticed that she had dressed herself in a stiff silk dress suitable for a stout lady of seventy-five; but even that could not rob her of her eharm. The question arose in my mind at onee: What was I to say to Tubbs? And if I did try to explain, it must be out of earshot of my rejuvenated aunt. “Ah —er —that’s good. I suppose you’ll be down to-breakfast?” I said hurriedly, and seizing Tubbs by the arm, drew her quickly from the room. “Now, Tubbs,” I said, when we were once more in the dining-room, “I see you don’t understand the situation. You think the lady above Is a complete stranger. Well, she isn’t! She’s your mistress and my aunt.” I could see that Tubbs regarded me as a liar of a peculiarly foolish kind. “Then where’s my mistress?” she asked coldly.

“She is there—upstairs. It’s this way; a friend of mine sent me a bottle containing a potion which ean make old people young. I —er—put some in my aunt’s medicine last night; and, well, my aunt has gone back to her girlhood.” “I was just thinking you’d had something to do with a bottle,” said the stubborn Tubbs. “That’ll wear off in the course of a day, Master Horace. But

what T wants to know is, where lias youf good aunt gone meantime, and what’* that woman doing upstairs?” "That lady is my Aunt Euphrosyne,” I repeated miserably. “I swear she is, Tubbs. You'll get used to her in time.” “Never with my dying breath,” said the faithful domestic. “Her an’ me ean’t stay in the same house, Master Horace. She goes, or 1 goes. Such goings on isn’t respectable or right.” "Look here, Tubbs!” I said, stung to bravery by her insinuation. “You can do as you like about that. If you don’t believe my word, you can —er—do the other thing.” Tubbs did. She searched the house, to assure herself that I had not put my aunt in some place of concealment. Then she packed up her clothes, received her wages, and stalked out of the house without bidding me good-bye. I had to make the breakfast myself, and act as host to the eharming lady who had been, and still was, I supposed, my dear Aunt Euphrosyne. Serious as it was, the situation had to be faced. If I kept to the house, the neighbours would talk. If I did not eome out to explain the presence of a- young and fascinating lady they would cover me with scandal. I must face my friends bravely, tell them of my relative’s secret, and act as 1 had always done, the part of a devoted and attentive nephew. I explained this to my aunt at breakfast, though not without some difficulty. She did not believe me at first, but she was doubtful as to her own identity at the moment, and permitted me to persuade her. It was most awkward. She smiled at me so charmingly, and blushed so deeply when I spoke to her, that my own face grew scarlet, and my speech came haltingly and incoherently. We were just finishing breakfast when a note eame from the vicar, whose servant waited outside for an answer. The note was brief-but startling. The vicar was having a garden-party sale in the vicarage grounds, and would be delighted if Miss Euphrosyne Briggs would consent to open the same. I turned to my companion nervously:! “Er —Aunt Euphrosyne, would you like to open a sale of work to-day for the vicar ?” “A garden-party sale. Horace?” She called me that now. “Of course I will, if you eome with me. I need your support, you know.” “The vicar will be very grateful,” I murmured. “Excuse me, and I’ll tell the servant you are quite willing to assist.” I went to the waiting maid, and told

her that my aunt would be pleased to iccede to the vicar’s request. I thought it better to add that my aunt had altered a good deal, but that I hoped the yicar would not be pained by the change in her appearance. The maid went off with the message. Ten minutes later she reappeared, with the vicar's compliments, and his hope that there was nothing seriously the matter with my aunt. I replied that there was not. Now I began to regret having lost Tubbs. Obviously a fascinating young woman could not go out in the habiliments of seventy-five. And obviously I could not buy dresses for a young lady. I compromised by telephoning to a firm of dressmakers, asking them to send <Xit a variety of dresses for a tall and slim young lady. In the end they managed to fit my youthful aunt, and at three o'clock the same afternoon we set out for the garden-party sale. I am sorry to say that the vicar proved hopelessly narrow-minded. He Was polite, but firm. He could not, and would not, accept the attractive figure in the hobble skirt as that of my benevolent and aged relative. He was a ipharitable man, however, and did not accuse me of having drunken deeply. A slight mental lesion wag the view he took. He flatly refused to let EuphroSyne make a speech, and instead introduced her to the company as “Mr. Horace’s young friend.” The local doctor’s wife opened the sale, and managed td get in a few words in praise of the medical profession.

Looking back upon it, I think the vicar was justified in his action. Eujphrosyne behaved scandalously. First she took the curate in hand, and they were found together in a deserted marquee, eating pink ices, and talking frivolously. The vicar’s wife took them to task about it, and Euphrosvne was positively rude. But she went off later with another girl’s fiance, and left at least six long golden hairs on his sleeve. The Vicars churchwarden determined to inculcate some moral lessons, ’ and interviewed her. ffe didn’t see him jjgam ior half an hour, but when a P p eared he told us that he had iboen mistaken in his view of her. .Jr' 3 , 1101 enj ’°‘ v “yself quite so much as Euphrosyne. Everybody wanted to know how my aunt was. I could see e°nHin ha +l V WoUltl 1,0 inad ' ,is able to explain that my aunt was at that moment making furious love to the curate tthen they wanted io know who mv young friend was, and I was compelled io manufacture a pedigree for her. In ”7> I manufactured several, but the details did not tally, and I got in a hopeless muddle. When I tore my a " a y from the scene of her frivolities I was the possessor of a ruined 1 reputation, and the object of at least three separate scandals.

“You can't go on like this, aunt,” I expostulated, going home. “You must remember tout sge.” “I can’t,” she giggled. “And I don’t see what good it would do me if I

That evening I cabled to Surges. I beseeehed of him to send me somethin" to restore my aunt to herself. The next day a cable came from his agent at Kobledo. Surges had vanished into the interior, and might not turn up for months. Just like him!

I crawled out of the house on the following morning, having turned the key on Euphrosyne for fear she should get into mischief. I felt ill, and incapable of managing a’ head-strong young woman -with amorous proclivities. I met Barker near the station, and was catechised by him in the most rude manner.

“I say, old chap,” he began, “why didn’t you tell us?” “What?” I asked crossly, and backed away from him.

‘WHiy, that you’d got married, and Set up house with your aunt. How do the three of you pull together, eh? I’ve (been wondering.”

'Oil, have you!” I sneered. “Well, 'keep it up. It won’t do you any harm to think a bit.” “Don’t get ratty,” he said calmly. “I just, heard of your marriage to-day.” “Can a man marry his aunt?” I asked, pr sparing to leave him. “Yon think it over, Mr Barker.”

lie was still thinking it over when I left him to tum homewards. It was very humiliating to me to see that my former inti mates were of opinion that

my mentality had been sadly disturbed. Even at home peace fled from me. I found Tubbs waiting on the doorstep, wearing her sourest expression. She wanted to know if she could see her mistress for a few minutes. I explained to her rather wearily that she had seen Aunt Euphrosyne some days ago, but refused to acknowledge her. She shook her head stubbornly, and delivered an ultimatum. If I did not produce my aunt in the flesh within the period of two days, she, Tubbs, would get the police to inquire into the matter. The more I protested the firmer she became. I was my aunt’s - heir; a will had been duly drawn in my favour. I explained that unless I could prove my aunt’s death I could not inherit. Tubbs admitted that she knew nothing of such legal matters, but was going to see her old mistress, or know the reason why. Then she went away. I am a mild man by nature, but I think it’s just as well she did. I went upstairs and' released Euphrosyne—to myself I never thought of calling her “Aunt”—and found her in a temper. She did not like being locked up, and to show her displeasure, went out for a stroll. I heard afterwards that she waved her hand to several complete strangers. Anyway, when I went out to look for her, I met her coming down the street with Barker, and smiling into his face in a way that gave me cute discomfort. I cannot believe that my aunt’s youth had been lived in this riotous fashion; it must ttiave been the youth of the Aztec princess she had inherited. Meantime I had my own problem to solve. Tubbs had given me two days’ grace. At the end of that time I had to produce my aged aunt, or submit to an interview with the police. I could think of no drug which had such powers ®S that. I asked Euphrosyne about it, but she flatly refused to believe that she had ever been old. I begged of her, even prayed of her, that she would go 'back to her steady and benevolent old age. She laughed at me, and the hours passed. I met the vicar on the following day, and he cut me dead. I swallowed my pride, followed and spoke to him. He turned a grave face upon me, and remarked that he had not now the pleasure of my acquaintance. I turned sadly away. When your own vicar cuts you there is no hope in man. I told ■Euphrosyne, but she laughed, and said the vicar was a cheerful old dunderhead, and not in the same street with the curate, who was quite a sport. I don’t know where she picked up such dreadful slang. The day and the hour came at last. A fat inspector and a thip constable walked up to the door and inquired for my aunt. I brought her down at once. The inspector shook his head. The lady he wished to see was seventyfive, and stout. Tubbs had given him a photograph, so he knew. I told him that Euphrosyne was the only aunt I had, and that I kept no other. He shook his head, and begged to be allowed to search the premises. Of course, I had no objection to that, and after he had gone through the rooms I gave him a spade and told him he could fossick in the garden. We have about an acre and a half, so it will take some time. As I write this I can hear them at it, and the fat inspector has lost weight, while his thin subordinate puts on muscle at an amazing rate. Meanwhile, Euphrosyne absolutely refuses to take her old shape. Will no one help me? It shouldn’t be difficult to get 'a recipe for turning young people into old. I shall be much obliged if any of those who read this will assist a suffering nephew burdened with a flighty aunt, apparently some years younger than himself. You might'send it to the editor, marking the corner of the envelope, “Stray Aunt.” I am sure he will see that the letter Is forwarded. The inspector has passed my window Just now, and looked in at me. He has a cold eye. and I nm beginning to be afraid of him. As I write this my —hand begins—to tr .