GEORGE'S HOLIDAY

New Zealand Illustrated Magazine, Volume 1, Issue 3, 1 December 1899, Page 26

GEORGE'S HOLIDAY

By H. J. Priestley. Illustrated by Ashley Hunter.

fEORGrE is not exactly gifted witli a genius for affairs domestic ; but he thinks he is, and that, I suppose, is a comfortable delusion. It is, however, rather a trial to his woman folk, whom he invariably holds responsible for his failures. The other day Jean was making pan-cakes, turning them over with an egg-lift. She had no difficulty in doing so, but George did not approve. " The proper way to turn pan-cakes is to throw them up and catch them. Colonials never do make them properly," he ejaculated. This was by no means the first time that day that George had taken upon himself to teach his grandmother to I mean to expound to his wife the mysteries of cooking, and there was a rather dangerous light in Jean's eyes. " Would you mind showing me how your mother turned them, dear ? " she meekly said. Misguided woman ! Benzine is dear, sulphurous language is demoralising, painting masculine burns with white of egg is a thankless task ; a mixture of batter, grease, Fox's serge, and profanity, is not inviting in a husband, yet all this Jean brought upon herself in the twinkling of an eye, or, to invent a new metaphor, in the turning of a pan-cake. It was a large pan-cake ; but beards, men's suits, and kitchen hearth-rugs are very absorbent, so we did not get any of it. I will say that George is not an idle man. Sometimes I wish he were. He hates to see w union overworked and attempting things

beyond their capacity, and so he follows us round, suggesting all sorts of labour-saving devices. I was laboriously rubbing up the hall linoleum, George meditatively sauntering behind and watching me. I hate to have men about when I am on all fours — especially George — and I purposely obstructed his path several times, and accidentally tripped him twice. "Isn't that hard work ? " he enquired. "Very," I answered, viciously dabbing at his feet. Whereupon exit George with a meditative expression upon his handsome countenance, only to return in two minutes with an enormous bundle in his arms, covered with an ancient carriage rug. " Get up, Kitty ! " he cried. " You womeu have no idea of economizing labour. Look at that, now ! " And he rushed up and down the hall, pushing the bundle, his face growing red, his long legs describing ungeometrical figures in the air, his whole figure forming now an acute, now an obtuse, now a right angle, and finally a straight line, as lie stretched himself triumphantly, and cried: " Look at that ! It's done in half the time ! " I did " look at that." Indeed, I had been " looking at that " all the time as 1 sat on the stairs well out of the way, wondering where the old carriage rug had been to grow so rich in dust, for as George rushed and pounded up and down the hall, he seemed to extract from it tho dust of ages. " That's the way to do it," he exclaimed, "just come and try, Kitty." So I, though scenting danger, obediently descended, grabbed the corners of the bundle, and, at

the risk of bursting a blood-vessel, managed to drag the " labour-saving appliance " a few feet along the hall. However, I was very meek, and humbly suggested that George should hire a man to manipulate the said " appliance."

George was marching ofE with a majestic air o£ offended dignity, when I called him back to carry the "appliance" into the kitchen, as to move it further was beyond my strength. By this time a white powder was settling all over the hall, but, seeing that George

was in no mood to answer polite enquiries, I silently followed him into the kitchou, where he flopped clown his bundle in the baby's bath, and bounced out of the back door, making, on his way, a few foreiblo remarks about the ingratitude of women.

"Whatever is that in the bath ?," queried Jean, entering with baby on her ami. I did not know, so we proceeded to investigate. Untying the carringo rug, the dining-room tablecloth, and a sheet, we discovered an enormous bag of flour, which the grocer had deposited in the scullery just

as George went in search of a " labour-saving appliance." George's vigorous poundings had burst a hole in the bag, and the quality of " Pi-emier Flour" was not likely to be improved by standing in four inches of water. Like Mrs. John Gilpin, Jean and I have '"frugal minds," so we quickly emptied the dry, clean flour, and gazed with dismay at the sticky mess in the bottom of the bag. Then I had an inspiiation. " Let us make it into paste, and paper the little room to-day," I cried. The paper was cut and everything was ready, but (for excellent reasons) we had previously decided to defer the impoi-tant business of papering until George's holidays were over. However, the messy flour bag overruled theseexcellentreasons ; we prepared for business, and had peacefully and successfully prepared one side of the room before George returned. " Well, I never ! Yon women have no sense ! Why didn't you tell me you wanted this room papered ? I'd have done it in a jiffy. Here, get down Kitty, this minute, and give me that length of paper. It isn't safe for a woman to stand on those steps," he cried, grabbing me by the ankles and forcing me to descend. " Give me that paper," and he took it out of my hands, carefully and methodically twisting it around me as he gingerly ascended the steps. " See, Kitty, you stupid girl ; you've gone and twisted yourself into the paper ! Ido wish you women Avould keep out of the way ! " I spread the paste on the next length while George struggled with his first, the pattern of which would not tit because we " women had put the other pieces on in such an idiotic fashion."

While struggling with his second length, George declared that it was not properly pasted, and bade me keep out of the way, and he would paste the next himself. To " keep out of the way " was just then the height of my ambition, but seeing that I was required at the same time to hold the end of the paper, hand the brush, and steady the steps, I saw no way of I'ealising that ambition. Length number three George pasted himself, making up for the thinness of the paper by the thickness of the paste. "Now you shall see the proper way to do it. Hold that end. Don't drop it, stupid !" And he ascended the steps, holding the liberally pasted side towards him, and preparing to press the pattern against the wall. I did not mention this little mistake, for George hates women to interfere, and I strive, whenever possible, to follow his precepts. " The best laid plans o' mice and men gang aft agley," and so did that paper. It not only went " agley," it went all over poor George, who stood spluttering and muttering, and striving to disentongle himself from his sticky covering, without tearing it. As he seemed to find a difficulty of utterance, I obligingly offered to swear for him, but he was not at all grateful, and, having freed his face from the paper, though not from the paste, he descended, glaring things unutterable. On the bottom step he stumbled, and fell with his right leg in the bucket containing the remainder of the paste. When he got up the paste which was not on his trousers, was on the floor. His remarks were few, forcible, and strictly theological — and — he never finished papering the little room !