Part 2

The fire had plenty of time to burn up before the operation was concluded, and I was now ready for my great triumph. There was a very disagreeable feeling in unfolding the steak,--it felt so dead; but I dug a fork in it and landed it in the pan. I had no compunction about the onions; they had made me suffer.

There is a sort of musical sound in the fritter from a pan; and I waited for the tempting smell, but it was not what I expected. It brought to mind the days of my boyhood when I was in a smithy and a hot shoe was being applied to a horse's foot. Hang it! the butter. "Where on earth is the butter?" I searched all the presses for it, and at last found it on the table beside me. I quickly put in a large piece, and in a second the fire blazed up the chimney. The confounded pan was leaking, and I had not noticed it at first.

The steak was ruined: one side was like charcoal, and the other quite raw. It was annoying. If I only had another steak and another pan, and some one to slice the onions, I could now do it all right. As it was, I had to wash myself and hurry out of the house to get away from the smell.

The next morning I made my final attempt at cooking. I remembered about the milk, and took it and the paper in, reading the news while the milk boiled. It took so long that I forgot about it, till it suddenly boiled over, and the grate and the fender were in a fearful mess, and the fire nearly out, before I could lift it off.

I remembered, now it was too late, that I was to be careful not to allow the milk to boil, but the thought of the steak had put everything else out of my head. I gave it up in despair, and breakfasted at the club. I think Davidson has been drawing on my credulity: there is more than butter in cooking.

That night I thought I would go to another bedroom, as my bed required making; and it was not till I had screwed out the gas and jumped in that I found there were no blankets. I couldn't find matches, and had to grope my way to my own room, knocking my toes several times on the way; and when I did get into my own bed, I had great difficulty in arranging the blankets to cover my feet and shoulders simultaneously.

I have often noticed that creaky doors seem to wait till one gets warm in bed before they begin, and I have as often made up my mind that it is best to get up at the first creak and go to sleep, and as often I have not acted up to my resolution. I was just cozy when a door started to serenade me--"cre-a-k, bump."

"Another creak," I thought, "and I'll get up." I waited, and had the encore. "I'll give it another chance; it's a pity to get up, as I might not get the blankets arranged again." I gave it several more chances, and it took every one. I seemed to bump against everything in the house when I got up. Before I could find out the creaker I stood shivering in the lobby, but there was not a sound. However, now that I was up, I determined to find it out. At last it betrayed itself, and I secured it. I had no idea now where I was, and got myself badly bruised before getting to my room; and I locked the door next morning, and took a room in the club.

When I did go to the country I never enjoyed myself less. I felt like a culprit whose crime was soon to be discovered. I would hear more about it on our return; but I did not expect to hear so much about it as I did. I had no idea I had done so much damage.

"You have broken three cups of the marriage set--a present from mamma. I wouldn't have had them broken for the world; they can't be replaced. You have scratched the mantelpiece with your boots, and it will never look decent again: and, I declare! if you have not been cooking on the dining-room fire, and ruined the grate and fender. And the girl tells me you have cracked the stewing-pan. I might have known better than leave a man in the house: there's not a clean dish in the house, and--oh! this is too bad; look at the tablecloth--spoiled!" I looked at it, and it was not attractive, I must admit--there were rings of soot on it from the coffee-pot, and a variety of stains.

I brought philosophy to bear on the subject, and said, "Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk."

"But it's not milk--it's coffee, and wine, and soot," replied my wife, "and it will never come out." But it only shows, as I had often thought, that women have no philosophy.

However, I shall never try cooking again, one reason being that I shall not be allowed.

M'CRANKYS AT A PARTY

"Mr. and Mrs. Gibson at home, Friday 17th," Mrs. M'Cranky read from an invitation card she received by the morning post.

"Where have they been?" said M'Cranky, looking up from his Scotsman.

"It's an invitation for us, dear, and we'll have to go, because we've promised for a long time to call on them, and the dress I got for Annie's marriage will do nicely with a little----"

"Humbug! If there's anything worse than the worry of having a party at home, it's having to go out to one, getting into cold clothes when one is just feeling comfortable after dinner, and being expected to keep up a continual smile for four or five hours; and then, when we're leaving, thank the people for a very pleasant evening when we've just been dying to get home for a smoke. You just write and say that----"

"No, dear, I can't say that; we must go, for Mrs. Gibson's expecting us, and I said we were not engaged."

"How on earth could you say that when you've just this minute got the invitation?"

"I met Mrs. Gibson the other day, and she told me she was going to invite us, and hoped we would be able to come; and I said we would be very happy, and I knew you were not engaged."

"And if you accepted the invitation, what's the use of her writing?"

"Oh, that doesn't count, you know; and she told me they were getting a neat card printed, and of course she would want me to see it; and I've to go down the night before to show her how to make a cream I got the recipe for from Aggie, and I've to tell her how the Gray's table was laid out, for she heard it was very much admired: so it would never do not to go."

"I see; it's all settled before you get the invitation. Well, mind you will leave at eleven."

"Whenever you like, dear," said Mrs. M'Cranky, knowing that if he got seated at whist he would not be in a hurry to leave.

"Will you take lunch at the club to-day, dear?" said Mrs. M'Cranky on the morning of the 17th, "and I'll just take something light at home."

"What's up now? There's no use turning up the house, for we'll be going away soon, and last year when you had the painters in you said you wouldn't require----"

"I'm not going to touch the house, dear. This is the night of Gibson's party, and there's to be a nice supper. I was down last night helping her, and I've ordered the cab for half-past seven, for I've to see how the table looks."

Mr. M'Cranky kept up a fusillade of grumbling while dressing, but Mrs. M'Cranky was too excited to take any notice; and when the cab had deposited them at the door Mr. M'Cranky said to the driver, "Eleven o'clock." "Right, sir," said Jehu. Mrs. M'Cranky had left word at the office that they were to be called for at one o'clock, so she pretended to look inside the cab to see if she had left anything; and while M'Cranky was going up the steps she said to the driver, "You understand," and he replied with a knowing look, "All right, mum."

As they were about the first to arrive, the time was occupied by looking over the albums, with explanations by Mr. Gibson as to who the photographs represented, with the relationship between the young lady on the present page and the old gentleman two leaves back, which seemed to be of great interest to the spectators. Then there were the curiosities to be shown. "This," said Mr. Gibson, lifting a fusty-looking thing from a bracket, "is a spider's nest, sent by my son Tom from Queensland. He is in a bank there, and getting on very well. He's engaged to that young lady I showed you the photograph of"; and as he threatened to produce the album again, the gentlemen all said they remembered--"Nice-looking lady."

"This is a carved box Jim, my eldest son, sent from India,--beautiful carving. I got a paper from him the other day with an account of a concert he had been performing at. I wonder if I could lay my hands on it! Oh yes, here it is," said he, producing it from where he had carefully laid it a few minutes before. "My family are all musical," he continued. "You'll hear my girl to-night; she plays the violin, and is getting on very well, I believe. She is to perform at a Primrose League meeting to-morrow night."

As this was said as if to convey an idea of the esteem in which she was held as a violinist, the gentlemen said "Oh!" or "Indeed!" There were occasional painful pauses in the conversation, for, though the gentlemen had been introduced, no one could have told another's name; and each seemed to wait for the others to begin, till one ventured to start abusing the weather, and our unfortunate climate was subjected to a prolonged and severe criticism.

"Any of you gentlemen care for a hand at whist?" the host asked. And when some said they "didn't mind," and others that they would be "very pleased," he said, "I think we could manage two sets." Of course the ladies had to be asked, and they expressed their willingness, but said they could not play very well.

The two tables were placed very close to each other, as there was not much room. The gentlemen apparently looked on the game as a very serious affair, and the ladies regarded it lightly and as a secondary matter. The cards were just dealt, and play about to begin, when Mrs. Gibson came across the room and whispered something to her husband, who said, "'M? Oh yes, we're to have a violin duet from Mr. Morrison and Miss Gibson."

Conversation was immediately suspended, and about ten minutes spent in preparation: the violin cases were brought in, and the instruments carefully unpacked; then patent folding stands were produced and arranged; a few minutes more were spent looking over the music and selecting a piece; the young lady who was to play the accompaniment was handed her share, which did not count in the performance, although it turned out that she had most to do. She had evidently been rehearsing with them, for she at once sounded "A," and the violinists commenced tuning, by putting their instruments out of tune and then making them right. The pianiste had about a page to play before the violins came in, but the young lady and gentleman managed to fill in the time by stuffing handkerchiefs into their necks, and seeing that the varnish on the back of the violins was all right. It was evidently a handicap, for Mr. Morrison gave Miss Gibson a start of three bars; but any one could see that he had her in hand, for he passed her about the sixth hurdle--so to speak--and waited on. And after a scramble home, Miss Gibson was allowed to win by a neck.

Whist was at once started, but the long silence was too much for the ladies. "How d'ye do?" said one, recognising a friend at the next table; "I did not notice you come in."

"No, we were rather late. My husband is very busy just now, and we could not get away any sooner; and I----"

"It's you to play," said Mr. M'Cranky, who was annoyed at having to play with ladies, and impatient to begin, as he had a good hand. He had managed to say quietly to his opponent during the duet, "Do you care to have a modest sixpence on?" and the gentleman had agreed; and when he added "Shilling rub?" he had got a nod of assent. So he was now eager for the fray.

"We're waiting on you, mum," he said to his partner.

"Oh, I beg pardon; are diamonds trump?"

"No, clubs are trump, and diamonds are led."

"Oh yes, I haven't got my hand arranged. That was a very nice duet. Miss Gibson plays remarkably well, and only been about a year at it, I believe. I was advising Mrs. Gibson to send her to Germany. I believe the----"

"Your smallest diamond, please."

"I beg pardon; trump is led!"

"No, clubs are trump. Just put down a small diamond," said M'Cranky, who held the ace and king.

The lady seemed to feel she had done her duty when she followed the instructions given, and, without waiting to see the result, turned to her friend at the next table and said, "Did you see Miss Young at church on Sunday? I thought she wasn't looking very well."

"Oh, she's always pale, you know," her friend replied. "I don't think there's anything wrong with her."

"Ah, I don't think she is very strong. Her mother should----"

"We're waiting on you, mum," said M'Cranky, with ill-concealed displeasure. "I took that trick with the king, and led a small trump," and he put an emphasis on "king," which was entirely lost on his partner.

"What should I play, then? I've a nice one here, but I'm afraid it will be taken."

"Never mind, third in hand; play your best."

"But it's not the best; there are two better than it."

"Oh, you mustn't tell your hand," the opposing gentlemen said. "Whist, you know."

"I'm sure I never mentioned a card."

The play had not proceeded far in this fashion when Miss Gibson was announced to give a reading, and the game had to be stopped while that lady gave a thrilling recitation of the "Life-boat," making great use of her eyes and eyebrows, after the style of Irving. When it was finished there was some doubt as to who was to lead, one saying, "It's me to lead; don't you remember I took your knave, and----"

"No, no; that was the trick before. I trumped the last trick."

The game finished by M'Cranky having three tricks, and informing his partner that they would have been game if she had not trumped his knave of clubs, which was "the best in the house." But she was quite delighted with the result.

After the first game the ladies seemed to think they had had enough of it, and resigned their positions in favour of the gentlemen, whose play, conducted on more scientific principles, was interspersed with violin solos or recitations by Miss Gibson, the latter being of a sufficiently tragic nature to give scope to her facial and vocal expression. One was about a level-crossing,--a fruitful subject for the reciter. There are several recitations on this topic, and they have all the same tragic end: a little girl gathering primroses, which grow so plentifully between the rails, is about to be run over by the down express, when Joe or Jim--both drunkards--rushes down the bank and saves her life at the expense of his own; and there is as much sameness in the treatment as in the subject, the first line being in this style: "Not heerd o' Jim? Well, I'll tell ye, lads."

Mr. M'Cranky left the card table rather reluctantly shortly after one o'clock; and though he had a long smoke when he got home, he was first in bed, leaving Mrs. M'Cranky looking at herself in the wardrobe mirror as if preparing to go out.

"I wonder when it's coming off," she said, giving expression to her thoughts.

"That's just what I'm thinking," said M'Cranky.

"How strange, dear, we should think of the same thing; but I don't know how he'll be able to keep a wife."

"What are you talking about?"

"Mr. Morrison and Miss Gibson. Wasn't it their marriage you were thinking of?"

"No; it was your dress. Are they to be married?"

"Of course, that was what the party was for."

"Who told you?"

"Nobody; but any one with half an eye could see it. You men never can see anything."

"That was a fearful duffer I had for a partner at whist--lost nearly every game. Who is he?"

"He's in a bank in St. Andrew Square--a good position--and lives in a fine house at Murray field."

"How do you know?"

"Because his wife said it was a long way for her husband to go in the morning from Murrayfield to St. Andrew Square."

"I see, and you fill in the details."

"Oh, you men don't understand anything."

BURNS'S ANNIVERSARY & THE MILDNESS of the SEASON

Within the last few weeks, letters have been sent to the papers giving various proofs of the mildness of the season, some containing flowers which seem to have no right to be blooming at this time, and others alluding to the appearance of lambs as if they were sunflowers. I can, however, give an experience which, taken in conjunction with the influenza epidemic, is a better proof of mildness in the weather than all the parcels of premature flowers.

My friend Mr. Stewart, an Ayrshire farmer, has for some years been pressing me to pay him a visit, and I lately accepted his invitation to have a week with the hounds. The week is extending, but I am not allowed to leave, Stewart having always some excuse for delaying my departure. "Ye canna gang on Monday," he said; "that's the nicht o' the curlin' denner, an' I've got the tickets"; and so he lured me from day to day like a will-o'-the-wisp. At last, when the week had expanded to a fortnight, I determined to be firm and go. I had a nice little speech arranged to thank my host for his great kindness to me; and at night, when we were having our smoke and a glass of toddy, I cleared my throat with that peculiar cough which is the general precursor of a speech. But the cough seemed to put him on the alert, for I had only got the length, "Well, Mr. Stewart, I've enjoyed my visit very----," when he interrupted me by saying, "Noo, nane o' that nonsense. Man, I wunner to hear ye; the hounds'll be here on Wednesday, an' I've got tickets for the Burns nicht on Friday, an'----." Then he seemed to think that was far enough to make me look forward for the present, so he finished by saying "Ta!" which might mean anything.

My speech and fortitude vanished. I was as clay in the hands of the potter. "Friday is not the anniversary of Burns's birthday," I said; "it's Saturday."

"Yes; but then, ye see, Saturday's an awkward nicht, an' Friday suits better."

Subsequent events showed me that the shortness of Saturday night was its awkward point; and I may here say that the Ayrshire men can, and do, stand a large quantity of whisky. And in this respect, feeling myself like an amateur among professionals, I determined to be careful on Friday night, and take nothing before going; and when I make up my mind to anything, I am very determined.

I was rather astonished when, about two o'clock on Friday, Stewart said, "We'll better be off, then."

"Why are you going so soon?" I inquired; "the meeting will not be till night."

"Ay, but we're to meet some o' the chaps at Maclean's to hae a bit denner at fower, so we'll just tak' a bit tastin' an' set off."

"How far is it to town?" I asked.

"Better than three miles," he replied; and, looking back on our return, my conviction is that it is considerably worse than three miles. I remembered my determination to take nothing before going; but Stewart had the "tastin'" poured out, so I took it, thinking I would walk it off. We met about a dozen gentlemen at Maclean's, and had a splendid dinner, and I had to revoke my decision in favour of the wines set before us.

"When do we meet?" I asked of the gentleman next me.

"At eight," he replied.

"And how can we be expected to dine again at eight?"

He laughed, evidently at my simplicity.

"We havena time for denner on a Burns night," he said. "The haggis is just put round for the look o' the thing."

I now understood more fully the awkwardness of a Saturday night. Looking back on Friday night, I find my memory a little more vague than usual: for instance, I should have mentioned that we made two calls on the way to Maclean's. As we approached the town, Stewart said, "This is Young's hoose; he's gaun; we'll just look in for him."

"I was just on the look-out for ye," said that gentleman.

"Nothing for me, thank you," I said, seeing him lay down three glasses, and remembering my determination. Mr. Young evidently did not hear me; and when I saw him filling the third glass, I thought I would just taste, as the people here are very touchy on the point of hospitality. So I said, "That'll do for me, thank you; thanks, thanks, thanks." By this time my glass was the same as the rest. So I had to console myself by thinking I would be none the worse of it after the journey.

"We're to look in for Calder on the road," said Mr. Young.

Calder was in his office, and after a few words he raised his eyebrows with a look of interrogation, and pointed with his head in a direction evidently understood by his companions, for Stewart, in reply to the unasked question, said, "Oh, I don't know if it's worth while."

It was evidently thought worth while, however, for we proceeded to a small room in the back of the premises, and Mr. Calder said, "Weel, what is't to be, then?"--a stupid question I have noticed almost invariably asked, as the answer is always the same: "Oh, just the auld thing; it's the safest."

"Help yersels, then," said Calder, "the time I'm putting on my coat." Stewart assisted, asking us to "say when," and, perhaps through force of habit, he addressed himself while taking his own allowance, as if some one were giving him more than he wanted and he was remonstrating. "Hoot-toot-toot!" he said, but he did not pour any back.

There was a very heavy toast-list to get through at the meeting, but I don't remember much that was said. One thing I noticed, however, was that every speaker gained frequent applause by finishing his sentence with "Robbie Burns," or "Immortal Bard," or a quotation. Another thing I observed was that the speakers had their speeches in print, having got proofs from the local weekly paper, and these were read as a schoolboy would an essay. Some had their speeches cut up into parts the size of the toast-list, and might be supposed to be only looking at it while reading their speeches; but one gentleman made no attempt at deceit,--he simply rose with the long strip like an old ballad, and started: "Mr. Chairman, Croupier, and Gentlemen, in the too brief life of our immortal bard----Waiter, take the top off that lamp. I can't see. Thank you; that's better. In the too brief life," &c. Although I can't remember much that was said, I must have paid great attention at the time, as I entirely forgot my resolution. During the evening the secretary read a pile of telegrams about two inches thick, and mostly in rhyme,--and good rhyme too, and all the same rhyme, the rhythm being something like

"Ta rumpy tumpy tump returns, Ta rumpy tumpy Robbie Burns."

There was one exception, which was greeted with great applause in acknowledgment of the new vein the writer had struck. It was "Ta rumpy tumpy tumpy turns" in the first line,--the second, of course, being the same as the others.