ECHO OF "SHOW SUNDAY".
| Visitor. "WHAT'S THIS FELLOW DOIN' IN THE CORNER?" | Artist. "OH, HE'S THERE JUST TO HELP THECOMPOSITION." | |
| Visitor. "AWFULLY DECENT OFHIM—WHAT!" | ||
THE DOMESTIC QUESTION SOLVED.
Last Thursday, at a registry-office, I obtained the favour of an interview with a domestic artist and was able (by reason of a previous conference with my friend Freshfield—like myself a demobilised bachelor author) to face the ordeal with some degree of confidence.
Mrs. Milton, widow, fifty-five, exceptional references, who proposed, if everything about me seemed satisfactory, to rule my household, was as suave as one has any right to expect nowadays; but when she dictated the terms I gathered that she would be sufficiently dangerous if roused.
She knew what bachelors were, she did, and wasn't going to take a place where a lot of comp'ny was kept.
I assured her on this point. My friend, Mr. Freshfield, I said, would come once a week, every Monday, to dine and sleep, but beyond that I should put no strain upon her powers of entertainment.
Mrs. Milton further said that she would require at least two afternoons and one evening a week. Here was my opportunity to appear generous.
"Two afternoons and one evening?" I said. "My dear friend and fellow-worker, you can have every Wednesday and Thursday from after breakfast on the former to practically dinner-time (eight o'clock) on the latter. No questions will be asked of you or of the piano or gramophone, both of which instruments you will find in smooth running order. I am away," I added, "every Wednesday and Thursday."