Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/430

She was our cook, and a bad cook too; but a woman of genius. In the early days of her reign she must have gathered from the parlour-maid that Mother and I were prejudiced against tepid soup, burnt cutlets, and leathery omelettes. I went into the kitchen, intending to remonstrate, and found Cook gazing fixedly out of the window, sniffing at intervals, and apparently struggling with unshed tears. "Is anything the matter, Cook?" "No, Miss, nothing that you can help. It's only that it's a year to-day since I lost my sister Annie, and it all comes back to mind. The Coroner said it was the constant complaining and complaining that had weakened her brain, and led to———" "To what?" I asked breathessly. "Oh, to her hanging herself on a very strong hook in the cupboard's where her mistress kept her best dresses. I was sorry for the poor lady too, for they tell me the shock she got when she went to take down an evening gown, and found Annie instead, almost turned her brain. Yes, Miss, just complaints did it, and she near as good a cook as I am myself! But there, I mustn't be taking up your time with my trouble, must I?"

After that, could I dwell on the soup, the cutlets, or the omelette? Mother was decidedly upset too; and I have reason to believe that she spent that afternoon having the stoutest of the hooks in her own cupboard removed.

A short visit to some relations took me from the scene of action for a day or two. On my return I was met at the station by Cook, who had volunteered for the job. As we drove through a gloomy street she kept craning her neck out of the window, reading, half aloud, the numbers on the houses.

"Twenty-two, twenty-three—ah, there it is, twenty-four. That's the house where Lizzie died, Miss, my poor sister." "I thought her name was Annie." "Oh, that was the youngest but one, Miss; Lizzie came next to me, and we were as like as two peas. Poor soul! Well, I don't wonder the house is shut up; the neighbours, afterwards, used often to hear her crying; not to mention the charwoman, who was always meeting her on the stairs, and getting the sort of turn that makes you feel like brandy." "Good gracious, Cook! Do you mean that she died—suddenly?" "It must have taken a few minutes, Miss, owing to the bath not having been as full of water as she might have wished." "But how awful that two of your family should have———" "We're so sensitive, Miss, all of us; we got it from poor Mother. But at the inquest the Coroner said some very sharp things, holding that it was want of sleep that drove her to it: we can none of us get a wink of sleep before a midnight—it runs in the family—and Lizzie's mistress, not understanding, and making her get up before she had her sleep out in the morning, brought it all about."

My feelings may be imagined when Mother said to me that evening—"My dear, you must speak to Cook; she is upsetting the whole of the house: nothing will get her up before eight in the morning, and of course that makes breakfast late and all the maids cross." I had to mention the bath, and Mother turned pale. She had a tub in her own room for some days afterwards; she said she preferred it.

At last we became firm; Cook must go. I went into the kitchen to give her notice. That woman was a genius, or else bad second-sight; before I could utter a word she insisted on showing me the photograph of a singularly plain young woman. "My oldest sister, Miss." "Oh, that is Lizzie?" "No, Miss, that is poor Emily." "Is she dead too?" I asked desperately. "Yes, Miss; you see her mistress gave her notice, and it has always been a rule in our family to give it, not to take it, and it somehow broke her spirit. Whether she mistook the bottles or not, well, as they said at the inquest, the only tongue that could have told was still; but those that uses spirits of salt for cleaning out gas stoves must settle with their consciences here and hereafter."

I believe Cook would be with us still had not Providence sent an angel in the form of the wife of the Vicar of the parish from which our treasure came.

"And how do you like Sophia?" she asked amiably.

"She has many drawbacks," said Mother nervously. "Sometimes we think her a little eccentric; but possibly, poor thing, all those awful tragedies in her family really upset her brain." "I don't remember any tragedies," said the Vicaress thoughtfully; "I don't think the Vicar would have allowed them." "I meant the sad deaths of three of her sisters." "But Sophia of was an only child. We know her since she was a tiny tot; she was always most well behaved, though some people thought she was not quite so candid as she should have been, considering her big blue eyes." "Was she christened Sophia or Sapphira?" I asked meekly. "Sophia," said the lady firmly.

"My dear," said Mother, "give Sophia a month's wages and board wages in lieu of notice; tell her to pack; tell the housemaid that she is not to leave her alone for one second; order a cab to be at the door in half-an-hour."

The Terrorist left unwillingly. I am sure she still had a brace of sisters up her sleeve.

"Harold Fleming, the Swindon Town footballer and international forward, has been granted a commission in the 4th Wilts Regiment, and will take up his new duties at the close of the football season."

Daily Telegraph.

"After winning the final tie for the Blackburn Sunday School League Cup, the Great Harwood Congregational eleven marched to a recruiting meeting and enlisted in the Royal Field Artillery."—Daily Chronicle.

"The butler was a German spy... Mr. Volpé, whose unctuous manner as the butter-spy was worthy of a column of journalistic sensationalism."—Sunday Times.

"Unctuous" seems to be le mot juste.

"Organist (Voluntary) Wanted for Crumpsall Park Wesleyan Church: June.—J. 75, Evening News Office. Sat. Afternoons 3 to 5, 6d. Latest Music and Dances."

The Manchester Evening News.

The programme sounds attractive, but the remuneration is rather exiguous.

"Officer shortly going abroad wishes to dispose of his Pram, which cost over £8 not 18 months ago."—Yorkshire Evening Post.

With enormous self-control we refrain from saying to what branch of the Service this very youthful officer belongs.