Life — December 7, 1916 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

T is a curious thing, but whenever I am away from home for more than twenty-four hours some- thing always seems to happen. In the summer of 1913 I was welcomed back from a business trip to America by twins. Ten months later, during my enforced absencé in Inverness at the funeral of a North-Scottish aunt, five of our apparently strongest hens succumbed to an attack of hay fever. Last Christmas, again, after spending a week in Paris, I found when I got back that Williams, our jobbing gardener, had been promoted to corporal in the body of Special Constabulary of which I my- self am merely one of the rank and file. His manner has been unbearable ever since. When, therefore, on my return a short time ago from a stay of nearly a fortnight with my senior partner in the remoter wilds of Rut- landshire, my wife greeted me with the news that she had a surprise in store for me, I confess my heart sank. “What is it?” I asked anxiously. “T will show you,” she said. She led the way to the drawing-room, and throwing open the door exclaimed, “There! what do you think of it?” “ Did you choose the paper?” I said. isn’t ita cheerful one?” “Tt is, indeed,” I answered, involun- tarily shading my eyes with my hand. “T did it by myself. No one helped me.” . “What! You actually papered the room I looked at her with a new admiration not unmixed with awe. “Y¥ she said proudly, “I wanted to show you what a woman can do. Think what we have saved by not hav- ing a man in.” I lay sleepless for hours that night, tossing in my bed in feverish thought. It was obviously impossible to let things rest where they stood. My wife had stolen a march on me. Unless I could do something to get level with her I felt that my future position in the household would become unbearable. In six or seven years’ time the war Christmas Life Hy Effort By Richard Dark would probably be over, and the twins would certainly be asking questions. I could picture them leading me into the drawing-room between them, pointing to the wall-paper and asking, “And what did you do, daddy?” What should I be able to reply? That I had fought in Flanders or the Dardanelles? I was ineligible for the army. That I had achieved distinction as a Special Con- stable? They would have learned that even here Williams had passed his master in a canter. Williams, I knew, would see to that. Alas! All I should be able to say would be that I had never, since the commencement of the war, falsified my income-tax returns. “Is that all, daddy?” they would answer sorrowfully. Poor mites! They could scarcely be expected to un- derstand the silent heroism of that struggle. No, come what might, I must do something tangible. I, too, must erect some monument of effort more fadeless, if possible, than my wife's wall-paper. But what? Finally, as the dawn was breaking, I felt I could lic no longer, and rose from my weary bed. And then, as my feet touched the chilly substance that covered my bedroom floor, like a flash the great idea came. Linoleum! At last I had it. My smoking-room carpet had long been threadbare, and at our spring cleaning we had decided that another must be purchased before the autumn. Well, T would forego a new carpet, and would, unaided, lay the floor with linoleum. With a tired sigh I sank back between the sheets and slept till 10 a. mM. I decided in the course of the morn- ing that as my wife had accomplished her feat in secret I would do likewise. Accordingly, I persuaded her at lunch- con to take the twins early on the fol- lowing day to see their grandmother and to stay with her till the evening. This preliminary arranged, I spent the afternoon in my smoking-room with a pipe, a pencil, a ruler and several sheets of foolscap, making a plan of the floor space for subsequent operations. I am nothing if not methodical. At tea 1033 time my wife remarked that I was looking pale. “You must be feeling the heat, Horace,” she said sympatheti- cally. I assured her that I liked the hot weather, and soon afterward re- turned to my task, tore up the eleventh plan and started on the twelfth. That night I scarcely tasted my dinner, and as soon as possible escaped again to wrestle with the problem. At last, just before ten o'clock, I triumphed. My plan’ was completed, and I proceeded to calculate from it the amount of lino- leum required. The result surprised me. Working on a scale of three inches to the yard, I came to the con- clusion that my smoking-room floor comprised an area of 8,310 square feet. Something was wrong somewhere. I went through the sum again, discovered that T had reckoned in both the window recesses twice, and reduced the figures to 6,742% square feet. Better, but still, I felt sure, too large a total. I filled my pipe once more and thought hard. After a while 1 remembered an ex- pedient that had never failed me in my far-off school-days. I divided by 30%. What happened after this I shall never know clearly, but about midnight the answer came to 4 cubic yards, From this, try as I would, I could devise no means of escape. Finally I gave it up and crawled to bed. Next morning I saw my wife and the twins off by the train, and then proceeded to a shop where they sell linoleum and chose some of an attrac- tive pattern. “About how much did you want, sir?” asked the man at the wheel. “Enough to cover my smoking-room floor,” I answered. This I considered was a rather clever reply, since it threw the responsibility of supplying the proper quantity onto my opponent's shoulders. But he was a cunning fel- low and saw through my design. “ What is the size of the room?” he said. I looked him straight in the face. “Do you mean to tell me,” I de- manded, “that a man in your profes- comicbooks.com