Mrs Korner Sins Her Mercies | Page 4

gallanty show. You come down and open the door," commanded Mr.
Korner.
"Haven't you got your latchkey?" demanded Mrs. Korner.
For answer Mr. Korner attacked the door again. The window closed.
The next moment but six or seven, the door was opened with such
suddenness that Mr. Korner, still gripping the knocker, was borne
inward in a flying attitude. Mrs. Korner had descended the stairs ready
with a few remarks. She had not anticipated that Mr. Korner, usually
slow of speech, could be even readier.
"Where's my supper?" indignantly demanded Mr. Korner, still
supported by the knocker.
Mrs. Korner, too astonished for words, simply stared.
"Where's my supper?" repeated Mr. Korner, by this time worked up
into genuine astonishment that it was not ready for him. "What's
everybody mean, going off to bed, when the masterororous hasn't had
his supper?"
"Is anything the matter, dear?" was heard the voice of Miss Greene,

speaking from the neighbourhood of the first landing.
"Come in, Christopher," pleaded Mrs. Korner, "please come in, and let
me shut the door."
Mrs. Korner was the type of young lady fond of domineering with a not
un-graceful hauteur over those accustomed to yield readily to her; it is a
type that is easily frightened.
"I wan' grilled kinneys-on-toast," explained Mr. Korner, exchanging the
knocker for the hat-stand, and wishing the next moment that he had not.
"Don' let's 'avareytalk about it. Unnerstan'? I dowan' any talk about it."
"What on earth am I to do?" whispered the terrified Mrs. Korner to her
bosom friend, "there isn't a kidney in the house."
"I should poach him a couple of eggs," suggested the helpful bosom
friend; "put plenty of Cayenne pepper on them. Very likely he won't
remember."
Mr. Korner allowed himself to be persuaded into the dining-room,
which was also the breakfast parlour and the library. The two ladies,
joined by the hastily clad staff, whose chronic indignation seemed to
have vanished in face of the first excuse for it that Acacia Villa had
afforded her, made haste to light the kitchen fire.
"I should never have believed it," whispered the white-faced Mrs.
Korner, "never."
"Makes yer know there's a man about the 'ouse, don't it?" chirped the
delighted staff. Mrs. Korner, for answer, boxed the girl's ears; it
relieved her feelings to a slight extent.
The staff retained its equanimity, but the operations of Mrs. Korner and
her bosom friend were retarded rather than assisted by the voice of Mr.
Korner, heard every quarter of a minute, roaring out fresh directions.
"I dare not go in alone," said Mrs. Korner, when all things were in

order on the tray. So the bosom friend followed her, and the staff
brought up the rear.
"What's this?" frowned Mr. Korner. "I told you chops."
"I'm so sorry, dear," faltered Mrs. Korner, "but there weren't any in the
house."
"In a perfectly organizedouse, such as for the future I meanterave,"
continued Mr. Korner, helping himself to beer, "there should always be
chopanteak. Unnerstanme? chopanteak!"
"I'll try and remember, dear," said Mrs. Korner.
"Pearsterme," said Mr. Korner, between mouthfuls, "you're norrer sort
of housekeeper I want."
"I'll try to be, dear," pleaded Mrs. Korner.
"Where's your books?" Mr. Korner suddenly demanded.
"My books?" repeated Mrs. Korner, in astonishment.
Mr. Korner struck the corner of the table with his fist, which made
most things in the room, including Mrs. Korner, jump.
"Don't you defy me, my girl," said Mr. Korner. "You know
whatermean, your housekeepin' books."
They happened to be in the drawer of the chiffonier. Mrs. Korner
produced them, and passed them to her husband with a trembling hand.
Mr. Korner, opening one by hazard, bent over it with knitted brows.
"Pearsterme, my girl, you can't add," said Mr. Korner.
"I--I was always considered rather good at arithmetic, as a girl,"
stammered Mrs. Korner.
"What you mayabeen as a girl, and what--twenner-seven and nine?"

fiercely questioned Mr. Korner.
"Thirty-eight--seven," commenced to blunder the terrified Mrs. Korner.
"Know your nine tables or don't you?" thundered Mr. Korner.
"I used to," sobbed Mrs. Korner.
"Say it," commanded Mr. Korner.
"Nine times one are nine," sobbed the poor little woman, "nine times
two--"
"Goron," said Mr. Korner sternly.
She went on steadily, in a low monotone, broken by stifled sobs. The
dreary rhythm of the repetition may possibly have assisted. As she
mentioned fearfully that nine times eleven were ninety-nine, Miss
Greene pointed stealthily toward the table. Mrs. Korner, glancing up
fearfully, saw that the eyes of her lord and master were closed; heard
the rising snore that issued from his head, resting between the empty
beer-jug and the cruet stand.
"He will be all right," counselled Miss Greene. "You go to bed and lock
yourself in. Harriet and I will see to his breakfast in the morning.