Connecticut western news., 1897-07-29
OFF AT THE METER.

OA A A A A AAA< 4IA AA A A<AOs
 Vernnl Choice was pretty and con- modious villa and Dovecottam select and salubrious suburb To the happi- uess of MT. and Mrs. Maurice Green lately made almost complete by the ar rival of the veriest cherub that ever came down from heaven-there were but two drawbacks. The first was of Matrices making. He had ridiculous fad about gas fittings. He believed them to be in chronic state of leakiness. He told his long suffering wife almost daily that more gas escaped through unsuspected cracks and defective joints than served to illuminate the cozy rooms of Vernal Choice.
 Mrs. Maurice Greens bugbear was burglars Nothing could shake her con- viction that when a burglar took his "dark suburban way" his objective would be, by decree of fate, Vernal Choice. Thus it came to pass that nightly, while Maurice was turning off the gas at the meter-he would on no account allow any one else to do it, as "gas is such fickle thing''-his little wife was on her knees in the bedroom, not, as might be supposed. saying her pray she made the same kneeling serve both purposes-but tim idly peering under the lowered terra cotta valances for the burglar that never came.
 Sometimes it would happen that the gas popped out just as she was in the act of raising the curtain that might reveal the tragedy of her life, and then, with little scream, she would seek the matches-she never could put her hand readily on the matches-and light the delicately shaded candle on the dressing table, ere proceeding with her search and her devotions. At such times, when Maurice ascended from the under ground regions where the gas meter meted out its dole to the company of his wife above stairs, she would rate him right soundly for so gentle little body for what she styled his "absurd fad" about turning the gas off.
 What do few extra feet of gas sig nifty, when three precious lives might some night be sacrificed for lack of a light?' she would exclaim, with as much dramatic fervor as if she had been before row of footlights and a crowded pit instead of blue tinted, corrugated candle and mildly scornful husband.
 When Maurice wished to be wither< ing, he was always studiously allitera- tive in his choice of words He never failed to pooh pooh the burglar notion. He said it was the merest moonshine, and that there were "orowds of costlier cribs to crack than Vernal Choice. you bet.
 Mrs. Green, as rule, deigned no answer. She hated slang and wondered how a man of Maurice's sense-except upon the meter question-could stoop to it's use. She generally refrained from saying so, however, like the sensible little woman she was, and, resignedly filling the baby's feeding bottle and tucking the little cherub, with sundry croonings, in it's bedside cot, retired for the night, leaving Maurice to blow out the corrugated candle.
 It was winter and it was midnight. Maurice bad cold, and so had the ba- y. The "little cherub," in fact, had a touch of bronchitis" and his hard breathing as he slumbered 1estlessly in his little cot plainly testified the fact through the darkness.
 'I wonder" murmured Mrs. Green, as she lay listening to the troubled breathing of the child on the one hand and the influenza snore of her husband on the other-"I wonder if the little pet is warm enough. I'm anxious about his little chest, bless him. I'd take him into my bed, only Maurice doesn't ike it. The little fellow kicks tie clothes off so. What could do to prevent him from taking cold afresh? Happy thought There's that little woolen wrap in the spare bedroom. It's either in the middle drawer of the dressing table or ill the wardrobe, l know. Poor Maurice! He would willingly go and find it for me, but I wouldn't disturb him tonight for the world. I'm glad l succeeded in persuading him to sleep in his dressing jacket. Those nasty infu- enza colds need care, and Pm so apt to uncover him ill reaching over to baby. | I'll slip into the next room myself. ' Thus soliloquizing she quietly got of bed-for where baby came in fear flew out-pushed the turned back bed clothes gently against her husbands back, sc that he would not miss her, and proceed ed to feel for the matches. The little receptacle at the bed head was empty. Not match. "Oh, dear, dear, why will Maurice insist upon turning the gas off at the meter, especially when baby is unwelli" she sighed as she slipped into her dressing gown, which fortunately was hanging on the brass knob at the foot of the bed.
 Slippers she could not find. Nil des- perandum She knew to foot where the wrap was, or at least she thought she did, and she would know it the moment she laid finger on it. The lit. tie cherub in the cot coughed in chok. ing manner. Light or no light, the wraI must be found, and without further de lay the little mother walked gingerly into the next room.
 No one could fail to find the ward robe, as 1t was the first article of furni ture encountered on entering the room
 When its door stood open, it was possi
 ble to view oneself from the bedroom
 door. for 1t consisted of three quarter
 length mirror in which Mrs.. Green wal
 wont to inspect the "hang" of her lat
 est costume.
 II "I'm almost sure it's in the dressing
 table drawer" unused Mrs. Green
 growing accustomed to the darkness
 and assisted by suspicion of moonligh
 that shed a pale, uncertain light botl
 through the skylight on the landing ant
 the window opposite the wardrobe. Act