Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 152, May 16, 1917

Excerpt

HEREINAFTERS.

I.

There are people in the world called tenants. I think nothing of them; Celia thinks nothing of them; jointly we do not think anything of them. However, as this is not so much a grammar as an explanation, I will get on with it.

For the last two years we have been letting our flat. Naturally Celia has had to do most of the work; my military duties have prevented me from taking my share of it. I have been so busy, off and on, inspecting my fellow-soldiers' feet, seeing their boots mended and imploring them to get their hair cut that I have had no time for purely domestic matters. Celia has let the flat; I have merely allotted the praise or blame afterwards. I have also, of course, taken the money.

Our tenants have varied, but they are all alike in this. They think much more of their own comfort as tenants than of our happiness as landlords. They are always wanting things done for them. When they want things done for them, then I am firm. Celia may be a shade the more businesslike of the two, but I am the firmer. I am adamant.

Take the case of Mr. Toots. As the wife of an officer proceeding overseas, Celia let the flat to Mr. Toots at the nominal rental of practically nothing a week. I said it was too little when I heard of it, but it was then too late—Celia had already been referred to hereinafter as the landlord. When he had been established some weeks Mr. Toots wrote to say that he wanted seven different kinds of wine-glasses, six of each. Personally I wanted seven different kinds of Keating's Powder just then; tastes differ. The trouble with Mr. Toots was that for some reason he expected Celia to supply the glasses. Whether he only wanted them during his tenancy or meant to keep them afterwards, we never knew. In any case Celia was businesslike; she wrote regretting that she could not supply them.

But I was firm. I sent a picture-postcard of the champagne country, which said quite simply, "You must not drink wine during the War. My husband's milk-glass is in the corner cupboard."

Again, take the case of Mr. and Mrs. Winkle. After getting the flat practically presented to them for a small weekly bonus, they suggest that they should only pay half terms during the summer, as they wish to take the children to the seaside. Celia was for telegraphing to say that it was impossible. For myself I have just written the following letter:—

"Dear Sir,—Could I consult my own feelings I would say, 'Pay no rent at all during the summer. Further, why not sub-let the flat to any of your own friends who can afford to give you a few guineas a week for it? Nay more, let me have the privilege of paying your expenses at the Sunny South. What do you say to the Métropole at Brighton?' But, alas, I cannot speak thus; there are others to think of. The King of Greece, President Wilson, Marshal Joffre—I need say no more. You understand. Things will have to go on as they are, except that the rent will probably be doubled about July.

Yours admiringly."

This letter is now waiting to go off....