THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 248, 19 October 1928, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.)

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

"Direct evidence is seeing a man putting? water in the milk and circumstantial evidence is finding a trout in the can." —Mr. J. S. Barton, S.M.

Oh, may it please your Worship, you Are not unique. One sunny morn I hied me to the old back step Just as the day was newly born. I lifted up the billy can. Its aqueous contents smooth as silk, Examining it with eager eyes, I found some traces there of milk.

Obedient to the example of English and American newspapers, which began the "Swat That Fly" campaign, Dunedin children natur-

ally eagerly embraced this SWAT THAT FLY! new source of revenue.

When a Dunedin gentleman offered a prize of ten pounds to the school whose pupils caught the most flies, ardent juvenile hunters entered the contest with such vim that schoolmasters have protested. These harassed men have, it seems, enough to do without sitting down to count the whole kill of several hundred boys. It would be a solemn moment when a schoolmaster at his scales decided that- little Sandy Macphairson had beaten Angus Mactavish by half an ounce. The decision might be complicated by the presence in the catch of dried currants. Business-like boys, who will some day become kirk members and merchants, might sit in class with overripe provisions in their pockets and a folded newspaper in hand to attract the game. The schoolmasters' objection to counting flies is justified. They have a strong antipathy to those caught in treacle traps or by means of sticky flypapers. Let the person who gives the prize count the flies!

The Suva correspondent of the "Star" mentions the annual.reunion of old boys who lived in the piping times of King Cakobau, a

man who would rather GENTLEMEN, fight than eat. Ebenezer THE KING! Cakobau was proclaimed

king in 1867 and crowned with eclat. A Levuka carpenter sawed ont a rich crown bejewelled with precious stones. The crown and the jewels cost eighteen shillings, and, old Cakobonians declare, it hasn't been paid for yet. Cakobau was a remarkably handsome man of gigantic size, his limbs beautifully formed and proportioned, his countenance with far less of the negro cast than among the lower order of Fijians, agreeable and intelligent, while his immense head of hair, covered and concealed with gauze, smoke-dried and tinged with brown, gave him a Sultanic appearance. A British official declares that the man who wore the timber crown was "every inch a king." Adi Cakobau, granddaughter of this fierce potentate, was considered the loveliest woman in the islands. B»« own people called him Cikinovu the Centipede, he was so cruel, but his enemies Cakobau, the Bad Bau. Crafty, cruel, truculent, this bloodthirsty person who loved to provide cannibal feasts was also politely called Vunivalu,' the Root of War. It was Uncle Sam who was primarily responsible for the dissolution of Cakobau's kingdom. The American Consul's house caught fire and Cakobau got a bill for 3006 dollars 12} cents. The bill grew to 30,000 dollars. The king couldn't pay, Uncle Sam threatened, and ultimately he lost his timber diadem and Mr. Bull flew the Jack over his bloodstained country. Cakobau handed up his war club to Sir Hercules Robinson, Governor of New South Wales, who was commissioned to undertake the cession. Squabbles are signs of life, for he who is dead can't fight. If the glorious future of. Auckland and its environs depends on the acrimony hurled across VITALITY. some suburban council chambers, then Auckland will be a wonderful place. Very earnest, these councillors are, and they do not desist from the war even outside the sacred precincts of council chambers. Ratepayers and vociferous municipal reformers argue tram stops and graft, on tram, bus and train. Viva-voce skirmishes between antagonistic councillors and ratepayers are augmented by the silent word, and this phase MAT, cordially recommends, for floods of handbills, "dodgers" and other literary effusions keep the printer's art flourishing. The antagonist aching to put somebody's pot on arrives at the suburban printery all a-tingle, his latest challenge to the opposite party held in a trembling hand. He wants the job done by this afternoon if not sooner, so that he can smite the c lemy hip and thigh. People with a turn for literary spleen are beseeched to exercise it for the benefit of angry contestants whose education has been neglected. Councillors, wondering whatever the municipal world would do without them, darkly threaten to resign if the Mayor doesn't, and the fact that nobody kneels at their feet begging them to reconsider their frightful threats possiblv hurts their amour propre. What is most astonishing is that nice, quiet gentlemen who could live a comfortable life absolutely pine for office and fight. You can't play football all your life, or watch a dog fight every dav. There must be some outlet for the ebullience of middle age and growing senility, and municipal acrimony supplies a very great need. Somebody suggests a peace pact between all the local bodies in Greater Auckland. Never! On with the handbills!

Dear M.A.T., —Civilised manners, especially the table variety, are hard to instil into the make-up of a healthy growing boy. One of mine, ignorine the salt THE SAVAGE BOY. spoon, helped himself to a liberal pinch with his forefinger and thumb. This was a new actthey continually break out in a fresh direction! Useless, I thought it, to correct, but I told a story, hoping that the humour of it would act as a deterrent. A storekeeper in an old Cornish mining town in South Australia had laid in a stock of very small glass salt cellars. Now the kind in use in the district were huee monumental affairs. A housewife came in to buy her weekly supply of groceries; her eyes lit on the tiny salt cellars. "What be they, Mr. Trevarthen?" she asked. "Salt cellars Mrs. Polglase," lie replied. "Salt cellars!" exclaimed she. "Why, darn 'ee eouldn' get fingers in they." The indirect correction has worked wonderfully, for I find the family checking each other with, "Now cut out vour Mrs. Polglase tricks."—Snag.

'•Snag's" Moonta story reminds M.A.T of other Cornislunen. The captain of the mine was a bandy-legged little Cousin Jack named Peters from Crackvdillot COUSIN JACK. Born Australian miner*

were angry at the time because imported miners had been given executive posts "which in the opinion of the Aussies should have gone to them.. Peters one day found a miner snugly hidden in a little drive fast asleep. He waited for two hours, and finding him still asleep, roused him up with' Yer! You'm no — good yer," and discharged him. The Australian, finding it no longer necessary to curb his tongue, said something like this: "Yar! Yous noo chums thinks yous owns the mine. English don t yer know! Com in' out here to wear ver old clothes out!" "I baint English!" passionately screamed Cousin Jack. "I be Carnish'" The Australian was two stone the heavier but it was a good go. ' CHAOTICS. * Glad you guessed it! Uranaidcedt Candidature. A tough one: Oat tiphopump.