THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 222, 19 September 1929, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) THE HAIRCUT. Mr. Kenny, an American millionaire visiting Europe, telephoned from London to New York for his barber in order that he might have a "real haircut," even if it cost £1 P el " hair. How doth the busy cablegram - Disseminate around News items of the plutocrats . Who bound and bound and bounu. How beauteous Is the baldest pate For which the barbers care If It should be the shining poll Of a sweet millionaire ! How would I grovel on the ground That he should hear my prayer, And, lacking locks luxurious, Make me his shining heir! If I might only cut his corns, Or his dear toe nails pare, How I should sing with joyfulness Some thankful little air! I'd love to bathe his bunions, or To manicure him. There Are no. bunions half bo sweet As on a millionaire.

It is the penalty of commercial life that its devotees are sometimes bound by non necessity to remain longer in the city than usual, reaching home at OH, MEMORY I an hour when those not bound to the cruel rack are fast asleep. In one case the devotee of toil, reaching home at a late hour, found his wife fast asleep.. He therefore, with great consideration, put the clock back an hour and a half in order that, should she wake and consult the timepiece she would feel that all (including her hard-worked husband) was well. The considerate husband, confiding in M.A.T., mentions that coming into the city the morning after ho was astonished to find strange people in the train and bus. The city itself looked busier. He was surprised to find when he entered the office that everybody had a settled appearance as if all hands had been glued to business for hours and hours. As a matter of fact, a night's sleep had made him forget that domestic kindness of putting back the clock, and he was thus an hour and a half late. Communicating the above viva voce to a commentator, that gentleman said: "Brain fag due to overwork ? What rot! It's what a man docs when he doesn't work that gives him brain fag!" Young clergymen are naturally shy. They lose it with the passage of the years and are able to convey the necessary compliment on any occasion, from a MANY THANKS, christening party to a sewing bee. One of the best of the species recently organised a jolly entertainment for boys. It having ended most successfully, he expressed himself thus: "Now, boys, we want you to thank the artists who have given you such an enjoyable evening. Judging by the applause you haye given to every item from top to bottom great appreciation has been shown. Our next concert will be much better than this one and the people who entertained you were much better than those who were unable to come."

The suggested censorship of locally-heard talkies which contain American expressions and accents will give young New Zealanders mental exercise of a THE CENSORS, novel kind. The censor, finding that an American film is morally fit for youug New .Zealanders, may nevertheless subedit it until the original story is lost. May one hope that the censors themselves fit their own ideas of what is and what is not good English into the blank spaces? Watching and listening with great care to a recently-heard and shown talkie, the listener concluded that there is already a rush of English actors to America, the whole of the conversation, including that of the Americans, bging unexceptionable. It may have sounded strange for a moment perhaps to hear an Arab sheik give an American intonation to an English word, but in innumerable cases the intonation is nice to listen to. .If the Americanisms in such a film were cut out for New Zealanders, the story would be unmeaning. Apropos of American idiom, accent and expression, an American translated the novels of a very great Russian into English and made a splendid job of it. It did not prevent him, however, from writing here and there such a phrase as, "Say, Oppinoff, I guess we'll have to burn the breeze." After all, you know, the Americanisms which we fear may sully the purity of the New Zealand language are nearly all traceable to English county dialects, except where they are the result of Central European mixtures of people. The nasal accent which- seems to offend the Legislative Council so much is merely the result of climate. Any New Zealand legislation which lias for its object the censoring of climate will have M.A.T.'s ardent support. A globe trotter in many lands, much interested in thews and sinews, has watched the horny-handed swing a pick and push a shovel in Britain, America, AustraTHE TOILERS, lia and New Zealand. He says he has come to the conclusion that both men and women work harder in New Zealand than in any part of the world—particularly the women. He offers no reas'on for this love of toil. "They don't even play," said he. "They work at sports. It's a solemn job with them." As a matter of fact, the undoubted slog of the New Zealand worker is traceable to the early days of "daylight to dark." The habit lias stuck. An illustration of the s point is afforded by a man who remembers earlier times, when Auckland was being carved out of the rough. There was a road contractor, long since gone to his rest, known for his ability to get the last ounce from his gangs. One day he stopped at a group of four men busily engaged withpick and shovel. "G'day, byes," said he. "G'day, boss," said they. "Has iver anny of yez bruk a pick or shovel handle since yez worked for me ?" They all with one accord eagerly said, "No, boss!" "Thin ye're all sacked! Come along and Oi'll give yez yer cheques." All hail the London advertising genius who has hired thirty-five bald heads, thus making the possession of balditude a blessing and an asset. This genius THE LIVING AD, is to print a typewriter advertisement on their arid sconces and give them tickets for the best seats at shows. Capitalise your baldness! Commercialise your frame! "People unduly hirsute, seeing fortunes in baldness, will become the chemist's best customers for depilatories. _ The thing has infinite possibilities. This kind of advertisement need not be confined to shows or typewriters. What could be more charming than for a bald-headed man to raise his hat in the street, disclosing the undoubted truth that "Aeroplane Baking Powder is the Best"? The summer comes rapidly and'the bathing season is coming, too. The astute advertising agent should get ready with his natty little stencils now. There are acres and acres of good advertising space on the citizens of Auckland. Every idea sells — even t!.e bare idea.

The little lad is four years old. One morning recently he was enrolled as a pupil of a kindergarten. In the afternoon another little boy was enrolled, THE CHILD MIND, taking his place in class. The little lad, with a whole morning's experience, turned to tlie pupil at his elbow and inquired, "Who's the ['newie' in the red jersey!"