PERSONALITY OF THE WEEK.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue LXI, 12 July 1930, Page 8

PERSONALITY OF THE WEEK.

Mr. J. T. F. Mitchell, one of the two joint presidents of the Auckland Winter- Show, has been for the past two years president of the Auckland A. and P. AssoNO. 161. ciation. He is manager of Messrs. Wright and Stephenson and is to retire soon, after thirty years' service with the firm. Mr. Mitchell is Consul for Sweden at Auckland. Yes, he is in the 'fifties, although he looks younger, possibly because he doesn't worry, is eventempered and dislikes argument. Grannie is very old and very old-fashioned. She is not absolutely in tune with the young harum-scarums who have outlived Victorian days and who make a SEATS FOR TWO. jollyday : of Sunday. Her young" grandson lately built (with the necessary kerosene cases) what is called a trolley. He trundled the ■vehicle into his grandmother's presence. To his father he said. "Now you'E be able to wheel grannie to church, dad!" And grannie for all her age, retorted like a flash, "Very well, I'll go to church in the'trolley if you come to church, too!" "Dear M.A.T., —A young ir.arried man many years ago had an experience of drinks with a "kick" in them.. He had only been running in double harness a fortMORE BEVERAGE, night and one evening left his wife with her parents, who were keenly teetotal. The young married men went into a small shop in the city and get a bottle of cider under the idea it was a teetotal drink. He enjoyed the cider so much that he had several glasses before he started for home. He remarked to the vendor that it would take a lot of. cider to make a man drunk. Imagine his horror when the reply he received was: "Well, you must be pretty well seasoned to carry what you have drunk. About half tlr.t quantity would knock me off my feet." Wildly that young man rushed to get his wife out of her parents' house before the. cider got to work on his equilibrium. It was not until he reached his own home and was tired of waiting to become drunk that he told the storv to his wife.—F.B.

Dear M.A.T., —Have you the local address of an ex-resident of a Chicago down-town district who still retains his ga.t, his quickness on the draw and.the deGUNMAN WANTED, sire to renew the joys of of his youth? I desire the gentleman's services in *his professional capacity. To the gang in the smoke cabin I had expressed my belief that Britain would win the first Test. The national equilibrium having been restored by Wellington and Canterbury, my declaration was received with chuckles and "more water with it," "two medical men," etc., from the ever-present trite humorists. But a lone "Pommie," sitting in natural isolation at the far end, looked over his paper and threw me a look of beatific gratitude. M.A.T., it was almost a look of love! The dire result being duly received, I suffered an eclipse. Ostracism Avasn't the word. For a time I was as popular as Trotsky would be at an Auckland Chamber.of Commerce meeting. The "Pommy," however, pressed his unread "Daily Mirror" into my hand in passing. The correct forecast of the second Test restored my social standing and caused the "Pommy" to give me the woman scorned look. Since then my fame as a prophet has spread. Furtivelooking men sidle up alongside and casually inquire my opinion as to who will win the third Test. A stout gentleman, supporting a ! perfect cigar, greeted me quite jovially, inquired after my health, and the missis and kids' ..health, gave nie a twin of the aforesaid Perfecto —and 'Who will win the third Test?" Speed maniacs whizzing by sight me, haul Elizabeth back on her haunches, and again the same question. Cops, conductors, captains and privates of industry, they are all on the same game. And without exception they always ask with the left hand upright on the right side of the mouth and nose. This action will simplify matters for my Chicao-o friend. Every person who accosts me and makes that sign are sections of his contract. The stout chaps will serve excellently to brins his form to concert pitch. And someone said "A prophet is without honour in his own country."—Regards, Pr.y Jay. Dear M.A.T.,—I read with avidity your pathetic reference to the teetotal Australian victualler who kept pure water in a gin bottle, partaking of small quanNECTAR. titles. when customers treated him, accepting the money for the same. I met your teetotal victualler in Pretoria, Paraguay the south of England, Bombay, SwanhiU, Moosejaw, and elsewhere. He is dead now. He died of shock when a customer demanded gin out of the same bottle the landlord used.—Juniper. A THOUGHT FOR TO-DAY. The art of quotation requires more delicacy in the practice than those conceive who can see nothing more in a quotation than an extract. —Isaac Disraeli. i