THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 286, 3 December 1930, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN'ABOUT TOWN.) The point that we are not really in business so much for the sake of our pockets as'for- the sake of the other fellow has been expressed by a Rotarian lecturer. Professor Fitt, dealing with the psychological relations between master ancl man, mentioned the charming Rotarian custom of celebrating a brother Rotarian's birthday (should it occur on a meeting day), drinking his health and making him feel glad. The point that the gentleman whose birthday is being celebrated is lined one pound (the same being put to charitable uses) possibly might very justly deter members from having more than one birthday per annum. The lecturer, in furtherance of the nice design of brotherhood between master and man, suggested that the masters should recognise an employee's birthday by giving him a holiday. But of course the lecturer did not suggest that in such a case the employee should be fined a pound for being boni, with successive annual fines. One imagines a staff of several hundreds taking their Rotarian holiday seriatim. Some would unhappily ha/ve Sunday, a Bank holiday, Good Friday or Christmas birthdays, and some psychological panacea would have to be found to make justice triumph. However, in these better times when employees really do seem to be Bigger Brothers it is nice to remember that in the bad old days working days were seven days a week. The stated fact that a single Malolo diner may consume among other delicacies one dollar's worth of frog's legs at a sitting may or may not cause a new industry in this country, where Jigg's diet is much, more popular. A friendly London scribe tells M.A.T. that unconventional tucker is quite as common in London as on the Malolo. The Cockney calls it "dining zoologically." He has tasted bear steak, and says you'd hardly know it for bear because it is so doctored with rich and piquant sauces as to disguise the Rocky Mountain flavour. He mentions frogs' legs as being really a corker feed, but that, having tried that French delicacy, the snail, he found it very like a strip of old mackintosh soaked in garlic and butter. He wants to know what has became of the roast kid of olden times and longs for rook pie once again. Few aristocrats, however, have eaten horse, and here M.A.T. claims superiority. The horse is indubitably a clean feeder. Rendered into soup he is not too bad, but a steak (a dark-brown steak) from an old troop horse or a draught aged nineteen is not so much. He is a veteran whose business in life is to confer brooms, brushes, besoms and other domestic scrubbers on housewives. He was interestingly communicative to M.A.T., for he goes to thousands of houses in the course of a year. He mentioned that on a recent morning he espied a charming little cottage in a hill suburb. He clim'bed the hill, hoping that the lady of the house might care to buy a broom. On arrival he discovered that the house was untenanted and wondered why, because it was so charmingly situated., There were, however, in the vicinity a lady and gentleman who were discussing the advisability of buying the place. "A very nice little possie," said the man. ''About as good a bit of scenery as you'd find in-the Auckland Province." "Yes," said the lady, looking down into a gentle little valley which was part of the section, "but I don't think we will buy it. We'd have to clear up all that rubbish!" The rubbish referred to was a piece of charming young bush containing among other rarities kauri rikas, rata, totara and fifty other kinds of young trees which grow scarcer and scarcer in the neighbourhood. It is hardly necessary to add that the lady was one hundred per cent New Zealand. Somebody really ought to put e the slogan "New Zealand First" on the air.

MASTER" AND MAN.

COOKHOUSE DOOR.

RUBBISH HEAP.

The lion is a cat. A cat catches rats. Therefore a lion, being feline, should catch rats. The scene is the Zoo. The lions are being fed. A lioness has eaten sufficiently, but has not cleaned up her dining room. There remain considerable fragments about her and between her paws. She pretends to be asleep. A rat strolls out from Ms eyrie in the rocks, makes a perfectly calm reconnaissance, and takes a piece of meat from between the paws of the lioness. Several other rats with equal nonchalance come out and help themselves to the lioness' -share. Shows the cheek of the rat tribe. The rat is a naked and unashamed thief. Reverse the situation. Imagine a rat, having dined, lying down half asleep and three or four lions or lionesses stealing into the dining room and helping themselves to stolen cheese. If the rat were 'as big a fool as the lion the astute rat tribe would, have been as dead as the dodo long before Adam was born. American people of the United States, habituated to baked clams, corn pone and fried chicken, have, it eeems, only just discovered that toheroas are worth while. Auckland people have introduced Malolo millionaires to the thick, green soup. There will, one surmises, be an unassuaged market in Millionaire Row for canned toheroa. The toheroa has invaded London. The Prince of Wales, with real native oysters and toheroas, disdains the oyster and calls for our speciality. H.R.H. was, indeed, the ambassador of toheroas to the Court of St. James. What is remarkable about the shellfish is its energising qualities. The ancient Maori tribe which dined on toheroas,-bounding out to meet rivals who had merely supped on fernroot, necessarily won the battle. Christmas is coming, and mother, aunt or the girl can't very well give a man a walking stiok. It used to be the universal gift for men, but now only cripples and officers of our skeleton forces carry one. A correspondent tells M.A.T. that the walking stick has disappeared before the onslaught of' tlie motor car. Still, it has its uses. You can point with it, lean on it when addressing a Iriend, collect thousands of it, as Sir Gerald du Maurier, the actor, does, or use it as a weapon of offence or defence. Few men remember that the walking stick is merely the successor to the sword. When men gave up wearing swords they took to walking sticks. One knows a most inoffensive gentleman aged eighty-five who habitually carries a sword stick. He has carried it since 1865, and hopes to be carrying it in 1945. He has never killed anything but time with it. That eminent fecout, Lord Baden-Powell, mentions the walking stick as a weapon of defence and advises the owner to poke with it and not slash. But the six or eight walking sticks carried in Auckland are nearly all shod with a rubber button, making the- lunge of the intending slayer rather a feeble affair.

LION'S SHARE.

GREEN SOUP.

THE STICK.

THE CHILD MIND. Asked to write a composition about the camel, a little girl attending a suburban school penned the following: "A camel has pads on lus feet. The pads are to keep the sand of fche desert from tickling, the camel'e feefc/ .