THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 208, 2 September 1932, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) The young Manawatuvian has come to Auckland with his parents, and, after seeing the wonders, his elders have been curious to ascertain what he tninKs THE CHILD MIND, of the city. So he wis asked, "Well, Colin, which town do you like the better?" And Colin, thinking deeply, said, "I like Auckland, hut Palmerston Norf is the best—in Palmerston Norf you could' lie down in the middle ot cue street, but if vou lie down in the middle of the street in Auckland somefing runs oyer the top of you." Apparently every town has its distinctive charm. These dog lovers! There are those who cook chicken for Fido and are astounded and hurt to find l (, ido in a nasty backyard feasting sumptuously on a bone A DOG'S LIFE, long past its grand climateric. There are those who riohtly or wrongly feel that their pets should luxuriate in all the comforts of civilisation, and a cherished official is one. He has a very nice dog with a spotless ancestry. He felt that such a dog should have a better home than a pile of newspapers in the corner ot tne was'hliouse, and lie therefore spent many successive Saturday afternoons building a lovely kennel. It is a double-storeyed kennel, the official feeling that there should be a bone department in the basement and a dormitory above. It was a red-letter Saturday when the last shavings were cleared away and B°nzo introduced to liis new home. The base of the dwelling was baited with a meaty bone, and Bonzo led to it. He viewed the bungalow with insufferable hauteur, dug the bone out- of the front hall, and returned to the rear of the asli heap to gnaw it. The heart-broken official, the meal being over, took Bonzo in leash and led him back "to his new bungalow. He tied him up with a bit of clothes line so that he could get a near view of his lovely home. Bonzo bit the rope through and slept in the lee of the fowl shed. Successive attempts have since been made to make a gentleman do£ of Bonzo, and he has at last been induced to conform to convention by sleeping on the root of the exquisite home. He will do anything in reason, but he /won't go inside.

Missionaries are at; work on the outside fringe of New Guinea, where the heathen in his lias temporarily given up his idols of wood and stone A BAG OF GOLD, and where head-hunting close to the wharf is no longer the daily pastime. In the interior, however —but there. One is reminded partial civilisation by a hews picture of a missionary who is again in Australia accompanied by a very husky New Guinea native, bare-legged and bare-footed, but with an excellent white man's best overcoat on. The black man is carrying a large bunch of spea.rs the property of the missionary-—all missionaries being men of .peace. One often wonders why missionaries seem to love these nasty things so much that they hang them in their front halls. But the real point of the picture is that- the black servant is carrying the missionary's gold in his right hand. The flax bag containing the gold is about as large as two sugar bags—and is full! The man is carrying it with ease. If that bag was really full of gold it would weigh at least four hundredweight, would bust the bag, and no living nigger coulcl carry it suspended from one hand. One merely wonders what missionaries want with gold, seeing that they take no thought for the morrow. The ease with which the dark gentleman is carrying a fifth of a ton of nuggets reminds one that in fiction any nine-stone pirate hops over pin rooks in his bare feet carrying anything from five hundredweight to a ton of pieces of eight, moidores or spade guineas.

In order that we may get on with the slump, Rational Governments are nowadays commoner, the design being to apply the combined forces of politics to OVER-WORKED the public good rather M.P.'S. than to the general good of parties. Times have been when politicians, necessarily owing their places to a party, were actually over-worked in exhibiting samples of good deeds negotiable for votes. "There was the case of a truly excellent M.P., who, representing a vast district, was to be often found shoeing the horses (free gratis and for nothing) of remote settlers. In time, of course, it became known that the M.P. was a good farrifer and settlers centralised a horse depot so that when the good politician came along he should not be disappointed. One learns that the settlers petitioned the Government for a travelling forgo to accompany the M.P. Then there was a goldenhearted politician who often arrived on his visits to voters on washing days and might not only be seen at the washtub of a favourite constituent, but even hanging out the snowy linen.'- It is understood that one lady with at least four votes in the house once asked 'him if he had brought his own soap. In those days a politician dare not lose any chance of added popularity. One favourably-remembered M.P. who served liis constituents remarkably well for many years Was strolling along one day, permitting the untaxed sun to shine on him gratis, when a funeral overtook him. The deceased had been unknown to him, but, of course, an invitation to his funeral was hardly necessary. He halted the cortege and joined one of the cars, explaining to the mourners who lie was and chatting cheerily. On the way some workers engaged in making a large hole in the road noted their M.P. and waved to him. He stopped the funeral, spent a bright five minutes with his clayey electors, rejoined the cortege, and went to the funeral of the man whom he had never seen in life.

The average man who enters a vast emporium, obtaining a bird's-eye view of scores of charming young ladies at the receipt of custom, imagines* that as THE CUSTOMER, he stutters out his request for a pair of lady's silk stockings, the concentrated gaze of the whole bevy is on him. In reality nobody cares a bit except the wife for whom he is buying them. A man tells M.A.T. that 'he once invaded a great store which reaches its windows towards the sky. He had a purchase to make and felt like a lost soul on the wrong side of the Styx. A tall and exquisitelyattired man leapt out and crossed his path, making a low bow, desiring to be informed of the gentleman's wants. "Where can I get corrugated iron?" he asked respectfully. "Take the lift, sir." "Oh, I'd rather walk," said the customer. "Take the lift, sir," insisted the tall gentleman, and shepherded him towards it. "Fourth floor, turn to the left, and you will see the iron department." The potential purchaser arrived and found a studious gentleman surrounded with inks, pens, catalogues and many other evidences of trade. "Corrugated iron? Certainly!" With a deft finger lie ran down the official list, mentioning the price per ton, the price per half-ton, the price for first quality, • the price for second quality. The feeling of that customer was that innumerable eyes were on him to see how many tons he was about to buy. "How much would you like?" asked the official. "Oh, I only want a sheer," said he, feeling exactly like the gentleman in the dock as the jury comes in. As a matter of fact, not a soul from the tenth storey to t'he basement batted an eyelid, and the man left the emporium exhilarated and thankful that he might buy sixpennyworth or six hundred pounds' -worth without the staff fainting. He says the unmoved attitude of the store officials has strengthened him. He has made up his mind to step smartly up to a chemist's counter aoid demand a baby's feeding bottle without fear.