THE'PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 230, 28 September 1936, Page 6

THE'PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MAN ABOUT TOWN.) The raconteur looked in and remarked, "Stop me if you've heard this one. I don t know if it's true." The recorder maintained a discreet silence. There THE GO-GETTER, was a young fellow working for a large firm. He turned up to work every morning in a smart car. One day the boss saw him drive in and waylaid him. "You get two pounds ten a week, don't you?" he asked. "Yes," said the young fellow. "That your own car?" "Yes! "Paid for it?" "Yes." "But surely with your wages you could not afford to buy a car like that?"' "Oh, yes I could." "What —out of wages?" "Well, in a way, yes you see, there are about four hundred • people working for you and I raffle my wages among them at sixpence a ticket." The youivi man who was arrested in Auckland*dressed as a woman will irresistibly remind many people of Amy Bock, the astounding woman who QUEER FOLK, some years ago personated a man so remarkably that she induced another woman to marry her a remarkable story showing to what extremes a'berrant human beings will go in these bizarre matters. One happens to have known a lady who employed Amy Bock, the man impersonator, as a domestic servant in Xew Plymouth. She gave this extraordinary woman a remarkably good character, saying that she had during her employ never shown the slightest desire to personate the other sex. She was perfectly honest and worked so hard as a household help that her employer found it necessary to ask her to slacken off for fear her health v/ould suffer. There was only one Sassenach in the little party—the other four were Scots. Between the gulps the stories—all Scots stories told by Scots. The SasLOOKING AHEAD, senacli, necessarily silent, was nevertheless permitted td decide which among the stories was the best of the evening, and his decision was accepted. Jock and Jeanie got married. They went for a honeymoon five miles away from their own town. During the honeymoon Jock bought a sixpenny cake of chocolate —one of those cakes which may be. broken off into little divisions. He broke .off a division and gave it to his young wife. Then he carefully wrapped the other undivided piece up and put it in his pocket. Later Jean shyly asked for another piece of chocolate. And Jock said, "Xa! Na! Jean —we must keep the rest for the bairns."

It was inevitable in the bloodless political revolution which transformed New Zealand that many gentlemen, up to that time living in relative obscurity, beCONDESCENSION. came executive leaders of

large power. It was entirely excusable that these gentlemen having the power should assume much of the outward evidence of the same, indicating to the proletariat that a gracious condescension is part of the stock-in-trade of the great. It has been said that one who is newly great, duriirr a modest visit to a Southern constituency, appeared at a hotel almost without staff. At lunch time he was shown into the dining room by the landlord himself. As the eminent one enteral the room there was onlj' one man sitting at a table partaking of lunch. This man instantly rose. At once the great official waved his hand. "Don't rise," he said. "Don't rise—keep your seat. Never mind me!" And the man repiied almost rudely, "Can't a fellow reach for a sugar basin ?"

Scots distillers, it appears, will cease from sending bulk whisky to Now Zealand because the United States is a better- market and New Zealand trade WHISKY. doesn't pay so well.

There certainly are more throats in America thsn in these isles and they are yawning much nearer to Scotland. The matter is being dis-eussed among viveurs in Auckland, many of whom ask in a palefaced manner whether the embargo means that whisky will be unobtainable, whether-we must make our own—and so forth. One sought the nearest Scot. He was unexpectedly cheerful. "What will you do if you can't get whisky?" he was asked. "."Ah'll drink beer, as I always have," said he. Then one mentioned the hardened gentlemen who have for decades toddled from hostelry to hostelry taking a nip here and a tot there and a nobbier somewhere else between the hours of nine and six. And one said to the Scot. "It's a mystery to me how men can drink so much whisky and live so long." "That's why,"' said the Scot.

The amiable habit of anticipation among ourselves has been mentioned in the matter of hailing spring in the middle of winter, anticipating summer durSWAN SONG. ing spring and generally buying the winter trousers while spring is new. And it is locally noted that a white swan which has been in the Auckland Zoo for eight years has laid four eggs—her first ovarian'effort during all those years. As she is married, it ha,? been hoped that during the next few ensuing weeks a clutch, bevy or batch of cygnets will appear — the hope, the anticipation, the expectation common to us alv A foreign misanthrope, ! pessimist or mere nark might hold that the hen swan would within that time abandon the eggs, permitting the possible cygnets to die in their shells. It is within the bounds of reason that 110 cygnets inhabit the shells. The eggs may be addled, the swan may oversit, the weather may be unfavourable for swannery, some nefarious animal may destroy them, the swan herself may break them, the old man may regard them unfavourably, a thunderstorm could sweep them to oblivion, and all the wondrous trust and anticipatory expectancy of the people be nullified. Why not a few bets 011 the result—all or none — three out of four—two good ones and a couple of duds? It occurred to one as one watched the rain splashing down on the bank roof just outside the office window 011 Monday the first day of Summer Time that we MOVABLE might go further in arbiFEASTS. trary seasonal adjustments. Summer Time presumably stole along 011 Sunday night. It blew and did everything but snow, rained in torrents, thundered a bit, was cold as the nose of a Polar bear, and the first glad day of summer broke like a wet dish cloth frozen at the edges. Yes, one knows very well that it can't be avoided and that very likely before the eager public devours this page the sun will be drinking up the damps and the world will wag more warmly. But if the State can juggle with the calendar and push the clock about, why can't it juggle still further? Meteorologists can with reasonable accuracy predict the weather of the future. Why can't they pick a perfect day to be-iin summer with ? If scientists know that Monday. September 28, is to be a dud and that Monday, October 5, is bound to be a gorgeous ,blue and gold day, why not push the days 011, like they do the clock and let it go at that? Scientific Johnnies know precisely when the comet will come, when the sun will set. when the moon will rise, when the tides will be high or low —but not a single one of them knows enough to pick a good day for the opening chorus of summer. Let's move summer about a bit.