THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 271, 15 November 1937, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MEN ABOUT TOWN.)

Dear M.A.T., —I always read your little 'column before I settle down to the week-end accidents, Chinese war and racing news, and just lately have been inTRIPLE STAR, terested in the discussion on "Pacific's threefold star.*' We used to sing those verses in the far-off days at school, and although, of course, I may be wrong, I have always had the impression that these words refer to New Zealand itself, the "threefold," or "triple," whichever it is, referring to the three main islands—Xorth, South and Stewart. This is about the most straightforward explanation of the phrase, and don't you agree that it is a reasonable one? —Dominion.

i Some money was left under a will, the eldest of three brothers being appointed (trustee. After many years and after our j paternal Government had ' WHACKING purloined, grabbed and IT UP. otherwise felo niou a 1 y

' taken away—«s it is always regarded—an unconscionable amount of the brothers' patrimony, the sum of £400 was left for distribution. A meeting of the three beneficiaries was arranged in a hostelry to have a "pay-out." Mark you, these brothers were real cobbers, loving and trusting each other, you know, "sisters and brothers," and all that sort of thing. After consuming a few drinks—maybe eleven or eight—the- trustee produced what is vulgarly termed "a wad" of notes, rubber-banded in two packets, divided the £400 in half, and to the elder of the two brothers he handed one packet, saying: "Two for you two and two for me, too."—A.L.D.

I There have been several pars, in this column lately about fish, or fishing, and perhaps another little one wouldn't do any harm. Auck landers will have I ANOTHER ONE. noted the pacing last week at Flat Island, Great Barrier, of Mrs. Maud Forbes, who, with her husband, "Scotty"' Forbes, lived on the island for many years. Almost daily the pair were to be seen off the island fishing in a small boat, and at the stern eat a small fox terrier. He wa« the boon companion of the "Scotty" and Maud, and I have often thought what an opportunity was offered a photographer to win one of those cash prizes newspapers offer for the best photograph to go in a Christmas, number. The little terrier j would sit in the stern of the boat with line in his mouth fishing with the keenness of an Izaak Walton. With the patience of Job he would wait for bites and when he felt a decent tug he would get quite excited, and either Maud or "Scotty" would then take over the line.—Johnny.

The real philosophers of the community are not the fellows in Parliament. The talks in Wellington that fill the radio with strange sounds do no SUMMER. more than ruffle the sur-

face of things. The real thinkers are the fellows who sit about, here and there. Old chaps they are, for the most part, and down and out for the most part, too. But they have an odd fund of wisdom. They are to be found sitting any old where— on the wharf, on a park bench or anywhere where it is pleasant to just sit and think, or just sit. One of them talked to me about the rain that came along the other day to .interrupt the drought. The rain, he said, didn't mean that we were not going to have a drought this summer. The one very certain thing was that we were not going to have something very like a drought. How did he know that? Well, he didn't quite know how he knew it; all he knew was that he did know it. The seasons, in their mysterious cycles, had swung back to the good old days, when you got it straight in the neck during the winter time, and. if you dSdn't watch out, right in the back of the neck in summer time. In those good old days the summer was always fairly into its stride by the beginning of In f&ct all the populace that bathed (though mass and miscellaneous swimming was not as popular then as now) would be found rushing the beaches by the beginning of September. In recent years it had been well on towards Christmas* before there was any mass bathing to speak of. The habits of Ithe old days, however, were goin*r to return, |and the summer was going to last for about 'seven months. And for most of the seven •months we were going to have what, in \>w Zealand, passes as a drought. He didn't explain how he knew all this, but he was so confident about it that one felt he simply must know. So now you know, too. —B.O'X.

The painters and pa per hangers were in. The home was jii*t the ordinary type of fiveroomed shelter, and. like most homes, badly required renovating. It i THE INVADERS, was Monday when four men with buckets, stepladders and dirty-lookinry paint pots arrived. At 8 a.m. they were admitted to a spotlessly clean and tidy home. At 9 a.m. the place inside was a positive disgrace. Chairs, tables, pictures, carpets were either carried or dragged from one room to another, their places being filled by planks reaching across stepladders. Whole newspapers were spread about the floor and the home was in a terrible mess. Lengths of wallpaper were cut off the rolls, pasted and slapped on the walls as only real pa|>erhangers can do the job. That was in Xo. 1 bedroom. A couple of hours later the furniture was being carried or dragged back again. But to the men in the white overalls it mattered not. They had the family on the run. As fast as one room was papered, just so fast was another cleared. There seemed to be furniture everywhere. In the hall, in rooms, pictures and chairs were stacked in heaps. For two days the thrilling race between the family furniture shifters and the combined team of paperhangers and painters continued, but by a last desperate effort the invaders won with "something to spare," as the racing reports put it. As a matter of fact it was an easy win. The invaders departed on Tuesday night, but the family is «till engaged in restoring order. It is said three shifts equal one fire—but I am satisfied one invasion by house decorators equals a con-flagration.—-Johnny

A SAFETY SONG. We now approach, my friends, the silly season. When suicidal instincts seem to thrive; I really think that rabbits show more wisdom in their habits — They do at least attempt to keep alive. The poor pedestrian is not so nimble. And, disobeying- every safety sipn, Inconsequently scutters about between the putters. And never keeps within the dotted line. The motorist's contemptuous and lordly. Disclaiming senseless habits such as these. Yet when he takes the highway he seems to murmur. "My way Is just to drive ?s eraily as I please." He's never heard that patience is a virtue. And. heedless of imprisonment or fine. He treats a'l rules with scorn as he passes on blind corners. Though for his guidance there's a dotted line.

So be vou motorist or plain foot slogger. If you'd enlov these summer day« Remember that vour hurry may bring you heans of worry. And safety, in the lonsr run. alwavs Days. Don't make a rush at each congested crossing. Or on the highwnv try to cut a shine: The hospitals and lock-uns are full of smartv crock-uns Who didn't care to watch the dotted line. —SINBAD.