THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 117, 20 May 1938, Page 6

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By JHE MEN ABOUT TOWN.) Thoee who Bave occaelon to travel have often waxed furious at the custom which prevails particularly in Xew Zealand and Australia of tipping, rvnd A HINT. every trip invariably end^ with the traveller vowing never to give tipe again. But those vows are .seldom kept intact. One chap, however, was a determined cusa, and felt that many of the ships' stewards were better off than he, and as lie never asked for assistance when boarding a steamer or going ashore he felt that if anyone grabbed his suitcase and carried it to I the wharf shed, then they could do it for ;nothing. He arrived at a city hotel the other day carrying two suitcases. These he placed on' the floor while he booked in at the office. Handed the key to his room, he looked round to find a porter making for the lift with the suitcases. The lift stopped at the second floor, the porter dashed along the corridor, opened the door of the bedroom of the gueet. and neatly placed the luggage down. "Thank you," said the guest. "Yes," replied the porter, "and, by the way, if you should lose your purse while yon are in Auckland you want to remember you didn't pull it out here." —Johnny.

Xow that "Johnny" has introduced the name of Mr. F. K. Hunt into this column one can with confidence expect further references to our respected retired WITH FULL magistrate. Friday's HONOURS, maintenance Court, known unofficially as "Agony Day," will lose much of its glamour 5 as at ;result" of the retirement, for Mr. Hunt, apart from his other many virtues, was the greatest judge of mothers-in-law in Auckland. More than one young couple who had appeared before him with the object of obtaining a legal severance of connubial obligatioh has departed from his. Court with broader views and with hie last exhortations ringing in their ear drums. On one occasion a certain husband who had defaulted in hie maintenance payments pleaded that he was able only to eke out an existence. "What's your job?" said the S.M. "I'm a bottle gatherer," said the witness. The reply f>f "F.K." -was tyrical. "Well, if you don't stop leathering full ones I'll send vou up to the "Hill , for a month." — B.C.H. A note wa« given the other day about the remarkable manner in which King John, no lover of simplified spelling, managed to write "usage" without SPELLING. using one of the letters that make up the word nowadays. He wrote it "yowzitch." A correspondent sends an anecdote of Richard Steele. When a friend ventured to remonstrate with him on his bad spelling he wrote: "Scholars may spell as they think fit, but for my part I am content to spell like a gentleman." A specimen of such gentlemanly spelling in attributed to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who wrote: "We are all extremely affected for the lose of the Prince of Whales. I cannot form to myself any idea of a person more miserable than the Princess of Whales must me."—"touchstone. The entomological world, according to the Hon. D. G. Sullivan, is full of surprises. It is. The other day a car proceeding along a city street stopped so CHAOS. suddenly that a following car bumped it. and there was a crumpling of mudguards and a heated argument. I was the only one present who knew that it was all caused by a fly. This is the way it happened. A dog, a mediumsized yellow monjrrel, was lying at full stretch snoozing in the snn on the pavement. To the dog the traffic didn't matter. The people dodged this way and that —some actually stepped over him—and he just snoozed on, occasionally opening an eye to take a languid look at the world. He stretched luxuriously. His forepaws were sticking right out in front of him and his tail was stretched straight out I behind. A fly—just the ordinary house type jof pest —settled on an ear. The ear twitched and the fly moved on. but passed so close to the dog's nose that his whiskers must have [registered its presence. He made a snap at it. The a.bnipt action altered his body position slightly. In particular his tail moved from the straight-back position to a slight angle with his body. That happened just in time to put the tail in the line of the wheel of a pushchair. The wheel went over the tail. Then things happened quickly. The dog yelped and jumped. The woman pushing the baby carriage jumped so violently that the baby was all but tipped into the roadway. The motorist seeing a child apparentlv beiivr precipitated in front of his wheels, stood hard on the brakes. The motorist who was. following didn't step hard enough or fast enough. jThe rear motorist blamed the one in front. The one in front blamed the woman. The woman blamed the dog. Xobody blamed the I f!v which was the real cause of all the bother. —B.O'X.

I was in a tobacconist's shop this morning: when another customer dropped in. The girl behind the counter took a tin of tobacco from a shelf and pa?«ed it over, PASSING ALONG, remarking, "You usually com* in* on Thursdays— you muet have been goins* easy thie week." was a habit developed over a period of years and rarely broken. We all develop haWts and do the same thinsrs day after day. We leave home every morninjr at the same time, walk the same streets, catch the eame tranicar, bus or boat, do tlie same job. and our daily routine varies so little thajs it doesn't matter. Some men are sittinir calendars. In one suburb the workers watched every morning through the windows for Mr. X. to come along , . Mr. X. had parsed down the street every day for years. H;; was the centre of a domestic time system that never went wroni —never except once. That day he didn't jro past. Everybody in his street was late for I toil, and the host of people who regarded him jas Time it-olf went wrong—at the home of I Mr. X. the blind.; of tho window-; were drawn. ! —Johnnr.

LESS THAN THE DUST. I am a wicked journalist, a pestilential ?"v. Wlio will persist ia throwing , mud in Mr. Nash's eye. I find myself reluctant, too. to sins: in Mickey's r>rai?e. Or to set down in black and white each burning , Semnle phrase. They tell their tale in touching tones that ought to brins , a tear. But I'm an outcast reprobate that simply will not cheer. I ousrht to join the chorus and applaud them to the sskies — I'm lower than a lizard's legs, because I criticise. I do not hold the view that should be h'eld by everyone. That Mickey and his colleagues are the moor.. the stars, the sun. That is an error grave enough: but wickedly I go And seek to magnify my fault by plainly saying so. On my excursions into print. I take a grim delight In hinting that the Government may not be always right. Small wonder, then, that I've lost caste in Mr. Nash's eyes. For having the temerity his works to criticise. Let every true-blue journalist repent his wicked ways. And join the barnyard chorus of wellregimented praise. If you have doubts, suppress them now. and see that you are bent On every day. in even - way. to cheer the Government. And bring about a state o'£ things when Wa'ter may rejoice To hear the Pre?s of Maoriland speak with a single voice Alone, alas. I'll then remain, too lonely to despise: For Walter does not care for me. because I criticise. —SIXBAD.