THE PASSING SHOW.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue LXIX, 21 September 1938, Page 10

THE PASSING SHOW.

(By THE MEN ABOUT TOWN.)

Three men were out fishing in the harbour when their boat was suddenly capped by a wave and sank. They started to ■*»»»*« the shore. The ftret man, THREE MEN. a Communist, couldn't keep hie mouth ehut, anrt was drowned. TH* second, a Nazi, kept on Win* the "Heil, Hitler" ealute. He was drowned. The third, a waterside worker, continued to swim strongly and had nearly reached the Queen's wharf when the twelve o clock whistle blew at the Ferry Building. He I promptly knocked off.—lslefont.

He wae very inebriated when he boarded the tram, but instead of the proverbial crayfish had a large sponge sandwich. One of thosa covered with powdered THE SPONGE, «ugar. He sat. contentedly munching, until the conductor came round for his fare, then placed it on the seat. The very superior person edged further away and glared at him. The other paseengere smiled. Still happily munching, he beamed around and offered her a piece with, ["ItVh quite fresh, madam." In a frosty voice, "Certainly not." she said, but, unabashed, he murmured. "Orl riV Having reached his stop, he lurched upright, and as the tram jerr.wl, deposited the remainder of the sandwich in hi* companion's lap. As a joke is always on the other person, we all smiled.—Cheerio.

Xo *aday* the sales staff In any shop, remembering the fine old motto of British trade that "the customer is always right," is expected to jro further in LONDON TIME, providing service. Saleswomen are asked all sorts of questions by people on the other aide of the counter. One of the most unusual t*a*ers, I think, came out the other day in town. "Can you tell me," asked the customer —a woman, of course —"what time it ie in London now?" The girl behind the counter felt that thie wa« rather out of her line. She went off to consult the departmental manager. He didn't know what the clocks were savin? in London, either. Eventually they wafted the inquirer off in the direction of the C.P.O. The postal ]>ooplp. they assured her, kept the most Accurate information on matters of that kind. The woman wont off. apparently quite satisfied. The departmental manager mopped his I brow.—Johnnv.

"Marjrery B." write* wondering if the average hired domestic is domesticated these days, and speaks of a story she once heard. In the first place, we were SNAPPY WORK, not aware that domestics

were able to l.e hired at all unless the employer produced some reference as to character, ability to pay a fortune. et«. But to proceed. The story she telU is about a domestic who was secured from the waybaeks to work in a country town, and after many moons had so far advanced in her job "that her mistress could «l>enk to her normally. Came a time when the mistress ww looking over a camera and it* mysterious gadgets, talking to Alice the while." adept at conversation. she said, "Do you take snaps at all; Alice V , Whereupon Alice says to her. she say*. "So, mum, but I likes a beer occasional." » Domesticated? J Sophisticated? Well, I don't know, but if you ask me it was pretty snappy work.— M.8..5.

Geoff, strolls into the office this morning, and, beaming with smiles, tells a etory of Herr Hitler which someone hfld passed along

to him. The story goes THE "SWINE. ,, that Herr Hitler was out

driving in the country. and with htm in his stately car were the usual military dinghies who tail behind. As the car turned a bend in a road it ran over and killed a pig belonging to a strujrTlinjr farmer (there is n<. other kind of farmer). The Fuehrer instructed his Chief-of-Staff to go to the farmer and express his regret, and to do the decent thine and pay him the value of the pig. The Chief-of-Staff went away, to return a little later carrying a large basket on each arm. In the baskets were various fruits, half a dozen chickens, and an assortment of vegetables. Herr Hitler asked the meaning of the jrifts. "Well," said his Chief-of-Staff. "I said to the farmer. 'Heil. Hitler. , He snid. 'Heil. Hitler. , I said, 'The swine m dead.' He looked very happy and insisted on me taking these things, and I believe he would have given me the farm could I have carried it away." PITCHED BATTLES.

When the Australian Eleven played a match recently in Ireland against the gentlemen of Dublin they received a gentle snub from a prominent Erin gentleman who said that "cricket was a foreign game—in fact it wae not a game at all!"

In Pat'a accented style he Ts shunninsr like a babe The wrone: 'uns of O'Reilly. The cloutinps of McCabc. How little does he reason The fun the game affords. Or realise his treason To Nottingham or Lords! The Aussie Isn't troublin' O'er whisperings bv which. The srentlemen of Dublin Could ever queer a Ditch. For T>lnylner fields of Eton Undoubtedly purloin The credit for defentin' The fellers of. the Boyne. — B.C.H. The hero worship which very small hoys lavish on. their fathers i« a natural and proper thing, but there are times when it can be awkward. Take the case RUBBISH. of little Bill, who is three or thereal>outs. Bill's father i« in the carrying line. He is one of those fellows who goee about in a big truck moving things in hulk. Down the road there i« a sort of depot where goods from one route are dumped to be transferred to truck* on another route. Here there are alwaye plenty of big drums of petrol, and there are always trucks bringing more drums and other truck* taking drums away. Young Bill had watched this operation with absorbing intereet, and then, in an inventive moment, had worked out a scheme of operations for himself. Of course, he. like dad. has a truck. Tt is quite a large truck for a small boy. and Bill hauls it all over the place. Mum noticed that the usual n«sortment of rubbish on the truck had given place to assortments of tin cans, for Bill had <!one into the petrol-carrying business. Tt was ■i good thing for all the neighbours. Every so often Bill trundled his truck round the houses of nearly the whole block, and was rewarded Mt nearly every one with an empty tin or two. Tt was a fine thing for the householders—it reduced the problem of what to do with old tins to the complete minimum. Bill's depot was down the backyard. The trouble was that, unlike the big depot v.lipre dad wa«. there was no taking away from Bill's depot. Tins just accumulated and'accumulircd. W>.Pn dad woke up to it there was a pile sufficient, to load a man-sized truck. At first Bill objected strenuously to the removal of thf tins, but when he was convinced that that was the sort of thing that was done at a real depot, he climbed joyously on to the big truck while <lad loaded the tins aboard one Smidav morning to take them to the local rubbish dump. Xow Bill is accumulafHi£ more tins, and it looks ae if his dad is go*» 7 to be a sort of honorary rubbieh man for the district till young Bill finds a new hobby.— RO'N.