MOVING IN THE BEST CIRCLES

Press, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22195, 11 September 1937, Page 19

MOVING IN THE BEST CIRCLES

The Man Who Did Not See Canberra (BY REUBEN PETTYWEATHER IN THE "DIGEST OF WORLD READING."* i •

city without applying anywhere. Th« only directions I could see -were to this and that hotel. By this time I was becoming seriously alarmed. I got out of the car. and looked this way and that. There was not a car or a pedestrian in sight, and I came as near to falling on my knees and asking for guidance as I have in years. But I pulled myself together, and climbing back into the car shambled dispiritedly on. At last, for the sixth time, I en"countered the direction post of the Hotel Canberra. I followed it, to reach a noble pile with the atmosphere of an exclusive club. It was late in the lunch hour. I ordered a stiff brandy and soda, and made my way past a row of porters into a spacious dining room. Tottering to a chair, I sat down and sighed like a lost souL To me came promptly the head waiter, a very well groomed young man, with a pleasant American accent. He literally tucked me in with a table napkin half as big as a small table cloth. He could see I was in extremis. "Could you . . . could you please tell me the way to the Civic Centred" I asked. He looked at me in some concern. "Stranger?" he suggested. "Right," I said. "I am. Is it a disgrace to be a stranger?" "No, but this city is kinda hard on strangers," he said. "I am one myself, and, sir, although I'd be mighty glad to help you. I sure couldn't. But a nice lunch will cheer you up, sir. Then I'll try to find someone who might . . ." I felt in my pocket Yes, at * pinch, I could afford to stay the night. A pretty waitress brought me soup. "Could you tell me which is the wayout to Sydney?" I asked. "No, sir, I'm sorry,** she came here two months ago in the dark one early morning, but I've newer been out except with some gentlemen. friends, and I never know where we are going." "Oh!" I said, apologetically. "I have no right to pry into your private affairs." I gobbled up my lunch, paid the score, and fairly rushed to file door, picking up a porter on the way. "You could not, by any chance, tefl me the way out to Sydney?"* . "Stranger? Ah, I thought so. Now, if you keep going tp the right from here, and take the next turning to the right but one . . . well, it may be third to the right. . .** I threw myself into the car, and made four more swift circuits of the city without getting anywhere. Then I turned down a long, straight road and pulled up beside a covey of elderly ladies with a brood of children. Shakily, I took off my hat "Could you, by any chance, tell me the way to Sydney?" The elder of the two ladies was very sweet; Tm afraid we are strangers,** she said, "and, as a matter of fact, we hardly know where we are going ourselves." I tottered off again, moaning to myself: "This means I will never see any wife and little children again. Alack! Alack! To finish like this! Supposing I get marooned out here with no petrol!" On my left a vicarage came into view. I pulled up and staggered up the garden path. Something like a bloodhound leapt from behind a bush with a roar, and I just narrowly beat it over the garden gate. Coming leisurely down the road was a baker's cart. "Thank God! Saved!** I said. I was shaking with fright as Z hailed the baker. "Baker," I drooled, "eouM you please tell me the way out to Sydney?" He moved a straw from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, and grinned. "Turn round and go back the way Vou came. Don't take the road to Yass, which lies right ahead of you, but I think (mark you), that iFs the first turn to the right. I've been here twelve years, but I sometimes get lorst meself."

Canberra, Australia's capital, is a planned city—a city of curves and circles, where little houses are not permitted to rub shoulders with big houses—and the occupants take their cue from their dwellings. One has to follow the right curve to leave Canberra; evidently the right curve is not easy to choose.

I tried to thank him, but all I could manage was a hoarse croak. I leapt