SAUSAGES AND PEARS

Evening Star, Issue 20346, 30 November 1929, Page 21

SAUSAGES AND PEARS

[Written by Jur Stroup, for the ‘ Evening Star. ’]

“Daddy, dear,” said Wiffles, as I prepared for my daily journey_ to the city, “ I wonder would you mind . . . (I have never heard anyone in my life get as much real sozzly music behind her requests as Wiffles) “ I wonder would you mind bringing some nice fresh sausages when you come home for lunch? Oh, and daddy, if you see any nice ripe pears .. .” "Right you are, Wiffs,” I said, as I kissed her alluring voice-exit, and rushed for the city-bound car. I don’t believe the man is born who caii resist Wiffles. All the same, I wished she hadn’t asked me to bring home ... Great Scot! What was it she said?? Mutton chops and bananas? No! What in the name of . . . Oh, got it. Sausages and pears. I felt worried all the morning. I looked worried. I jolly well was worried. I drafted no less than seven letters to various customers advising each of them of the pleasure it would give us to quote them sausages in 21b lots at from 72s per ton, f.o.b. Our chief clerk smilingly called my attention to the unusual quotations, accepted the corrections, and suggested an aspro. I adorned several scribbling pads and my blotter with grotesque pictures of sausages and pears, and my shirt cuffs advertised every butcher and fruiterer in the city. I must not forget those sausages. I would not forget them.

1- made up little rhymes and composed songs about them; and at 11.30 Tom Mason came in the office to see if I would go round for a game of howls in the afternoon. We enthused about bowls for half an hour, and I forgot all about the mutton —er, sausages and pears. I barely 'left myself time to catch the lunch car, when I suddenly remembered' them. I rushed into a fruiterers, bought 21b of over-ripe pears, and dashed madly into a butcher’s.

The butcher had just got the first paper round 21b of wriggly little sausages when i heard the car coming. I grabbed up the parcel and flew for it.

Why, 0 why doesn’t the Government introduce legislation to prohibit the use of paper bags for over-ripe pears; or compel cold, wet, wriggly, clammy sausages to be encased in cement or metal caskets? If only the present Government would rise to the occasion the people of this country would rise up and call it blessed. Tt would certainly have achieved something, At present! Well! 1 Pardon the digression. My feelings overcame me. I continue.

I rushed for the car, swishing overripe pears all over the street. I heard a flop and a scream behind me, and glanced over my shoulder as I ran to see a stout lady sitting in the middle of the tar-seal gesticulating wildlv; a big car skidding on to the safety zone, and a traffic cop doing a jazz tango on my escaped pears. Well, nobody but a conjurer could hold 2lh of over-ripe pears, plus 21b of ditto sausages and 3in of rotten paper in his bare bands with success. I arrived in the car with one paperless pear and fourteen paperless sausages. I looked round frantically for a seat, for I doubt if even a clover conjurer could juggle with escaping sausages and over-npo pears and hang on to a strap at the same time. There wasn’t a seat to he had. The conductor squashed his way in and demanded my ticket. I gave him a sausage. He got quite cross, so I gave him the pear. Both gifts were quite unintentional, but he wouldn’t believe me. The car started with a sudden forward leap, and ten sausages escaped into a lady’s lap. She Jet out a scream (I think she thought they were alive), and distributed them all over the ear. There wasn’t a hope of rescuing them. It would have been suicide to try. They were immediately trampled under feet, and serve them jolly well right., I- slipped the three remaining sausages into an unsuspecting straphanger’s pocket and heaved a sigh of relief. “Daddy,” inquired, Wifffes, when we had exchanged midday greetings, “ Where’s the sausages and—” “ Forgot 'em. Wifi's, old girl,” T said solemnly. “ Can’t we manage on bread and cheese?” We did.