BY THE WAY

Evening Star, Issue 21880, 17 November 1934, Page 2

BY THE WAY

in, x.f.] ‘ The lime has come," the Walrus said, “ Tn talk of many things.” As a general rule the confirmed pedestrian looks upon the confirmed motorist as something more than a confirmed nuisance. Ho realises, of course, that the motorist, while not actually motoring, is a normal, and more often than not, quite a likeable individual. Even during his sessions at the wheel, moreover, the motorist has opportunities of proving himself human in the estimation of him who pursues the slower gait of “ Shanks’s pony,” That lift into town from the far suburbs, for instance, or the timely rescue from the footboard of a cable tram, represent occasions when the pedestrian becomes, for the nonce, motor-minded. After all, there is so much good in the worst of usIndeed, the tide of favour is turning. Motorists are no longer regarded as the. only nuisances in the streets. In the eyes of the law pedestrians also are capable of offending. Only the other day some of them were fined by a northern magistrate for creating an obstruction in the street. In our opinion, it is high time something of the sort was done. True, most of us do not expect to have the full expanse of the pavements all to ourselves, but we well know that groups of pedestrian loiterers or gossipers can be a more pronounced nuisance than a dozen motorists who incur the wrath of traffic inspectors by leaving their cars parked for longer than fifteen minutes. We hope, however, that, in this country of curious laws and by-laws, an extreme antinedestrian spirit does not creep into the legislation. * * * * Our remarks on curious laws appear to be borne out by perusal of the statements made in a recent hookmaking prosecution in the Police Court. Therein we read that the offender, who was fined £IOO for carrying on an unlawful business, had been taxed by the Government on his earnings from that same unlawful source of income. We are given to 1 understand, moreover, that in such cases the books of the' taxpayer are actually _ inspected by an official, and that he is faced with the payment of both income tax and unemployment tax. It would seem, therefore, that, while one Government department is waiting to catch a hookmaking offender, another department is aware all the time of what is going on. And, further, it is clear that still another Government department, to wit, the Post and Telegraph Department, is actually assisting the violator of the law to build up his profit—whether it is acutely' aware of the fact or not.

The position, in toto, reveals either a hopeless muddle or the shrewdest piece of inter-departmental co-operation it would be possible to imagine. On the one hand, we have at least two departments working against each other; if the other view is taken, we have all three working harmoniously in adding to the national revenue. The Post and Telegraph' Department provides the “ bookie ” with the means of building up a worth-while business; the Income Tax Department comes along and claims a share of the winnings; and the Police Department steps into the limelight now and again as the collector of -a substantial fine. Really, we don’t know whether to sympathise with the bookmakers or the punters. We think we had better refer the matter to the next Presbyterian General Assembly. • ♦ • * Meet Mr Kisch, The Flying Czech, Who felt a wish To quit the deck. He left a ship Which came from Perth, And did a skip To Mother Earth. He dodged the guard, ' And hit the quay, Which same was hard As hard could be. 1 And if he’d lit Upon his head ■(No doubt of it), He’d now be dead. But luck must save A Pacifist. He merely gave His foot a twist. An oath in Czech He promptly swore, Then cried: “By beck, I’ve got ashore! ” Along the quay ' There marched a grim, Austere P.C., Who collared him; And promptly, though He squealed with pain. He had to go On hoard again.

You see, from what We understand, The fellow’s not Allowed to land. Wihere’er he stops He’s promptly met By local “ oops',” Who have him set. And so he’ll spend His days afloat, Securely penned Aboard the boat. He’d better seek The homeward track, If Masaryk Will have him back. • • * • This is the old, old story of the small boy, the cake, and the inevitable discovery : To the pantry door with stealthy tread the other morning went master X.Y., aged three and a-half. In a very v short time the only cake remaining at that particular moment had gone the way of all good cake. A little later a visitor arrived. This, the son and heir apparently reasoned, was inconsiderate and inconvenient, for past experience of such occasions had indicated that cake would be necessary for morning tea. But there was no cake .... Discovery was imminent and retribution just around the corner . . . . How to save the situation? .... Ah, the brain-wave .... The swift jog-trot to the house of a kindly neighbour. . . . The heartfelt appeal, “ Please will you give me some cake for mummy’s morning tea? ” ... . Success .... Tho triumphant return .... The replacement .... Mrs X.T.’s wonderment at sight of the cake she had not baked .... The final revelation .... The forgiveness. ... » • • » . Thus spoke two New Zealanders recently returned from Australia: — Mr D. G. Sullivan, M.P.: “ Tho thing that distressed me while I was in Melbourne was the poor supply of information regarding New Zealand, in Australian newspapers. . . . Australians are not interested in New Zealand. . .” Mr P. Tingey, of Wanganui: “1 have come to the conclusion that Australians know more about New Zealand than New Zealanders themselves. Every time 1 picked.up a newspaper 1 road something about New Zealand.” Now what ARE we to believe? For

the sake of the national pride, not to mention the individual peace of mind, we should lend ear te the remarks of Mr Tingey. He has probably been mixing with a brighter crowd anywayIt would be difficult for Mr Sullivan to avoid associating with fellow politicians, local body members and people whose general knowledge was likewise limited. * *■ * e An English cricket writer has startled admirers of Don Bradman by rating him third to Trumper and Macartney among Australian batsmen. There is nothing to be startled about. This system of classifying Cricketers in order of superiority is perfectly simple and as old as the hills. Macartney was better than Bradman; Trumper was better than Macartney; W. G. Grace was better than Trumper; if Admiral Drake had had a chance at cricket he would, as a matter of course, have been superior to Grace; and if Adam had taken up the game in the Garden of Eden his records would never have been surpassed. It’s all a 'matter of/when one was born. * * * * A cheery message from “Jock M'Craw ” : ■ Dear X.Y., —Your story about the lonely threepenny bits which found their way Into the cloakroom collection plate at the Hallowe’en concert was inaccurate. They were mot Scotsmen who made such a beggarly offering. They were Englishmen. All the Scots were in the stalls and the pit.”We are relieved to hear this, Jock.: Truth to tell, we have received, from “ Scottish Nationalist ” a 1,000-word letter in which he seeks to prove that it is Scots like us with our'jokes who have insulted the country of our origin. Your explanation should clear everything up, should it not ? Thanking you for the information-—Yours gratefully, X.Y. m * * m ' An Englishwoman lias put 1,000,000 stars in their exact places on a map of the sky. We must admit that this seems a more difficult task than putting a man in his place. * * «■ * 1 The modern treatment of T.B. by removing a lung, or portion of it, i» reported to have been practised in ancient Egypt.—(Cable). In the, days ;of Rameses, Though they had ho Ch. B’s, Ch. M’s, L.R.O.P’s, M.D.’s, F.R.C.S.E.’s, Or unauthorised degrees (A.C.A.’s and C.S.B.’s) To investigate disease; Yet, if anyone were ill With a stomach ache or chill, There’d be gentlemen of skill To administer a pill Guaranteed to cure or kill, Or indite a little bill On papyrus, with a quill. In ‘those distant days of yore There’d be surgeons, furthermore,Who’d remove a lower jaw With a hatchet.and a saw. While the patient groaned and swor* And emitted floods of gore On the table and the floor. They could easily get rid Ofi the awful things they did When the knife or chopper slid, Or the saw performed a skid. They’d he reverently _ hid Underneath a coffin lid In some handy pyramid. I’d be hlowed if I’d confide My unfortunate inside To a medico whose pride Was that, when the patient died (As might well be prophesied) He would last, when mummified, Till the end of time and tide. Well, they may have cured T.B. In a thousand odd n.c. In a drastic way, which we Have discovered recently; But, considering the fee. And the way they did it—gee! Well, I’m glad it wasn’t me!