WEEK-END CHAT

Greymouth Evening Star, 8 December 1923, Page 8

WEEK-END CHAT

o GRAIN AND CHAFF. (By Mackay). “Troubles come to all men; but those who are looking for them will have the largest share."’ “The trouble with some men is that they take too modest a view of their own insignificance.” “The woman who takes the conceit out of a man often adds a little to her own.” “A woman, is as old as she feels, and how old she feels depends largely on what other people think of her looks.” Overheard on Monday night outside the United Pavilion: — “Your new partner’s a terrible dancer. ’ ’ “I know—but, oh, gosh, how he can sit out!” Stranger (at High Street gate) : “Is your mother at home ?” “Well, do you suppose I’m mowing this lawn because the grass is long?” was the. youngster’s enquiry. A kind old gentleman visiting the Children’s Park found a boy struggling in Sawyer’s Creek, and, pulling him. out, asked : “How did you come to fall in, my lad?” “800-hoo I I-I d-didn’t come to fall in,” sobbed the little fellow, “I came to f-fish!” He was a very nervous candidate for a reporter’s job. “Yes,” said the editor, “you might do for me. Tell me, how is your shorthand ?’’ “Er—er,” mumbled the youth, ever looking for a catch, “they’re both the same length.” Said one Runanga wife excitedly looking up from the newspaper: “Do you know that every time you breathe someone dies?” “Well, I’m sorry ; but I can’t help it. If I stop breathing I’ll die, too,” he patiently replied.

It was in a Kilgour Road drawing room : — “Do your worst!” she whispered hoarsely. His heart failed him. “Do your worst!” The fateful words rang in his ears, and he was just as .anxious as his wife to get rid of the visitors who had called, but he concluded at the last moment to do only his worst but one. Accordingly he played, but did not sing.

| At a Westport house, this week, one | of the usual “four” for bridge had failed at the last moment, and a friend from next door consented to fill the . gap. Bhc had slight knowledge of the game, and before long committed elementary “howlers,” playing the king, unnecessarily, on her opponent’s ace. “But, partner,” exclaimed her host, . when the hand had been played, [ “surely you know a king cannot beat an ace!” “I know that,” was the reply, “but I thought I’d let it have a try!” This happened at Cobden. They were discussing the cause of bald heads. One. attributed baldness to the wearing of hats. Another contended that men work so hard with their heads that their hair does not get a chance to grow. Then a little fellow, after looking furtively round to see that no women were within hearing, gave his opinion. “I should say the last speaker is right,” he remarked, “because, you see, women don’t have moustaches.” At the close of a recent Greymouth Sunday School talk the teacher asked the pupils if they had any questions to ask, and immediately a small hand shot skyward. “Please, sir,” the little one wanted to know, “why was Adam never a baby ?”

Teacher coughed, in doubt as to what answer to make to this momentous question, but a little girl, the eldest of several brothers and sisters, came to his aid.

“Please, sir,” she answered, “there was nobody to nurse him.” One Coast teacher had spent a long time in giving the class a lesson in English grammaj’. The particular point she wished to impress upon her pupils on this occasion was that of words and their opposites. She gave them numerous examples and then thought she would apply a little test to see if they understood what she had been talking about. “Now, tell me,” she began, “what is the opposite of misery?” “Happiness!” said the class in unison. “And sadness?” “Gladness!” came the answering chorus, and the teacher smiled. “And the opposite of woe?” she asked. “Gee-up!” responded the enthusiastic class. A resident of Hokitika, filled with local patriotism, visited London. London impressed him, but, said he, “It’s not a patch on Hoki.” Thence he went to Paris. “Paris is a fine city, but Hoki beats it hollow.” He travelled on to Rome, but his verdict was: “Rome! Rome’s wonderful—but give me Hoki.” Ultimately he died, and as lie walked the shades he said, “Oh, this is glorious—Heaven beats Hoki any lay.” The janitor touched him on the shoulder. “Shut up, you idiot; this isn’t [leaven. ’ ’