A CURE FOR THE BLUES.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume VI, Issue 347, 5 February 1917, Page 7

A CURE FOR THE BLUES.

(By JAMES DOUGLAS.)

The other night I was suffering from a lit of the blues. It had attacked me after a sharp fight witu rhe ’flu vintage 1916. Everybody 1 know has had or has or is about to have the new ‘llu. You might as well be out ot tin? world as out oi the fashion, and rhe fashion of the hour is to have the flu. They tell me it is not the. old ’flu that I,had been having regularly every uinter for. years. Thev say it is. nub so vicious as the old ’flu. They are liars. The new flu is not nearly so honest us the. old ’flu. It is far meaner and miserable!-. Tt pretends noi to be ’flu, and i. yon to put uo a- tight. When i got the old ’flu, 1 went straight to bed. The new ’flu toys with you till it feels you enveloped and enfiladed, ft is no use. crying '■ Kume.rad I” It behaves like a Hun.

Weil, i got- up after swallowing hordes of cachets and perspiring my immortal soul into the pattern or my pyjamas. 1 crawled about with a taste in my mouth like a Boche trench. My tobacco refused to be tobacco. My food declined to be food. I wore a hump that would have, astonished a dromedary. It was so tall that J was forced to sieop on my face. It was so heavy that 1 Quarrelled with ail nay best friends. All the silver linings dropped off all the war-clouds. Aly dentist incited me to allow him to pull out two teeth, and when 1 ferociously repulsed his pincers, he proceeded to drill me as ii I were of military age. And 1 couid not keep warm. G-r-r-r! 1 lay awake listening to tho chattering of mv own teeth and wondered how on earth our boys in the trenches managed to stick it. Thon something in Kuaki enme home on leave and saved my life. It was monstrously merry and brignt. ,1c was shockingly vital and vigorous. And it, was hungry for theatres. It dragged me off to the new residence of the good St. Martin, to see “Houp-La!” Tne good St. Martin may have been an eremite or an anchorite. He may have been a misogynist. But he seems to be fond of surrounding himself with pretty girls who are not in dire need of a gum architect. They speedily helped me to forget the little blue flames I had been watching out of the moist corner ot my eye, and the brutal buzz of the tooth-tunneller, and all the other horrors we all know so wed. 1 sat back and agreed with everything sung or said by George Graves, Gertie Millar, Nat Ayer, Hugh Wright, and Madeleine Choi-euillc. 1 was supinely happy and limply glad while they tickled me out of my blues. It was good to hear myself laughing and to hear rows of soldier boys outlaughing me. 1 thijik George Graves must have overheard u«, for he comnienced to let hiniscii go in a druinfire of jokes that blew the parapet and the j parados oh the plot. How anybody can 'act with the i is ( if 1 ( nmol mi .gmi IHe gags his unfortunate colleagues with—well, with gags. Anything funnier, than his monologue on the sorrows of chickens would not be safe in a world where men wear buttons on their waistcoats and ladies wear laces in “then co hi* 1 nnc m\ < i ’wild I tie grievances ot a iowi mote humaiielj I stated.

jometiung ougnt to be done ioi Iclnckcii- nice decile a,t least oui lespecuul svmpatnv. iney are piucked and singed, ineir legs are secured at the knee. Tnen an unseen nand pulls out tneir gear-bo.’., finally tney aie served up with their liver tucked under tneir armpits. » it ma.c be .sa.d tout Mr Graves is sincere in his chanipionsmp ot chic-Ken.s. luu migiit as well sav that tne. ivaiser is sincere in iiis desire for peace without loot and lin ins appeal ioi iiu.st to a liUssed i’.urope. ■ irust me. says \mllie.m to fturope. - .cut till toui titissed. savs Europe. rorgive me for dtagging m the wai. 1 iiere is no excuse ioi- !<-. The good At Martin avoids the subject, lie is a w SC Mini J-c dnows liotmng mmc martial Uwn Damocles tub swoidovaiiower to worry tne warrior on leave 1 agree heartily with Mr. Graves wnn regard to the iwinhie Lamts ot Damoc.es. luat gloomy ex|v.t cits IjlOKrn g! " Elc. is I’ll soit in man who would take home a loot lead pipe and grill it ior. dinner.

I "Are voii married.' asus ot-oige. “Co,” eoniesscs Uamocles. -‘A good tiling for your wife. lou’d eat bei ban-pins. wiiv did 1 luitgli at that in U n gu tic t.nn nugiW ->h iimnd- vou ought not to ask so many Mllv questions, it is enough ioi jou ild li feji til Ol as gieu I nervous about our Bandages. 1 know I ought to have argued with Gm-tie Millar w nen she set .out to prove ti>e deep underlying truth of the song, Y n can t Ijk as 1 do.” But 1 was not hi an areuing mood. Besides, 1 i „ood n m i \ and I remember Gertie ni all her past roles. Bless vour heart- I couldn't if 1 tried. I have rot the stamina of a musical coinedv soubrette. 1 simply could not have loved mv way through her repertory. Yet she does not seem to grow weary. Her ivory smile is more ivory than' ever. Her’ feet twinkle more I coquettishly. Her queer little gasps and chuckles gurgle out of her throat as if she were one of this year’s nightingales. Her gestures click as neatly as triggers. No. I can’t love as she does. The doctrine of love is also promulgated hv Madeleine Ghoiseuille. I can’t write "L'Amour est Bon as iusu a.s sh n a. d e 11 o Ino ivl 11 e II Id make a heliograph pane and a searchlight stammer. Luie ina.v be Ruud, l>"<is it necessary w slum, the ««.t Qu»'« so rapidly.- n ns mmbuuh; . lightning on a typewriter. 1 du wv> be e e I t 1 n po iv f e SO Hist, it made iny eiuo exvaildenn. Bt 1 e te I „g g i J of 1 F 1 1 o It d 1 „ to go to school again. Alas; Nan poo: I o e aft I te g t t C id 1 i more nonsensical nonsense iiu<n Ida Adams Singing - Ohl how sue cinihl Hi 1 5 k W 55 A But nonsense. like Jure, is gvOd. K•» a mad world, mv masters. It wou.d be madder ir we could uuv lough uO» «ud then. JlianK goodness, me mas. ,vu leave can still laugh.