AN EPIC OF HORACE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21876, 11 August 1934, Page 1 (Supplement)

AN EPIC OF HORACE

BY ANON

OUR PHOTOGRAPH

Frankly, had I had any idea of the man's occupation, I should have left him without the slightest compunction in the deepest bogholo on the road. There are some pursuits, harmless enough in themselves, that yet, when brought into contact with my wife, become so vicious that they must be stamped out relentlessly. When I think of the wasted hospitality, not to mention the labour expended by myself and the long suffering Susan however, I have put my foot down. In future I shall refuse to pull any car out or the mud unless the occupants can produce a signed certificate to guarantee that they are not travelling photographers. It had been a strenuous day and we had just returned from mustering the last paddock of ewes for crutching when the blow fell. For once Barbara was apologetic. "Air. Sims has just rung up. He's awfully sorry, but there's a car stuck in the mud and he's lent his draught horse." It is the sort of summons that makes me commend the forethought of Sims, whose draught horse never winters at home. Even Paddy protested. Is it haulin the loikes of thim pore daft men you'd be, an' they junketin' up the road whin 'tis but a bog for their passm ? Let thim be sittin' in it, till we have the ewes done, the way they will be in the paddock an' comfortin their hearts with a nibble before the darkness be upon them." It sounded reasonable enough and 1 shouted defiantly: "Rinc Sims and tell him that Susan is spending a holiday with her great-aunt. Tell him anything you like, except that I'm crutching and not coinc to pull any fool out of the mud at this time of day." "I can quite understand howvyou feel," said a deprecatory voice from behind the thick _ hedee,. "but unfortunately my car is blocking the highway." After that there was nothing to do but leave the ewes in the yard, catch Susan, take a spade and axe, and pray for sufficient self-control to resist using them until the car was reached. " A Splendid Chance"

Of course, he had to spend the night; there was no escape possible by the time we haid hauled his car out of the bog. It was as we returned to the house that he revealed his identity. Unexpectedly, he exclaimed at sight of the sunset glow against which the bush showed dark and mysterious. That would make a lovely picture if the light was right. You know, I'm a travelling photographer." The mischief was done in a moment. _ "It's a perfectly splendid chance, whispered Barbara hoarsely from the seclusion of the bathroom, a spot sacred to the exchange of hostilities or confidences when there are guests in our thin-walled house. "The relations are always longing to know what the farm reallv looks like." # " If there's a hope of keeping them from coming to see for themselves," I muttered ungraciously as I fingered my razor longingly. Barbara was unprincipled enough later to say that I was quite enthusiastic about the whole business. Have you ever assisted in the taking of a family group and endeavoured to keep the smaller children bright and interested and yet passive before the photographer's lens ? Such an experience is a mere relaxation compared to the ordeal of being photographed with a wife, three horses, five dogs and Paddy. It was bad enough even before Barbara remembered Horace. "I would like to have him, too," she said wistfully, for Horace is her latest admirer. He is, not unsuitably, a goat—quite the largest and_most bellicose goat imaginable. Naturally enough, he loves Barbara. Equally naturally, all the rest of the animals hate him; his mere smell—though "mere" is not the word to do it real justice—will drive thg horses to mad excesses, while the dogs alternately bait him and flee before his curious, prancing advance. It wanted only Horace to complete thd picture. A Pleasing Group Fortunately, he had more sense than the rest of us. for after frenzied search Barbara had to admit'herself defeated. Horace was not to be found. Foiled in that direction, her energy found even more painful outlet. "Your hair's disgraceful; so's Paddy's." While the photographer selected his background, she made spasmodic darts at each in turn, snipping off a lock here, a bit of ear there, a fragment of scalp at the next assault, until called sternly to order by our late guest. -Curiously enough, with the act of enveloping his head in its hood, > the veneer of grateful visitor had fallen from him; lie stood revealed in his worst colours —a photographer with an entire family at his mercy. Meantime, the horses were getting restive and the dogs_ sulky. Thev Bnapped, growled and kicked furtively at each other, uniting only in their common dislike of the photographer's apparatus. Old "Rodk growled alarmedly when the hooded monster suddenly advanced on spindly legs in his direction, but Sandy, a young and trustful pup. who had not y<3t come into contact with a harsh world, decided to investigate. As we all stood trying to assume our stiffest simpers, the pup made an unhesitating selection of a trousered rather than a metal leg—and sprang playfully. Of course, with the air full of the Alsatian menace it must be distressing to have your leg seized by unseen teeth; nevertheless, our common enemy made a mistake in attempting to launch a kick when handicapped by a cloth and a camera. By the time we had picked him up and reassured his nerves, Sandy had fled like a streak across the near horizon, severely disillusioned by his first encounter with one who was devoid of humour but armed with heavy boots. In a moment Trinket had broken her bridle, leaped the garden fence and joined fqrces with Sandy in his search for sanity. Horace to the Rescue With her went the last of the company's morale. Barbara had long hidden a convulsed face 011 old Sam's neck, and the dogs now went firmly on strike. One and all turned determined backs 011 the camera and squatted 011 their haunches, with an expression of martyred resignation. The horses were not much better; the Minx laid her pretty ears flat and launched a spiteful kick at Paddy; old Sam dropped his head, re'sted his tired hock, protruded his lower lip and sank into a nap from which the photographer's loud and idiotic clucks failed to rouso him. A purple and angry face emerged from the black cloth. "Madam, kindly control yourself. Please command the dogs to face" me." Avoiding Madam's eye, I commanded. The dogs lay flat in an ecstasy of apology, wriggled frantically in self-abasement, but refused to remove agonised eyes from my face. Barbara whispered with a squeak of mirth, "Look at that cloud! It's going to rain." But I was looking elsewhere. With slow and mincing gait Horace was advancing on the photographer's rear. With grave disapproval he eyed the black monstrosity, then rose to his hind legs, head well down. While he hesitated, 1 glanced at the ominous sky. Which would win, the rain or Horace? Horace was the victor, but only by half a minute. Nor had I any idea that a standing camera could prove so expensive.