Page 6 Advertisements Column 3

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 6962, 30 October 1909, Page 6

MORE REMINISCENCES AND APHORISMS BY COLONEL WILLIAM BUNKER, K.R.D., OF THE INDIAN ARMY, RETIRED. " Fearfully hot, isn't it ?" said the Colonel, as he pressed the button. "We don't like it, wo tough old sinners. It's a sort of foretaste of the things to come. Slakes a man's courage as limp as lub collar. Illiil f " When one's younger, one doesn't think so much. InTirhut I once rode a steeplechase. Three miles. At the finish I'd lost a stone and a half, and the maro was a visible remnant. • They touch one, those old memories. It was really hot in Tirhut. " This hateful heat spoils women. Met the prettiest I know just now. and she looked as if she'd been half-boiled and rough-dried. The wise women don't go out in hot weather. They sit at home with a decent book, and keep up their spirits with Suratura. I hate to see a woman crumpled." Egad! sir... I'm irritated. Weather ? Demme ! no, sir. Only congenital idiots and women in spring fripperies quarrel with the weather. Weather's inevitable. What's the good of squealing or squalling about it ? Might as well stay up at night to throw stones at Mars. No: I'm irritated because whichever way I turn I find some clashed noisy nincompoop or nidderling in a state of shrieking fever about some record he thinks he's breaking. One eats eggs, and another plays pianos. . One will drive an automobile a thousand miles in twenty hours, while another walks round the world for ' a wager and wears out hie feet and the public patience. Asses like that ought to be gaoled for life and given a really good chance to put up records picking oakum. Why should I be fool enough to quarrel with the weather ? Such infernal rot! «• «■ * Too much dashed talk about making records in these times. Of old, men talked less, and put up a long sight better performances. But men were more modest when I was a cub. Egad, Sir! I have reason to remember the week Webb swam the channel, because at that time I made a daredevil wager with some planter chaps at Galle. Of course I had to see it through; but it< was unfortunate, because there was a :o« nf Service work on at the tim<> In brief, I wagered that I would swim round the island of Ceylon, without once leaving the water. I did it. Used to snooze occasionally with my head lashed to a cork raft. Took nothing but Suratura Tea and a biscuit or two. Average speed, including stops, six knots. That was in my good days. Wouldn't risk it now. Might fail. Hate failures. Fools fail. When a wise man fails, nobody knows: because wise men don't jabber. There was a chap in Ceylon a year or two ago who got seized by a private conviction that he could grow tea as good as Suratura. He didn't squawk about his intentions, but lie put up a dashed good try. Failed ? Well, naturally. What a dashed silly question! Suratura is unique, and perfection in one kind can't be duplicated. Nature doesn't truckle with natural impossibilities. I ought to know what I'm talking about. Suratura saved my life and renewed my youth like the bally " eagle's. When twaddling tomtits talk about other teas being as good, my blood boils. I'm a patient and tolerant man; but the twaddling tomtits, the twittering thingummies .. • • Brr-rr-rr! What was I talking about ? Ah, yes records. Lemme tell you that the true record-breaker rarely advertises his performances. Sometimes because he's modest; generally because lie's scared. There was that desperate lunatic over in America who married a hundred wives. Did he boast ? Did he advertise? Did he chuck out his chest and call on the adoring Aramintas to admire him ? Not a bit! He made a fault in play, and the police gobbled him up. If he'd drunk Suratura, he'd never •have lost his nerve. There ought to be a law to stop all rapscallions and outside-track specialists from drinking Suratura. It keeps 'em too cool and spry—makes the game too dashed easy. When I first Btarted on regular Suratura I won two thousand at poker in a week from the hottest school in India. Then I stopped poker. It didn't seem honest. Did I ever tell, you about that time two years ago when I carried that musk-ox up ICinchinjinga for a wager ? Boast of a fag. You see, I foolishly got a young ox; and the dashed thing grew and increased like the duplicity of Haman. Drank two gallons of Suratura the last three thousand feet, and at the summit chucked the ox into Nepaul from sheer disgust and weariness. Felt pretty sorry and mean about it afterwards, because the poor beast had become accustomed to me, and was no end tame and affectionate. It had a considerate eye, and a breath like a field of clover. Talking about clover What's that? Seven o'clock! Egad, sir! my niece will give me Holy Moses and the Thousand Angels! I have to pad two miles in seven minutes. It's about up to me to be off. Whereupon there jauntily ran down the Club steps Colonel William Bunker, K.H.D., that greatest living judge of tea, whose sentiments are ever expressed in his immortal phrase— Suratura for me!" ;

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