THE AMERICAN VISITOR

Otago Witness, Issue 3754, 23 February 1926, Page 23

THE AMERICAN VISITOR

By

O. H. F.

There didn’t seem to be much doubt about his nationality. The horn rimmed spec tacles, so often seen these days, stamped him as an American without the slightest possible doubt. There seems to be an art in wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. Some people wear them, but they go far from conveying the impression that the wearer is an American, whereas, if a man indeed hails from the United States, these hornrimmed spectacles seem to shriek out that fact to the world. I was quite interested in him and was furtively studying him as he sat next to me in the bus that was conveying us down the Highway to Logan Park. He was undoubtedly tall and very thin, and his bones seemed to have been bored through at the joints and looeely strung together with pieces of string. Suddenly I caught him looking at me, and I ventured a remark; a remark which was altogether puerile, and not in the slightest what I had meant to say: “Are you geing to the Exhibition V* He said: “Sure!” and of course I knew then that my diagnosis of his nationality was correct. Then he opened out: “Yes, you know, I was sure tickled to hear about an Exhibition” (he called it Exposition) “in this little burg. I’m a wool-buyer, I am, and I’ve seen some little Exhibitions in my time. Yes, sir, I saw Wembley, and some little show it was. But of course that was sure spoilt because Amurrica hadn’t gotten any show in it. But, see here, this little show’ll fall dead flat after Wembley, yes sir. I’m only going now because someone I know has been to it, and says its the goods. But he was a Britisher, and he wouldn’t give a proper idea like I will. Have you been before?” “Yes,” I said, “and your friend was right. It is a very good show.” The Yank laughed. “There you go,” be said. “You say that because you haven’t seen an Exhibition at all. I guess this hyar show won’t be any better than *he little old fairs we uster -hold in my home town way back in Tennessee. I ain’t gotten any false illusions about it, any way, so there.” I smiled to myself. Possibly, I thought, this bombastic American might get a nit of a surprise when he saw what a really marvellous show our Exhibition was, Anyway, I certainly hoped so. By now we had arrived at the gates and we alighted from the bus. I made to leave my whilom friend, but he turned to me, and queried: “Say, doing much?” I didn’t quite, in his own language, “get him.’’ “I mean, 'will you come round with mo, and show me if there is anything really worth seeing?” “Righto!” I assented, and I really thought he was going to fall on my neck, he seemed so grateful. He went straight up to the gates. “I’ll pay,” he said, and drew a fiver out of his wallet. I had to explain then that he had to get change as the gatekeepers would not accept anything except shillings. A few minutes later we were in the grounds. My friend stood there for fully five minutes, just gazing round with his mouth wide open. (Someone passing muttered something vulgar about patent flycatchers). Finally a deep rumble: “Gol-darn itl Say, this little old show ain’t too bad after all. Do you know, that’s quite pretty ?” He swept his ami round, encompassing in its sweep the whole of the Grand Court and the Big Dome I felt thrilled So this condescending Yank was surprised. I began to hop 6 that he might soon say something ready complimentary. I dragged him towards the British Government building I had to drag him—he seemed unable to take his eyes away from the pleasing spectacle presented by the Grand Court and environs. Inside the Hall of Empire he gazed round with wondering eyes. I showed him all the wonderful models and the splendid exhibits that were to be seen. And he demanded to be dad-burned and gol-darned so often that I began to be afraid le9t one of those dreadful fates should overtake him. The animated map of the world left him speechless—literally. My dragging powers had to bo utilised again, but not before he strove to point out the way he came from New York to Now Zealand. He pointed out a steamer just leaving Now York. “See,” he said, “we left Noo York just—oh, the confounded captain’s drunk. He’s going the wrong way!” I laughed to see the American’s steamer making a beeline across the Atlantic to England. We got round the remainder of the oourt somehow. My friend wanted to examine everything thoroughly, and his weird exclamations of surprise attracted considerable attention.

The deeping car in the Machinery Pavilion caught his fancy properly, and it took a lot 10 convince him that it was entirely New Zealand manufacture. The Provincial Courts he could not find enough praise for “Say, I’m surely not in New Zealand now,” he said at last. “I’m back in l.os Angelos or Noo York. . . He seemed to have a penchant for die covering working models—models, that, despite the many times I had already been down, I had not seen before, and each time I had the greatest difficulty to prevent 1 is pulling things to pieces to see how they were made. Anything free, too. never escaped him. He sampled wines with relish, and was quite put out when he later manoeuvred me round to the same stall again, and the attendant refused him another sampler. He was quite disappointed at not being allowed to sample the jams exhibited by a certain firm. “We can only let you sample them if you have an invitation,” said the attendant sweetly. Quick as a flash he wanted to know where ho could get an invitation. And, all the time he was on the lookout for something free, in fact, so keen was he at times in that wise, that I began to think I had indeed made a mistake in his nationality and that he had cone from somewhere north of the Tweed. In very short time he had collected an amazing number of pamphlets and circulars of anything from bars of soap to railway systems. Soon his pockets bulged hideously, and he had bunches of literature in his hands At last: “Say, what am I to do with all these I'was unsympathetic. “There’s a rubbish tin outside,” I answered. lie was highly indignant at first, but at length I prevailed on him to empty his pockets into a receptacle for rubbish. It was almost with tears in his eyes that he did so. And so we wandered on. When we got to the Grand Court again it was dark and the lights had been turned on. My friend just stood there, mouth agape, spring from the blaze of light that was the Dome, down the multi-coloured, brilliantly-lighted court, to the great coloured splash that represented the gates When the inarticulate mumblings had died away in his throat: “Wal, I’ll tell the world that that’s just the prettiest sight I’ve seen since I left Noo York.” We listened to the band. His loose frame seemed to swing to and fro as if keeping time with the music. “Sure this band is better than Sousa’s.” Which was all I could get out of him about it, but I took it to be a very great compliment. Hi 3 delight at the Canadian Court was unbounded. “Wal, if this isn’t thegoods!” he cried. “Why the Sam Hill. Amurrican firms couldn’t have had a show like this, I don’t know.” He stood in front of the waterfall for some minutes watching the alternating light effects. My friend suddenly turned to me: “Gee, kid, I know where this scene is. Its in the Rockies, halfway 'tween Impshi and Kicking Horse Pass. I know because that’s where I shot a wolf—in just the same place as that one is standing. . . . Wal, if that doesn’t beat all, if that ain’t the very one I shot!” Nudges, and covert giggles from the entertained crowd. lie glared at the Fijians as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Dad-burn it! If they ain’t the best models I’ve seen to-night.” “What do you mean?” I demanded. “Why, sure,” he answered, “ain’t they models of walking mops !” When I recovered myseff: “For Heaven’s sake, come on,” and he followed, protesting and wanting to know what the Sam Hill I was laughing at. After I had “lifted him clean off his feet” with the wonders of the other courts —wonders, which pressure of timet for it was now rapidly approaching 10 o’clock, made us skip rather hastily—we wandered out into the Amusements Park. The railway naturally caught his eye. “Gee, a switchback l Come on, kid, we’re going on this.’* We did. Afterwards: “Not quite as long as Coney Island, but don’t it thrill ?*’ The other major attractions properly got his “swizzled,” whatever, “swizzled” may be He ripped down the chutes in Iho Fun Factory like a two-year-old, and his loose frame seemed to fill in all the bumps on the chute which is all ups and downs. He lunded iit a heap at the bottom that would have defied Sherlock Holmes to describe properly. When he had sorted himself out again, he studied himself in the contortion mirrors. He was a queer enough looking object normally, but seen in the mirrors he was like nothing on earth. Great guffaws of laughter burst from him—perhaps I should say, bellows. So groat, indeed, was the noise he emitted that those immediately around him jurnpod back as if they had been shot. An old lady dropped her parcel, which landed on the corn of a gentleman next to her. much to that gentle-

man’s annoyance. Four young men, who were just preparing to do down the chute, got such a fright that they whizzed down ere they were ready. There was a fearful tangle of whirling legs and arms at the bottom. Someone else dropped a box of chocolates, which a small boy pounced on immediately end with it promptly vanished through the exit. It was very neatly done. A deaf old man, who had not heard a sound for yeais, looked up at his companion, the light of hope shining in lis eyes: “Oh, Tom, say that again. I nearly heard you that time!” Crushed and humiliated, I dragged the American outside. “Come and see your relations,” I c aid bitterly, and led him to the monkeys. He then tried to win a box of chocolates. I meant to keep in the background—l’d been bitten before, you see, but the sight of the American winning one of those big boxes proved too much for me. Like Adam 1 fell. As my tenth shilling went, fruitlessly : “Come on. I’ve won six boxe9. I’ll give you one.” I turned round, and looked into the smiling face of the American. I saw the six boxes of chocolates under bis arms. “Cost me six shillings,’’ he gloated. I could have cheerfully killed him. All the same, as we went out of the gates at half-past 10, I had to admit to myself that I had enjoyed myself thoroughly, and so had my American friend. “Good show, eh ?” I said. “Sure, its the goods!” he cried ecstatically. “Dad-burn it, but its the best Exhibition I’ve been to;” (here he looked at the six immense boxes of chocolates he carried) “I’ll come here every night till I go away, >ou bet. Any night you are alone, meet me here at half-past seven. . . .” Alone—a sickly feeling came over me then. I remembered. I had had to meet my sister who had just come down from the country, at half-past seven at the gates, end instead, I had been gallivanting round with a stranger. . .. . What were the last words my sister -aid to me? “You know you’re very forgetful, but if you forget that you are to meet me- look out. You’d better not come home. . . Does anyone know where I can get good, cheap lodgings?