ODD PAPERS

Southland Times, Issue 20044, 4 December 1926, Page 13 (Supplement)

ODD PAPERS

THE RING (By “Whawhai.”) Punctually at the appointed minute he stepped into the ring, the cynosure of hundreds of eager eyes alight with the expectant thrill of the coming battle. Conscious of his power he carelessly cast aside his coat, displaying a massive chest of enormous strength. His eagle eye scanned the sea of upturned faces so soon to witness his latest triumph.

Never before had he stood within those four walls, but he stifled any nervous apprehension by recalling how many hundreds of times an inert mass had been knocked down by the descent of his all-powerful fist. .Meanwhile the crowd waited expectantly leaning against the ropes with livid lips and a strange animal glitter in their eyes. Twenty centuries of civilisation may have been behind them, but the prospect of a battle brought all that was worst in their natures to the surface. The vast majority were men, of all sorts and conditions, but here and there were women, wetting their lips in readiness to raise their voices in the clamour about to ensue. Many of the onlookers had come prepared to interest themselves financially in the proceedings for clutched in palms rolls of notes or fat purses could be seen. There was a hush and a craning forward of necks as the central figure stooped over a bundle of gloves lying on the floor, carefully selected a pair, and passed them to his second. * ? • • “The terms of the sale are cash and the highest bidder shall be the purchaser,” he announced in a voice that did not betray a trace bf emotion. “How much am I offered for these lady’s gloves?” This was the signal for the fight to begin. ' Have you ever witnessed the contest between fifty strong able-bodied men and women and a lone perspiring figure on a pedestal? Of course you have. Is there not something pathetic in the way those outside the magic circle strive by ail manner of means either to catch or avoid the eye of the auctioneer? Do but move an eyelid and you may find yourself the owner of a grand piano and a debtor to the extent of £lOO, though you have only a few shillings in your pocket and ringing a death knell in your ear is the horrible word “cash.” Your fate is in the hands of that god on his Olympus, that tyrant of the hammer, that veritable Mussolini with his fists instead of his Fascisti. But to return to the ring where so many mysterious portmanteaux, suit cases, swags and bundles lie at the feet of the knight of the hammer. The joy of battle is in the air and shout after shout follows each staccato utterance of the auctioneer. Assistants run to and fro as articles are knocked down and purchasers receive their pigs in poke. Here is an old man with dazzling white molars whose brown-paper parcel on being unfolded revealed three sets of false teeth. Over there is a woman gazing doubtfully at a pair of silk pyjamas she has just unearthed from a bag. It is obvious that she is wondering how they will look on her husband. At another side of the ring a youth is prying open a bo?; with a tomahawk, to discover that he has bought a whole camper’s outfit for two shillings. Yet again there is a detective who has used his superior knowledge to decipher mysterious marks on a suit case that proclaim the value of its contents. He opens it and finds a dirty shirt. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. I who had coine to write remained to pay. I signalised my entry into the contest by recklessly bidding for a Teddy bear. Within ten seconds I had become its proud possessor—though what on earth I was going to do with it I did not know. The fever had entered my veins. Everything that was put up I bid for. Gradually beside me there arose a mountain of articles. Women’s hats (bought of course in the dark, for they were wrapped : n paper )v<t bags), goloshes, walking-sticks, scarves, gloves, a billy and an overcoat lay around me. Suddenly I noticed in the finger of a glove the shape of a large coin. No one would put a penny in such a place, I reflected, and ripped open the glove to find the half-crown lodged therein. But a penny it was, after all. • • • « Then ■ I went home, as proudly as a Roman general to his triumph. But I didn’t know much about women. “Of all the idiots in this foolish world, you’re the biggest,” was my wife’s cheerful greeting. Nothing on earth could induce her to interest herself in my purchases, for I had kept dinner waiting for nearly two hours, and it is not only men whose heart can be affected by an organ lower down. Curiosity at last got the better of her, and the possibility of something interesting in the billy diverted her attention from me and my folly. The lid was opened, and’ wrapped in swaddling clothes lay a baby plum pudding with a label attached “Christmas, 1924.” I suppose once it was full-size but two years had caused it to shrink beyond recognition. Women’s wits are quick and their temperaments optimistic. “There might be money in it,” was the cry that greeted my ears, so to humour her I secured an axe and hacked away at the hard mass. Finally I pulverised it, but of siller there was none.

_ Thus ended my romance of the sale ring. No, by Jove, I’m wrong. I still owe Mac, who was sitting next to me during the sale, ten shillings.