RIVERTON RACING CLUB.

Southland Times, Issue 21649, 10 March 1932, Page 4

RIVERTON RACING CLUB.

To the Editor.

Sir: DRAMATIS PERSONAE. Old Nick: In Person. Oso Hot: Fire Department Superintendent. Vic. Tim: A late resident of Riverton. Imps, stokers and others. Scene.—Old Nick’s Office. Time—l 93 ?. ACT 2. SCENE I. (Loud noise of bellows, clang of shovels, also heavy splashing of perspiration from victims). (Enter Old Nick and Oso severally). 0.N.: Anything to report? Oso: Yes, your Majesty, mutiny in the stokehole. 0.N.: That’s bad. What's the trouble? Oso: Mr Tim won’t obey orders. 0.N.: Who’s Mr Tim? Cfeo: A late citizen of Riverton, your Majesty. 0.N.: Christian name? Oso: Vic. Sire. 0.N.: What's he want? Oso: Says he’ll only do one of two jobs —stoke all the contents of our bins into No. 13 furnace, or take over full charge of the vermin department. 0.N.: Who’s in No. 13? Oso: Oh! just “Flit,” True (sic) Sport and certain members of the Riverton Racing Club executive who conceived and executed the pest-house. 0.N.: Oh, well, I can understand his keenness to stoke No. 13, but what’s this about demanding charge of the vermin department ? Oso: Says he got so used to vermin since Easter, 1932, that he’s kind of lonely without them. Reckon’s he’s an expert, Your Majesty. 0.N.: But did you tell him we have no vermin department here? Oso: Yes; Sire, but he won’t believe me. Says the citizens of Riverton have been through the tortures of h ■ through vermin, so he reckons they must have come from here. Also, Dread One, he's ordering

the Imps about till the blisters on their feet have turned to coms, and he’s changed the furniture round in the stoke-hole just as if ho owned it. 0.N.: Well! keep an eye on him, and report to-morrow. I’m busy just now heat problems and things (Exeunt). (Next day O.N. at table. Re-enter Oso). 0.N.: Anything new to report to-day? Oso: Yes! oh, Dread One. Tim’s at it again. 0.N.: What’s he doing now? Oso: I just caught him standing on the coal-bins addressing the stokers, and trying to form a branch of the Firemeu’s Union. 0.N.: Sounds like a member of the Miners’ Union. Sure he doesn’t come from Nightcaps ? Oso: Certain. He’s got that strained, haunted look as of one expecting the next bite, characteristic of all Rivertonians since 1932. 0.N.: That’s the last straw. I’ll soon fix him, by all that’s unholy. SCENE IL (The stoke-hole. Reflections of many fires, and sound of bellows and shovels and dripping perspiration, only more so.) (Enter 0.N., Oso, Mr Tim, many Imps and stokers). 0.N.: Is Tim here? Tim: “Mr” Tim, to you, old buffer. And who are you? That’s a snooky tail you’ve got. Wisht I’d had one in Riverton. Awfully handy for the flies—0.N.: I’m the deil. Tim: I’m not a bit surprised. I had a dirty deal meself in Riverton of late years, and there’s a strong family resemblance — ’specially the dirt part. 0.N.: I’ve been hearing a deal about your antics here, and I came to fix you. Tim: 'Strewth —that’s cute. You’ve been heatin’ a deal of ant-ticks, and I’ve been seein' the ant-ticks of the deil. That’s amoosin’. Dunno much what ant-ticks are. Now, if they was horse-ticks —. As for fixin’ me, it can’t be done. I’ve been through h already, and your two-cent show here ain’t more than an Christyun Endeavour Rally compared with it. 0.N.: Is all this true about your refusing duty ? * Tim: Not so’s you could mention it. I said I’d take on one of two jobs—and to blazes with the rest. 0.N.: And you’ve been ordering my Imps round till the blisters on their feet have turned into corns ? Tim: Good enough for ’em. I’ve got knote all over mo like the handles of doors. That’s through scratchin' flea-bites till they turned into bunions. Look here. (Shows many knobs). 0.N.: And you changed around the suite of furniture in the: stoke-hole here ? Tim: Ah-hum! But I’d call it a furniture of soot. 0.N.: And tried to put all the coal in No. 13? Tim: You’ve said it. Wisht it was coke. It’s hotter. 0.N.: And to-day Oso caught you trying to form a branch of the Firemen’s Union ? Tim: Oui. You ain’t as nearly up to scratch here as they was in Riverton. But, I say, what’s that queer gurgle cornin’ out of No. 13 ? 0.N.: Oh! that’s just “Flit” trying to recite “Not Understood” between groans. Tim: Cripes! the trouble with him was that he was understood too blommin’ well. 0.N.: Well! It appears to me as if you thought you owned the whole boxes of tricks. Tim: I dunno much about “the whole boxes of tricks,” but if it's “whole boxes of tides” you mean, we had a whole halfacre of ’em in Havelock street. Anyhow, I’m one of the owners of this joint. 0.N.: O-ho! and who are the others? Tira: 'The citizens of Riverton. They’re joint tenants, so to speak. 0.N.: How do you make that out? Tim: Well! the Racing Club gave them h when the pest-house was opened, and my old woman gave it to me partickler for not burnin’ the shacks dowm. 0.N.: Kamerad! Kamerad! (Raises hands above head.) I surrender. Here’s my hdrns, my tail, my hooves. Tim (donning horns, tail and hooves): Now, lead me to No. 13 and get me a million tons of coke. Jump to it. (Exeunt). I am etc., CITIZEN.