The Chestnut Tree

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 1164, 3 November 1917, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Chestnut Tree

A middle-aged woman and her little son, a lad of six or seven years, got into a motor-bus, in which there were already some nine or ten other passengers, and as soon as they were seated the woman took a half-crown out of her purse and handed it to the youngster to pay the fare with. The boy held the coin in his small, fat hand, and gazed at it seriously. The conductor appeared for the fares, and the youngster gave him the halfcrown with owlish solemnity. The money was pocketed, and the change was put in the small, extended hand. Then the conductor ascended the stairs to collect the fares on top. As soon as he was safely out of sight the boy laughed, wriggled in his seat, and shouted gleefully:— "Oh, ma! he never noticed it was a bad one." Sergt. Snubbings and Constable Chubbins were on the warpath. It had been reported at headquarters that the P.O. on duty at Smallville had been supplied with drink at the Seven Bluehounds while on duty, and they had > been sent forth to investigate the matter. "Now, you wait outside," commanded the sergeant, "while I go in an' make inquiries. I shan't be a tick." But he was several ticks. As last he appeared, a dazed expression on his face. "Well?" queried Chubbins. "No foundation whatever for the charge," replied the sergeant. "Don't believe the landlord of that inn could be guilty of such a crime." "11 'in!" grunted Chubbins, "that sounds all right; but if you take my tip, sergeant, you'll just put this peppermint lozenge in yer mouth before you tell it to the chief." A story is told of an old Highland sergeant in one of the Scottish regiments who was going his rounds one night io see that all lights were out in the bar-rack-rooms. Coming to a room where he saw a light shining, he roared out: "Put out that light there!" One of the men shouted back: "It's the moon, sergeant!" Not hearing very well, the sergeant cried in •eturn: "I dinna care what it is! put it oot, ami don't argue." The dapper young man was staying at a small inn in Ireland. He found it rather rough and ready, but lie wanted to study Irish life from the inside. All went we]] until night, when on going to his room he fell over a fat porker, and for seseral nights after the pig was still there. Then he complained to the landlord, saying: "Why is that pig always outside my room —has he taken a fancy to me?" Then the waiter came up and whispered, very cautiously: "Sh-h! it's his room when 'tain't let to nobody else."

A small boy, who afterwards proved to be nephew of one of the typists who worked at the Council House, was wandering about in the town hall, when a portly gentleman happened upon him. "Well, sonny," inquired the Mayor, genially, "for whom are you looking?" "For my Aunt Kate." "Can't you rind her 1 ?" '' I can't seem to.'' "And don't you know where she is?" "Not exactly," said the youngster.' "She's in here somewhere, though, and I know that the Mayor works in her office." ' "Jimmy," said the gentle old lady sadly to the young imp who lay with a broken leg in the hospital, "the nurses tell me that you have been a very naughty boy." '' Yes, missus,'' acknowledged Jimmy, his sunburnt face and tousled head half hidden in the pillow. "But why?" came the geutle query. '' Can't 'elp it, missus,'' shamefacedly whispered Jim. "Now, look here," said the old lady, as she rose, "I shall be at the hospital again next week, and I want you to promise me to be a good boy till then, and if so, you shall have a whole shilling.'' Jimmy fervently promised, but, alas! all his mischief reasserted itself, and lie was sadly in disgrace when the old lady again visited the ward. "Weil, little man," she said, mildly, "1 'm not going to ask the nurses if you have been a good boy. Tell me yourself. Now, do you deserve that shilling I promised*you?" Slowly dim raised his big brown eyes to her face, and then lowered them again. "Gimme a penny," he said, in a low voice. Poole, the famous West End tailor, was making holiday at Brighton, and one morning, on the pier, he met one of his noble customers. "Good morning, Mr Poole," said the peer. "Good morning, my lonj," replied the tailor, who then passed on. "Stay, Mr Poole, I want to show you this coat," replied the aristocrat. "It doesn't lit me at all." Poole was a man of ready wit. TTe stopped, looked carefully at the coat, and then, drawing a piece of chalk from his pocket, said: "Your lordship is right: the coat wants to be taken in here and let out there, and shortened here and just a bit lengthened there," and at each "here" and "there" he made a heavy chalk-mark. "Now, my lord," he continued, as he saw a curious crowd had gathered round, "if you will just take that coat up to London, marked as it is, my manager will see that it is altered to your satisfaction." His lordship did not again* commit the impertinence of "talking shop" to Poole.

The speaker was Senator Lodge; the occasion a luncheon in Cambridge. "This diner-out," he said "dined one evening in a circle that was new to him. He took a very charming lady , down to dinner, and amused her with the marital difficulties of the BrownBrowns. The Brown-Browns, it was plain from his narrative, must before long air their difficulties in the Divorce Court. " Tunny, isn't it?' said the diner- | out, as the pear salad came on, and he j looked at his charming companion with i a smile. " 'Yes,' she said, 'it's awfully funny, really, and perhaps it will interest you to know that I am Mrs Brown-Browns.' " 'Really?' he said. 'Then tell me, havo I got all the details right?' " Miss Ethel Irving tells an amusing Story relative to the very peculiar views held in some quarters concerning the members of the theatrical profession. Once, when on tour, all the hotels in a town where she was playing were full, and all the best lodgings" were also occupied by farmers anil their wives, owing its being cattle-show week. Eventually she was glad to take shelter for the night in the humble abode of a good lady who eked out a slender income gained through taking in washing and by letting lodgings to all and sundry. The landlady proved to be a good sort, however, and on leaving Miss Irving thanked her cordially for her kindness and consideration, imagine the amused astonishment of the famous actress when the good lady, looking up from her wash-tub. said, with benign condescension : "That's all right, my dear. I'm always good to theatricals, for I never know what 1113- own children may come to." Miss Sydney Fairbrother, the clever impersonator, once had rather a doubtful compliment paid her. "I had been paying visits to the local military hospital," recalls Miss Fairbrother, "and I became quite good friends with a young Canadian officer, but lie sailed for Canada on long sick leave, ami I lost sight of him. One day, a few months later, as I came out of the stage door, an officer came up to me, and I recognised my friend, who had returned from Canada. " 'You remember me?' he said. 'l'm Ginger from the hospital.' " 'Of course,' I replied. 'You saw my name on the programme.' For my make-up as Mah Bubah converts me into a hag of about 70 years, and I thought it was a complete disguise. " 'Oh, no. I never saw the programme,' Ginger answered; 'I recognised you directly you came on the stage.' '' It was the biggest blow I have ever received."