THE PEER-SEER.

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18616, 11 July 1930, Page 16

THE PEER-SEER.

"SAYS SERGEANT MURPHY.” (By A. P. Garland.) “What's put that disthressed look on your face, Heddle?” asked Sergt. Murphy. “What look?" said Heddle. “I’ve just been reading in a paper about what Lord Birkenhead says the world will be like *in a hundred years’ time.” “That accounts for it,” said the sergeant. “Well, if you were wise you'd have cut out Lord Birkenhead as a Cassandhrew, and turned to the sportin’ page where Pike-mout's great thought for the day concerns the four o’clock race at Nottingham.” “Everybody says he’s a very clever man,” said Heddie. “Wan of the cleverest in the counthry,” was the reply. “In the matther of torts, fee-faw-fums. sic vos, ad hoes, and other depressin’ things of the kind. I’d rather have his Lordship at me back than the whole law department. But when he climbs over the ropes into the scientific ring I won’t wait for the bout. I reach for me hat.” “All I know,” said Heddle. “is that some of the things he says are going to happen sound terrible.” “They are,” said the sergeant. “But what else could you expect? Why is Old Moore the top dog among the prophets? Because every page of his : masterpiece is studded with famine, slaughter, earthquakes, and King's enemies. Would anybody give a hoot jin hell for his book if it told you i things like that the weather in July j will be seasonable —which it won't, because me own holiday is that month —or that a pinch of sassafras adds to ; the subtle charm of mulligatawny. ! “So when me Lord Birkenhead ! started his Mother Shipton sideline, he decided to out-Harrod Harrods, as they say. and serve things up so hot you couldn’t hold them. “Babies, says he. will be facthoryproduced, and a wealthy woman be writin’ a fat cheque can secure a fine specimen of Young Etonian, top hat and all, w’hile the Borstal goods will i be thrown about carelessly in the bargain basement. Disease is to be practically abolished, to the great relief of the humble parrot, who lately has found himself gettin' too much limelight as a patient. Motive power is to be unlimited. Six hundred horsepower, he says, will be continued in a I fountain-pen reservoir, in which case the damned thing will leak, and a man may get kicked over St. Paul's be the released horses. Beefsteak will be grown be the ton in laboratories—with a constant spray, I expect, of onion essence. A test match in Australia will be seen with perfect clearness in London, and. no doubt, the language of the barrackers will, after bein’ filthered. be served up be radio. The people will work only wan day in four, thus leavin’ them, as he says, time to listen in to the debates in Parliament. God forbid! Everybody will be rejuvenated, he says, and dyin’ will become even more unpopular than it is now T . In fact, it’ll only be turned to as a last resort. Have I said enough, Heddie?” “How does he know that all that’s going to happen?” asked Heddie. “He doesn't.” was the reply. “He thinks it ought to happen. You see, he's been readin* a bit of Science lately, and it’s gone to his head. Or else he’s pullin’ the leg of a longsuffering community.” “If you read a book be a real scientist, a fellah that’s spent his life studyin’ a subject, he's usually the modestest man in the world. Ask him what the next step’s likely to be. and be damned but he’ll hesitate to even suggest it. It’s the other lot, the clever wans that read between the lines, and see what isn’t there, that have an answer to every question. “I read an article the other day be an omadhaun who said that the New r York skyscrapers wore bein’ fitted with moorin' masts for airships. “Woudn't that break the heart of a wan-eyed goat? Before RlOl or Zepp Umty-three is let out for an airin’ they have to wait till the wind is in a certain quarther, just like a patient recoverin’ from bad bronchitis. And it needs a battalion of men to put it to bed. Moorin’ masts! “Still, as a litherary effort, his Lordship’s book ought to be a success, and in wan place it'll made a thremendous hit.” “Where’s that?” asked Heddie. “Hollywood.” said Sergeant Murphy. “Sure it's a ready-to-wear film.”