THE BEST EVER.

Thames Star, Volume LIX, Issue 16799, 29 May 1926, Page 5

THE BEST EVER.

MORE GOOD STORIES. TOLD BY LEADING CITIZENS. CONTINUATION OF SERIES. Further efforts in the humorous storycompetition, as told daily in the Christchurch Star, by leading citizens of that city, are published as follows: Not Since. The young lady was painting—sunset, red, with blue streaks and green dots. The old rustic, at a respectful distance, was watching. “Ah,” said the artist, looking up suddenly and pretending she hadn’t known he was there all the time, “perhaps to you, too, Nature has opened her sky-pictures page by page? Have you seen the lambent flame- of dawn leaping across the livid east; the redstained, sulphurous islets floating in the lanes of Are in the west; the ragged clouds at midnight, black as a raven’s wing, blotting out the shuddering moon?” “No, mum,” replied the rustic shortly. “Not since I gave up the drink.” The Wrong Word. Ten-year-old Tommy was a crossword fiend, like his father. His teacher met him in the street one day, and observed that he had been crying. “What is wrong?” she asked. “I ’ad a word wrong in me crossword to-day,” mumbled Tommy. “But that is nothing to cry about,” the teacher told him. “I have made mistakes myself, and I never cry over them. What was the word, anyhow?” “Well,” said Tommy, “the clue was ‘drunk every afternoon,’ and I put ‘dad.’ He saw it, and after he spanked me, he told me the right word was ‘tea.’ ” Hope. It was early last October. For some weeks the province had been experiencing one of its periodical dry spells. In conversation with an old identity of Ashburton, a visitor from Christchurch resorted to the time-honoured topic, the weather. “Conditions appear to be rather dry hereabouts,” he said, casually. “Ay,” said the Ashburtonite; “too dry altogether; but I’m picking that we’ll get restoration at the poll next month.” Indebted. Many years ago, when I was in charge of the men’s employment bureau in Wellington (said Mr W. H. Hagger, Conciliation Commissioner), it was the custom of the Government to advance railway fares to men employed in the country. One day a man came up to the counter and applied for a free railway pass to go to some job up country. Questioned as to his ability to pay, he replied: “The Government owe me £276 for work done.” “What kind of work?” I asked. “Bricklaying,” came the response. I put off giving him the ticket till I made further enquiries, and I found he had just been released from gaol. During the service of his term he had assisted in making bricks for the building of the Mount Cook gaol, and, carefully taking a note of the hours, he had booked up the then standard wages to the Government. Needless to say, some .guarantor was needed before the ticket was issued.