DAVIS VERTICAL FEED SEWING MACHINE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6134, 22 March 1898, Page 4

DAVIS VERTICAL FEED SEWING MACHINE.

, • ->■ a The popularity of this machine is inreasing by leaps and bounds; it always . was a favourite, but the recent improvei ments are so appreciated that all who use i it say that it has no equal. Sole agents — 1 Minson and Co., 220, Colombo Stroet. 810

on the swing doors. A Number who is fully dressed and r'jady te go out thatafteraoon assists the nutsys in arranging- ■ chrysanthemums in large bowls, and in! aivins finiil touches of neatness to the ward. This convalescent Number haß' already sflM good-bye, to each of the Numbers in "bed several times, and has distributed Toer copies of the "Up to date novelette" as souvenirs. "And glad enough," declares the convalescent Number, " glad enough I shall be to got We to my 'alf a 'ouse at Vauxhall again, and give the place a good clean up. The state that everything must be in don't 'bear thinking cf! It's worried me, I assure you, since I've been 'ere much more than iiny poor neck has." " Men are no use in the W." •"Use ?" The convalescent Number laughs so satirically that her black bonnet goes awry. ' "They're a positive nuisance, Twenty-nine." •' I used to tell my second 'usband," remarks Twenty-nine, renriniscently, " that 'he was " "Not that Joseph don't mean well," goes on the bonneted lady. " Only he's clvm o y and awVard, and left-'anded, and— well, he's a man ! That's all about it. I expect ithe dust is that thick that you could write your name all over the place. First thing to-morrow morning I shall set-to, and I shall 'aye a reg'lar good scrub out." The adult Numbers look enviously at the convalescent lady as she speaks with undisguised glee of her return to hard work. "And. the children'll want a few boxes of the ears too before thereil be what you may call discipline in the camp." The most cheerful number in the whole ward, despite the. fact that she is expecting no one to see her this afternoon, is Seven. Seven' is a^ spare old lady- who is called Granny, and it is Seven's joyous boast that she has been in and' out of hospitals ever since the far distant days when she was a mere, kid. It is understood in the ward that the stock of ills of which poor Seven has been the heiress is -exhausting itself, and that she will not trouble the infirmary, or, indeed, the world much longer with her presence. Meanwhile, Seven is the racontcuse of the ward, with many sparkling anecdotes collected during her wars with various complaints, and a waggish knowledge of heart affairs of young nurses. Just now she ia a little short of breath ; but she uses some of her small remaining stock to divert her neighbour, who is inclined to be tearful because of the gladness of all the other Numbers. " Arid I was the first," says old Number Seven, with a gasp between every three or four words, "to notice the young feller. Fine upstanding gent he was. And he come in first, on a visiting day ; just like it might be this. That was when I was in Sin Thomas's in November of seventy something. Bather military-lookin' he was." x - "I knew a corp'ral once," remarks the tearful neighbour with a faint show of interest. " Went round the ward, and presently he come to me and says, ' How are you ? ' And I says, 'Nicely thankee, sir.' And he says, ' Will you oblige me very much by accepting these flowers ? ' Jest like that." " No one don't bring me no flowers." "And so," Number Seven goes on with relish, " he commences talking. Presently up comes Sister. ' How do you do, Captain Baynfield ? ' she says. ' How do you do ? ' says he. And nothing more was said." " Five minutes more and that crowd'll be in." . "Next visiting day in he comes '.to 1 see me. agaim ' Jest bows cold-like to Sister* Glints with me for a good 'alf hour, and gives me more flowers. Most 'greeable young gent he was. . Silly old-woman-like,' I begins to quite look forward to seeing of him/ . I :;•'.: '":•:■-; '•It'li strike in three minutes." "And dang my old eyes." Number Seven coughs and recovers. " Gawd forgive me for swearin'. But dang my old eyes ! If I'd been thirty year younger. I could a worshipped that youiig feller. One Sunday afternoon. He says, casual like, ' I'm going off to the Franco-Prussian war. Next week.' And the Sister was standing just by. And she turned white And cries out, • Freddie, dear, you must not go.' And it turned out they were bnth. Soft on each other. Consequence was — -" Commotion ! A hum of excited talk in the ward that almost rises to cheers. Little Twenty-five -with enveloped head stands in hiscot,disregarding thereproof of the nurses ; many of the scarlet-jacketed women sit up, their eyes fixed on the swing doors. The first boom of the church clock is greeted with a new clapping;of hands; when the clock has finished its laboriously impressive way of announcing that the hour is three, there comes a pause of strained quietude. From the stone-paved passage a sound of hurrying, shuffling feet. Behind the glass doorways a bunch of flushed faces; a courteous struggle at the doors, which are pressed open. The crowd of visitors streams into the ward, headed by a round-eyed, round-faced little woman, who makes straight for the bed of little Number Twenty-five. "Good old muvver '" exclaims Twentyfive, with ecstacy, holding out bia small bandaged arms, "she's won easy,"