SPINDRIFT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16942, 17 January 1923, Page 6

SPINDRIFT.

Readers are invited to send in original topical paragraphs or verses for this vohmm, which is a daily feature at " Star.” Accepted contributions should be out out by the writers and forwarded to the Editor, who will remit the amounts payable. The usual butcher’s remark now when you go to buy lamb is “ Kidneys in or kidneys out?” The Russian Government has dispatched troops to turn back half a million starving Russians who are trekking from South Russia. The idea is, of course, that if the Russians want to starve then they must starve at home. Said a. greedy young fellow from Gust., “ Oh, Christmas is here so I must Have a bounteous repast, For why should I fast?” And he ate. and he ate till he bust. When a man commences by saying: “ I hate talking scandal you know, but you can bet your life he ;s just going to wallow in it. I was talking to a friend the other day. He had just got a fine new car. As a matter of fact we were just trying it. Not having one of my own, I am always glad to try other people’s, to volunteer and accept advice, and that J ma> “ . . Man’s forgiveness give—and take.” I said it was a oar; and, indeed, it was a car. Yet my friend seemed uncertain whether he haa made the best possible bargain. “Not sure, ’ he said, “that I did right in not choosing a Ford. Rattling good car, the Ford.” ■‘Rattling’ is right,” says I. “ They’ll take you anywhere except into decent society. “ Yes, I’m almost sorry it isn’t one of those,’ says he. “ After all, a Ford is always fordable; I mean to say, il the current isn’t very strong, it makes up in vibration. And what I don’t know about the engine, they may ask Harold Lloyd, that’s all. Did you see him on the films the other week—dive in. one end and come out the other? I’ve never done that, of course. “ Well, as I was saying, I understand a Ford; I can do it all myself. But with these high-power things you're completely at the mercy of the garage. If they tell you the ’bus needs a new differential calculus or something, you’ve simply to take their word for it and foot the bill. “Now I’m not an engineer; as you know, I’m a professional man. It may take me longer to do the job ; but then, my time’s not so valuable as theirs—that is, according to the rate of pay. Of course, I often have to ben-1 it to the galas*- after till; but 1 nci then able to tell them exactly “What vcu’ve broken, you mean?” said I, sympathetically. “Exactly,” he replied. “Certainly they don’t take much notice of what I say.” “ But they find out all the same, no doubt,” I answered. “My friend seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then, “ Whift is your experience?” lie said. “ As you know', I don’t drive my own car. As a matter of fact I don’t know who is driving mine just now'. You see, I haven’t quite decided which one to have.” “But you did have one?” “ Yes; but I don’t know driving that, either. A chap took it over as part payment of a debt, really ; but he didn’t keep it long Hia reasons and accompanying remarks were very eloquent, 1 assure you, but hardly classical.” “ What did you do then?’ “ Oh, I got out my old motor-bike. It was missing on one cylinder. I took it down, and fixed it up. It’s missing on both. now. I think I must have forgotten about the timing-gear. So I’ve gone back to the old push-bike. I don’t ride it much ; but it keeps me pretty busy, all the same. I’m still my own mechanic. “By Jove! What’s wrong now’?” says he. as the Rolls-Royce came to 0 standstill. “ 1 think you’ve run out of spirit.” says' I. “I’m feeling a bit dry myself. Never mind, come and have a drink.” The Sunday school teacher had spent fully three-quarters of air Soar in explaining to her class the story of Samson and the Philistines. Later in the lesson she thought she would test the memories of her bright little pupils. Accordingly she asked : “Now. w'hat did Samson do?’ Dead silence. “Come on children, what did Samson do?” An urchin in the back row shot up his hand and said, “ I’ll be the mug, miss. What did lie do ?” I must say that I dislike the way these kiddies from the Chatham Islands are being badgered about from pillar to post. I think it is bound to give them a bad impression of the Cathedral City. What’s the good ot talcing these children, here on a holiday, to the sa-leyards, or factories, or other dud places? For the use of those in charge 1 append an itinerary which, if I were a; child again. I think would be most suitable: Monday—lo.3o a.m.. Morning tea. at Beath’s. 12. Lunch at the Beresford. 3.30, Afternoon tea at Ballantyne’s. Tea at the Carlton. Intervals could be filled up with ice-creams at different shops. 7.30, Pictures at Everybody’s. Tuesday—o a.m.. Visit to Aulsebrook's; each child will get a souvenir box of chocolates and will be the guests of Aulsebrook and t'o. at morning tea. T2, Lunch at Beath’s. 3.30, Afternoon tea at the Beresford. Tea at the Dorothy. 7.30, Pictures at the Crystal. Wednesday—9 a.m.. Trip t-o Brighton ; morning tea on the pier. Lunch at Ballantyne’s. Afternoon tea at the Beresford. Tea at the Clarendon. Pictures at the Grand. Supper at the Victoria Square Pie-cart. T think this is enough to show what T mean. By the time a week of this •was finished the kiddies would have a good idea of the different eating places, which is all very important knowledge. Perhaps the next lot of children will have an itinerary similar to this one—perhaps. They met on the bridge at midnight; ’They will never meet again— For one was a northbound heifer, Tlie other a southbound train. The holidays are over now, Alas! that this should be I Those joyful days they sped too soon, They went right merrily. And all that’s left of seaside- joys, And “ walking to Mt Peel,” Is but a redly peeling nose A sore and blistered heel. The Christmas ducks are laid to rest, Their bones are buried too, Till Fide digs them up again As he is wont to do. My little purse, is empty now j Ah ! Sad it is to me. To think that T must wait until The end of January. SIXBA D.