TROLOVE’S MISTAKES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17830, 26 April 1926, Page 5

TROLOVE’S MISTAKES.

Tt> the Editor.

Sir,—The other day, having just nice time for a snack, before a friend intended to pick me up in his car to take me down to the golf links, I , scuttled into a quick lunch counter. Yes, it was an alcoholic one—l have to mention this because part of the point of the story is contained therein. Well, I called for a “medium” shandy. As soon as that word had slipped out 1 knew I had made a mistake, and I was sure of it when I saw the amount of liquid in one of those glasses with a “waist.” You men and you elderly ladies will know what I mean—the girls won’t because “waists” are oldfashioned these days. I saw, too, that the mistake could be remedied by being repeated later on if necessary. I took it across to the tucker table, and proceeded to make a hole in both. When nearly through with this proceeding, and having remedied mistake No. 1 by mistake No. 2, a Salvation Army man came in with a bundle of “War Crys.” I watched him go down the “line-up”—you men will again know what I mean. He was a nice-looking young chap, and intelligent looking, too, and I saw he would take me on his return. When he got to me and asked me - to “take one”—Christmas Number, I think it was—it never occurred to me to say “Have one with me.” Instead I said “ I see you have made the same discovery that I did many years ago.” “What was that, sir? * “ Well, that in these ‘wet spots ’ you are likely to strike ‘colour' as the •gold-miners would say. I noticed that though you did not sell any papers, you got a fair response going down the line over there.” Then I told him jof an experience of mine in the street-collecting war days. “Yes,” he said, “when you set out to follow Jesus Christ you find yourself in queer places sometimes—we try to carry out His commands.” Then the talk drifted to the “faith that could move mountains.” Yes, he knew the story about the old woman who prayed that the bank at her back door might be shifted, and seeing the bank still there in the morning, she exclaimed, “just what I expected.” lie admitted that there was something lacking. something lost, in present-day Christianity; perhaps it was lack of faith, they did not seem to be able to heal the sick as of old. As my time was nearly up. I said abruptly, “Have you ever heard of those Spiritualists?” “Yes, they belong to Satan.” “I’m one.” He made a bolt for the door. “Here, here.” “Here’s good luck to us all,*’ and I raised my “waisted” glass, and he went off with the price of what might have been my third mistake, and a smile on his face.—l am, etc., PETER TROLOVE.