BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17864, 4 June 1926, Page 9

BY THE WAY.

SOME REFLECTIONS AND COLLECTIONS. (By One of the Boys.) It is understood that 3AC will not attempt to broadcast the poultry show. A little while ago it was Moyle, now it is Gilroy. You can’t believe those dictionaries. I looked tip mine. It says a league is a union of people working in harmony. The miners’ leader says that the way foreign coal is being dumped into England should be made a burning question by the transport workers. In Stella’s column the other day I read that men with fair hair are romantic, passionate, are kind to animals, and make good husbands, and that men with dark hair are intelligent. versatile, fond of children, lovable and make good bank managers. Men without hair are, I suppose, merely bald. The hedgehog sleeps through the winter. He digs a burrow in a ditch, makes a bed for himself of soft moss and dead leaves, curls himself up tight and sleeps through the cold days of the winter. Scientists say the hedgehog has little brains. It’s a lie! Dad!—Dad!—Listen! If India is a hot place and they don’t never have fires in their houses there, how is it. Dad. that the paper says a man got £25,000 from sweep? The news is that next summer New Zealand ladies will follow the English fashion and wear seven ounce frocks and bare knees. This last item must be qualified, for the knees are to be well powdered. This latest fashion has been a godsend to the medical profession over in Britain. Surgeons are making more money than they did when appendicitis was at its fashionableness. At thirty shillings a pair some of them are making £2O a week putting small cross cuts in ladies’ knees. These, when they heal, make quite fascinating dimples. First golfer (concluding fishing story) : And—er—he was about as long as that last drive of yours. Second golfer: Oh, I say—really? First golfer: And so I threw him back. “ Dear Editor,” wrote the politician, “ your paper claims to be supporting me, yet you did not print a line of my speech.” “ And thus,” replied the editor, “ we remain your friend.” This is- printed without rhalice. Sandy was an old Scotchman who lived at Sydenham. Deafness was one of the signs of his age. and his friends were continually advising him to get an ear trumpet. 55'hether it was meanness or conservatism. Sandy would not entertain the idea. His friends were agreeably surprised one day when they saw him with one. “ Hullo, Sandy,” said an acquaintance, “when did you get your ear trumpet?” “ Last Friday,” said Sandy, between drinks. “ 55'hat made you get it so sudden? You were dead against it last week.” “ 55’e11, you see,” said Sandy, slowly, “ I had an accident.” “An accident?” “ Yes, a chap outside the pub asked me to come and have a whisky, and I told him where the post-office was.”