BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18546, 21 August 1928, Page 9

BY THE WAY.

SOME COLLECTIONS AND REFLECTIONS. (By One of the Boys.) The Carbonated Water Bottlers’ conference. sitting in Christchurch, should be a gassy affair. The reason it was held during the race week was because a number of the delegates reckoned they could pick the “real stone ginger” at a glance. Mr Gould was not tongue-tied last night. No, my lord! Poisoned Arrows.—The local Toxophilite Club met on the Green last evening under the chief Archer. Wil Ford requested a Boon, and proved his Arm strong: and, though the Mac-hin was unstrung, he lodged an arrow right in the Gould. “The All Blacks’ Best Game—A Gruelling Struggle.” My advice to • them is—try training on porridge before the next The police at Memphis have discovered a liquor plant capable of an output of 10,000 gallons weekly. I think I’ll send to U.S.A. for some seeds of that plant. She (becoming sentimental by the sea at Sumner) : “Do you remember, Basil, when you first held my hand? I was so thrilled, dear, that I made the sago pudding with mother’s bath salts.’’ It’s a great thing to get oneself into the papers, but soon you’ll see it. Next week the Tramway Board will publish the number of passengers to Riccarton for the National. One of them will be me. Tall Man: “Congratulate me. Bill the happiest event since I married.” Short Man: “Boy or girl?” Tall Man : “No. PCJJ # on one valve! ” What happened to the boy who dropped a light in a tin of benzine? ll© hasn’t benzine since. Last night I saw the photo of Miss Ivy Ilawkes. who swam the Channel. No wonder Frank Perks gave up when he overtook her. He probably swallowed a mouthful. Won by a nose! Bill Nosworthy gets the Reform nomination for MidCanterbury over Davy Jones. Alas! there is no such thing as perfection. To-dav I stood in the Winter Show and gazed on that lovely bit of wood carving that depicted a boy in the act of spearing an eel. It was a wonderful bit of work. To me it was flawless. The nails on the fingers, the curve of each muscle, even the texture of the clothing was suggested. “Wonderful! Wonderful!!” I cried.

My wife snorted. “He doesn't know much about art,” she said, “when he fastens a boy's shirt on the right-hand side.” And when I examined it again I found it was even so.