BY THE WAY.

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 301, 19 December 1931, Page 9

BY THE WAY.

Some Collections and Reflections. (By ONE OF THE BOYS.) Mast of the break-ups have items and most of the items are break-ups. The Rev J. K. Archer has resigned and now the congregation will have to be resigned and afterwards a new minister will be re-signed on. Jiggs: Smithy is well named. Biggs: Why? Jiggs: A smithy has a forge and Smithy forges ahead and helps weld Australia to England. Biggs: Weld done. K “ Memories of Paris ” came over the air last night. Ah me! The best memories of Paris are not broadcast. They are told at soldiers’ re-unions—for men only. Times are hard all right. There is many a business man to-day in Christchurch who could not afford to buy his wife a new fur coat if she did find out. j.* So milk bottles are washed in a wash-tub and our milkman still insists that that peculiar flavour is caused by the cows feeding on clover. Miss Muriel and Louie Waugh with banjo and piano played “ Take your Pick” last night from 3YA. Of course with a pick there is usually a banjo. Some more howlers:— A parasite is a thing you jump out of aeroplanes with. Charles I. wore a velvet robe trimmed with vermin. A conjunction is a place where a railway ends. A quack doctor is a veterinary surgeon. The comparative and superlative of bad is very ill, dead. “ How are you getting on at school, Jack?” “ Fine, uncle. I am learning to say ‘Thanks very much’ in French.” “ Good- That’s more than you were ever taught in English. The Clerk: “I’m taking a correspondence course to get more money, sir.” The Boss: “Ah, bad luck. I’m taking one to reduce expenses.” A very seedy-looking old man presented himself at a hospital for cats and dogs and asked to be taken in. “ You can’t come in here,” he was told. “Oh yes, I can,” he protested. “ I’m an old soldier.” “ But, my good man, you can’t. This is a veterinary hospital.” “ That’s right,” answered the old man, serenely. “ I’m a veteran.” What’s all the noise, what’s all the fuss? They’re going 'to stop the Northcote bus. There’s going to be a meeting, and I tell you it will beat the band. Among themselves, old Papanui Will fight till they are black and bluey, But let the Tramway Board touch one And all will rally round, my son. Old Brown will come. His family bikes, While as for Brown he always hikes, But when they try to take the bus He’ll come along and raise a fuss. And Smithy, he picks up, by gum, All those who wait a buss to come. His car, he says, burns no more gas. No writing passenger he’ll pass. And those who motor, ride or walk Will come along and talk and talk. But Brown and Smithy, list to me, The Tramway Board would leave it be, If all those folk who raise a fuss, Would only come and use the bus. The atmosphere of a pie cart is usually cheerful, but the little man who sat in the corner was bitter. Someone had called “ A merry Christmas ” to Ham. “ A merry Christmas,” he growled “ There’s a lot of merry Christmases about, I’m sure. What has Christianity done? Aren’t there thousands of children going without proper food? You are all Christians. Children hungry and you stand there smug and talk about merry Christmases! Christianity is no good. We want a new religion.” Still scowling, the man brushed the curtains aside and stepped out into the night. Ham looked at me and there was a troubled look in his eye. “ The man is partly right,” he said, “ but be is wrong in one thing. We don’t wajit a new religion. Christianity is all right.” “ Of course it is,” I told him. “ Yes*” Ham said slowly. “ Christianity is all right. The only trouble is that it has never been tried yet.”