For many months the canny Scottish wooer had courted without committing himself. Then he felt the time had come to speak. Producing a wellthumbed notebook, he said: .“Maggie, I’ve been weighing up your good points, and I’ve counted up to ten. When I get to the dozen, I'll ha’e something to say.” "Well, I wish ye luck, Jock,” was the girl’s cool response. “An’ I've been reckoning up your bad points, and I’ve reached 19. When it gets to 20, I’m marrying Ferguson, the pluumber.”
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Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 August 1941, Page 5
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85Page 5 Advertisements Column 3 Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 August 1941, Page 5
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