AT AH GEE’S

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19840, 14 May 1927, Page 13 (Supplement)

AT AH GEE’S

BEGGING FOR A DRINK A DOSS HOUSE DERELICT A HAPPY WOMAN “Excuse me, Mister. Could yer buy a man a drink?” Two young men in a city hotel turned to survey their interrogator. He was middle-aged; with a weatherbeaten, withered countenance which showed too plainly from what source he drew his consolation. “I hate to ask you, .gents, but I’m bad—terrible bad. I’m all shaky,” he said, “and 1 can’t talk proper till I’ve had a booze. Don’t let it be said that one New Zealander turned down another. Digger! ' ’ “Where do you come from,’’ inquired his prospective host. “London?” for their seemed a Cockney twist in his speech. “No. sir, ’Awke’s Bay. Little place called Patangata. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ What ’ll you have ?’ ’ “Gin, please. A little gin and water. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ Good luck. ’ ’ “My best respects to yer both, gentlemen. And thank ye/ kindly. Yer’ve made a now man of me, yer ’ave—straight. 1 can talk now and I don't feel shaky, like.”

“Out of a job?” “Yes. Can yer give us one?” “Sorry, I can’t. I don’t know that I wou|d if I could. By the way, how long is it since you’ve had a meal?” The bartender was near and the derelict jerked his thumb in his direction as he murmured: “Wait till ’c goes and I’ll tell yer. I ’ad tea and cakes yesterday afternoon. What I’ve been Jiving on is mostly counter lunch.” “To get that counter lunch you have to buy a drink, hayen’t you?” “ Correct! ” “Don’t you think it would be better to buy food than liquor when a mail is in the state you are in?” “Yes, sir; but I must have a bit to keep me going. I get the ‘yens,’ and I shake, and I can’t talk. Sometimes I think it’ll end in the river.” ‘‘Do you know, I don’t think vou have enough grit to do that.” “No, perhaps not. But I wasn’t always like this, sir. I’ve got a fine boy and a girl. Thomas and Annie. Annie’s married, and Thomas is a good boy—he’s got a good job. ’ ’ “Are you hungry?” ‘ 1 Y es, I am. ’ ’ “Well, look here, you’ve had the last drink you’ll ever get from me, but I’ll give you money for a meal, if you will promise you won’t spend the money in drink. Will you promise that?” “I promise.” “Right. Here is the money.” “Look, sir, it’s very good of you—you’re white, that’s what you are. You ” “I’m sorry, but T am really not interested in your opinion of inc.”

“I still got pride, mister.” “You have very conclusively proved that you have no pride by begging a drink from me.” “That’s right, guv’nor, but wouldn’t it be better lor mu to spend this money on a bed? It’s cold sleeping out, and I’ve got rheumatics. I’m near fifty, and I was at the war.” “Where have you been sleeping?” At Ah Gee’s doss-house. Two bob a time.” “Well, my advice is to get some food into you and then you might be more of a man.” “Will you fix my bed for to-night, sir? It’s cold out, and what with the rheumatics .” When he was satisfied that his bed would be paid foi, he shambled across the road to an eating-house, and his benefactor moved on as soon as they were satisfied that he was safely inside. An aged Chinese sat and smoked at the door of Ah Gee’s caravanserai “You the boss?” “No, boss inside b’long kitching.” The young men entered and encountered a European playing cribbage with a semi-intoxicated Maori-woman of mature years. An enquiry for Ah Gee met with a direction to the kitchen and a leer from the woman. “Ah Gee, fool,” was her candid observation. Ah Gee was discovered in his kitchen, washing up after a meal. He was very small, very old, and his eyes twinkled with humour and the wisdom of the East. ‘‘Goo-day, misters.”

“Good day, Ah Gee. You got a man named O’Grady in number seven?” “No. No man O’Glady stop along here. ’ ’ “Yes, he did,’’ cut in the European, who had been playing cribbage with the Alaori woman. “The young fellow ' in twelve paid for him..” “That right. He stop along las’ night. No have feed—jus’ bed, two bob. ’ ’ O’Grady’s accommodation for the night was then paid for, and the Alaori woman, who had been performing a solo cake-walk up the room, joined the group. “You come and see me?” she leered. “You come and see me?- Ah Gee, you give me some money for booze, you old fool. ’ ’ “She happy, silly woman,” observed Ah Gee to his visitors. “She have £l70 —it all go in booze. She happy woman. ’ ’ Ami they left the doss-house, followed by the maudlin invitations of the woman.—* ‘ Anatol. ’ ’ His Kind. A kindly old lady, meeting a begger, offered him a penny. The begger eyed it disdainfully. “Ma’am,” he began, “did yer read in the papers about a beggar what died and left £50,000 to a lady who’d given him a shilling?” “I seem to remember something of the sort.” replied the old lady, “but— ’’ “Well, that follow was me brother. That’s the kind of family we arc!”