THE SEAMY SIDE

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 19989, 4 November 1927, Page 3

THE SEAMY SIDE

TALES TO MAGISTRATE HAWKER WHO PLAYED PIANO. (By R. E. Cordier, in the London Daily Mail.) Two musicians, linked only by a mutual love of melody and beer, appeared before Mr Gill at Westminster Police Court. Wilfred, who played the cornet in an orchestra, left his instrument in a case lin the charge room, but James, who has a wider audience, came emptyhanded. The most rigorous police search could not reveal even a Jew’s harp. “What is your instrument?” inquired Mr Gill, curiously. “I am what you call a travelling musician,” said James. “I do a little hawking and a little harmony. When trade is bad, I play the piano.” “Surely it must be inconvenient to drag a piano up and down the country,” remarked the magistrate. “I play ’em as I find ’em,” explained James with a grin. “I prefer making an honest living at hawking, but trade is very bad just now. When I play the piano I always get into trouble. ’ ’

‘‘ He was dancing round his cap in Knightsbridge when I found him,” said a constable severely.

“I had been playing the piano,” confessed James, who declared he would keep away from music in the future. He was sentenced to one day, and Wilfred, who was a confirmed musician, paid 7s 6d. * * * ♦

“’lhe tenant living above me,” said the one-legged man, “complains of the smell of burnt children.”

“I beg your pardon,” ejaculated Mr Gill. Did you say burnt children?” “Yes, my children,” said the onelegged man. “And not only that. My wife is inclined to be stout, and he makes unpleasant remarks about her weight. It isn’t neighbourly.”

Slightly dazed, the magistrate granted a summons.

P.C. 572 A is a student of newspapers. While on duty at 7 o’clock in the morning in Great Peter Street, S.W., he met John Powell with a bundle of Daily Mails under his arm. “What are you doing with those papers?” asked the constable. “So ing them for a man at Charing Cross,” replied John Powell. “You are coming with me,” observed P.C. 572. “Papers of this class are not hawked about in the early morning. ’ ’

“Right you are,” admitted John. “I pinched them from an hotel at Charing Cross.”

He was remanded, and that was why 194 hotel guests were clamouring for their Daily Mails on Tuesday morning.

Women’s lingerie of a dainty and costly elegance was found in a dustbin in a staole—where it had been placed by Thomas, of Stratfondj,, an elderly labourer, who was helping in reconstruction work at a West End Stores.

Now, Thomas all his long life had been an honest man. For 12 years he had worked for one firm, and his character was spotless. And he fell at last to the temptation of a pair of cami-kniekers in a glass case. “Those are just the things to please my daughter,” he reflected, as he passed and repassed the dainty garments, so seductive in their pink silken lustre, iHe was tempted; and he fell, and then, frightened at his folly, he hid the pretty “undies” in the dustbin in the stable where he kept his tools. As it was his first offence, Thomas, of Stratford, was bound over. He has had his lesson, and never again will he be a fool of fashion.

Another John, also an elderly labourer, owed his wife £2 12s on a maintenance order.

“I can give her £2 this morning if you will let me out to go to the post office,” said the husband. The magistrate hesitated, but John’s wife and his son readily volunteered to escort John to the post office, and the defaulting husband marched solemnly out o! court to purchase his liberty. • • • •

Etta is an attractive young blonde who won’t work. A few months ago she promised to return to Scotland, but remained in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. Then the woman missionary got her a job as a waitress, but she returned to the Vauxhall Bridge Road and declared, that she wanted fieither work nor to sec the missionary again.

She is one of the victims of the craze for “a good time,” and she is dancing gaily to the devil by way of the Vauxhall Bridge Road.