Vanity Fair

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 72, Issue 260, 1 November 1929, Page 2

Vanity Fair

"Chronicle” Office, Wanganui, October 31, 1929. When Margot looked in, the collector (not of debts, otherwise Margot would not have looked in) was washing his treasure trove in a bath of some curious and unpleasant-looking fluid, which, as Margot subsequently discovered, was a species of acid. He extracted it, held it up to the light, and gazed on it with rapt admiration. "Come here,” he said, "approach reverently, and look at this” Margot looked. “A pretty pattern, methinks, ” quoth she, "But apart from that, what on earth about it?” > ii "Do you see that fanny little squiggly line, up in the corner?” asked the gnetleman, triumphantly, "Well, since you do, learn that it really shouldn’t be there at all. Jt should be five-eighths of an inch to the left of its present location. Someone has bl undered. There are probably only half a dozen replicas of this in existence. And I got it for a mere song. "Sing, if you must,” Margot replied, speaking in self-defence. "But really, you musn’t go on like this. It simply can’t be done. I gather that somebody has spoiled the design of that stamp which you are at present discussing, by putting the neck of th c giraffe who is depicted as eating the leaves of a palm tree, which no real giraffe would ever look at, slightly out of plumb. This is annoying; but it should be faced with self-control. After it, the denomination of the stamp is only a ha'penny, and, if the C.P.O. is silly enough to make a fuss over the trifling eccentricities of this one, I'll finance you for another. Nobody can say fairer than that. “Some people," said the man, profoundly, "are born fools. Others acquire foolishness. Others have fooling thrust upon them. I belong to the latter class, and the only other member here present has derived advantages from both the former. The sta mp which I now hold is worth several hundred pounds." "Oh, Lor,” said Margot, thinking of what co uld be done, gt will. With several hundred pounds, “I got it,” said the man proudly, “for a mere song, as 1 say —£so, to be exact—from an ignoramus who wasn’t fit to have charge of it.” . . • ... “And when will you sell it?” asked Margot, with a totally new respect for the mans business abihties. . ... ■ "Sell it?” shrieked the man, "Goth, Vandal and American—l shan't sell it. I'm going to keep it, and leave it to the Museum when I die.” And he looked so seriously peeved that Margot simply hadn’t the sturdy British courage to press the matter further. But still, she really can’t see why a mere matter of a crick in a giraffe's neck should be worth hundreds of pounds—that is, to anyone e xcept the giraffe, who might make money out of a really outstanding deformity in a circus. People are funny. With some originality (though not perhaps very much), MARGOT.