SEARCH FOR “W.D.”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 79, Issue 264, 7 November 1936, Page 8

SEARCH FOR “W.D.”

JOHN CITIZEN GETS BUSY BUT IS NOW SADDER AND WISER THE SURGE ABOUT TAIHAPE. John Citizen at one time, a long 48 hours ago, wished that his initials had been “W.D.” and that he had resided in Taihape. He thought seriously on Thursday morning ot applying lor a change of name. Fifty thousand quid would be worth it, perhaps? * But now, after a visit to Taihape as a second best leg to the money waiting to be claimed, John is glad he is still as he always was. “William Denizen,” “Walter Dignity,” these were two names John pondered on adopting, but he finally decided that that road to the “Eldorado” was not too good. He had no ticket! As a second-best line to participation he decided that, as there was a man in Taihape with the initials “W.D.,” and had the all important ticket, the best thing for John to do would be to go and find him and sell him something. That, John decided, would be what would happen to him if he won £50,000. There would be somebody at the door early in the morning, selling something! John decided to get in first in the long line of sellers and “interested” people in the search for “W.D., Moawhango.” He donned his best blue suit, a hard hat (necessary, considering the importance of the mission), joined W. P. Miller’s express en route to the town with the last pub this side of the King Country. To-day, John is back home staking his sweet peas, his hard hat abandoned, his blue suit put away—a sadly enlightened citizen, unmoved by gold or thought of gold. In the brightness of the noonday sun John stepped off the platform at Taihape, refreshed at the thought } that he would at least meet some of his old football cobbers there even if he didn't meet “W.D.” He would have a glass with “Moke” Bellis, perhaps, and talk of the days when the Springboks drew in Wellington, or ponder with Reg Collier (or was it Bill?) who startled Taranaki when he goaled a wet ball from over half-way. There was a possibility of Bill Duncan being the man he was looking for. But .... It started before John got to Taihape. Comfortably studying his morning “Chronicle” in the carriage near the van, John was disturbed. “Excuse me,” a young man with a checked suit asked. “You don’t happen to be ‘W.D.’ do you?” “No,” John answered, “but I’m looking for him.” | “So’m I,” the checked-suit enquirer declared, hurrying on. “I have a horse. . . .” That was all John heard, but the man who had departed was written down in John's mental diary as a potential rival in the selling business. And on Taihape station he met several more potential rivals, some of them casual, others bursting with eagerness. “Are you ‘W.D?’” he was greeted by a slim-suited young man, modernly cut. He saw two girls giggling at him. Finally they asked: “Do your initials happen to be ‘W.D.’?” He got it wherever he went. “Hic-schush me, but I'm looking for a—hie—man with a hie—initials ‘W.D.,’ ” the early-in-the-day imbiber declared, moving up, confidential like, to John, who was having a refresher before lunch at his favourite pub. Even at. the lunch table he was disturbed by the same query. “Your initials don’t happen to be ‘W.p.,’ do they?” And John got. tired of it. He heard it. in the street, heard it in his walk beside the gently flowing Hautapu—“W.D. . . . W.D. . . . W. . . W. . . W.D. . . .’’—The letters seemed to be whispered by the very trees, trending away out to the blue of Mataroa, Hihitahi, Rangiwaea, Colliers, over to Moawhango, back again towards Ruanui. . . “W.D. . . . W.D. . . . W.D. . . .” Always “W.D.” Where was the man? Even the dogs were barking about it and the birds twittering--Who was “W.D.”? and did he have £50,000? Everybody wanted to know, and John, poor John, who had fondly imagined that he had found an everlasting mar- ! ket for his precious “pedigree” “Gonville’s Glory” sweet pea seeds decided to take W. P. Miller’s train home. He reflected that Mr. Miller’s initials were even nearer the “mystery man’s” than his own. Before he left. Taihape John had a word with good old “Moke.” | “I can see you're not ‘W.D.,’ anyhow,” “Moke” declared. And that, to John, was the most friendly greeting | he received. “Then what makes everyone want ■ to know if I am?” John asked tartly, j “The hat, and the suit,” “Moke” de- | dared. “Never wear a hat and a suit I like that in Taihape.” They had their drink together, j talked of old scrummage days, of lhe i two-three-two and the great and i memorable draw between All Blacks and Springboks long ago. And in the dead o‘f night, John slipped out of Taihape, an old felt hat of “Moke’s” on his head, and shut his ears to the clack, clack, clacking of the train . wheels trying to say, “W.D. . . . W.D. . . . W.D.” At Wanganui a friendly porter chap j touched John on the arm. “They tell me ‘W.D.’s’ been found,” he said, with enthusiasm. “Where?” John asked, without enthusiasm, definitely without, and definitely weary. “In Wanganui!” the porter said. “Didn’t belong to Taihape, after all!” John hurried home and is again staking his sweet peas. The great “gold rush” to Taihape, for him, is definitely over and (he consoled with himself). . . . “Trying to sell a few sweet pea seeds to a man with £50,000 against another selling an aeroplane, a farm,’ a batch of shares, a mansion, a horse, or a yacht, seems to me to be out of all proportion. What’d he be interested in sweet peas for? He’d leave that to his gardener, the head gardener, I mean.” And with that thought John dismissed the selling business from his mind. ______