THE LITTLE THINGS OF LIFE

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 164, 1 October 1927, Page 24 (Supplement)

THE LITTLE THINGS OF LIFE

The Sandwlchman. . „ What Lights are Kind Lights?, . . Father Purchases a Cosy Chair,.

C oralis Stanley Mackellor. who writes these impressions for Til SUN, is wtlll.n.owti to many New Zealanders as Laiie Seton Cray. Under that "nom de guerre” she contributed bright, racy articles to ■ The Triad’’ (in the later days of Frank Morton’s regime) and to many leading Australian newspapers. THE KINDEST LIGHTS For sweet sixteen, the early morals.; light. For twenty-five, afternoon tea-time light. For thirty-three, her back to the light. For forty-six, shaded candle lights. For fifty-three, the garden lights. For sixty-six. the red fire lights. For seventy-four, the dim, quiet lights. And at the end Gods clear, white light. ASSOCIATIONS Auckland—A crystal ball, baby New York, rag-time, races, movies, summer time, laughing eyes, sore feet, the Grand hotel, beaches, yachting, joy, mumps, rain, measles. THE SIGNIFICANT LETTER The letter L opens five magnificent doorways, the most important being the first, three. 1. Liberty. Think of it. The flight of a free bird The freedom of the open road to the toiler. . . . The ploughing of the painted seas by a tall ship. . . . The open lungs on a fresh spring morning. . . . The first word on the tongue of the freed prisoner. . . . The trump card of human existence. 2. Labour. You’ve seen it haven’t you? the steady swing of the blacksmith’s hammer. . . . The farmer ploughing the tawny field. . . . The hands of mechanism perfecting the engineering world. . . . The hands of surgery guiding the mysteries of life and defying the beckonings of Death. . . . The bent back and the brow of sweat. . . . Motherhood. 3. Learnirg. You’ve wanted that? You’ve had that? You love that? The great cry of the yearning breast. . . . The ambition to follow great men. . . . The first feeble flutterings of the bird from twig t> twig. . . . The treasure of studen s. . . . The privilege of all! And the last two? Dove and £ s d. Both to be desired—had—held—lost. But the first three. Ah! These are man’s inheritance from the gods—the rest is easy. THE SANDWICH-MAN He walked along Queen Street in the drizzling rain. His coat was greenish and thin and the top button held a bit of twine which fastened the lapel over his narrow chest. His too-large boots squelched as he dragged along mechanically. His brown hat had a hole on the top and a tiny pool of water trickled through and small rivulets ran down the nape of his red, hairy neck. His face was half hidden in a bush of straggly stubble and a drop of water hovered affectionately on the end jf his nose. His eyes were a dull, apathetic grey and seemed to be peering inquiringly at the gutters as if they were amazed to find nothing more there than sullen water. He ambled vacantly on down the wind-swept street, his sandwich boards thumping cheerfully his tired bones back and front. And yet there was one small spark of cheeriress to light his gloom, one small thing to make his heart beat faster and quicken his trudging footsteps, for the sandwich board read: •‘Young people! Young dancing people! We are here to tell you that

500 pairs of silver brocade and blue satin dancing shoes are to be sold at below cost price at our store to-mor-row. You know us, The Merry Boot Shop where the Fair Bargains Are Found.” He was over seventy and it was nearly six o’clock. I wonder If he ever knew' just where in Life the Fair Bargains are Found!

FATHER’S CHAIR Father had always sat in the canebottomed chair with the red arms, and the red plush cushion, as long as we could remember. He always threatened to buy a new one, but when the first bonus came he put it into garden tools. The second bonus went for Mary’s trousseau and the third for a new stair carpet. Father was sixty when he got some insurance money and mother said he must get a chair this time and so, after she had fitted us out in summer shirts, and got the girls new linen dresses, and paid the piano instalment, and refurnished the spare room, there was two pounds to the good. Mother was busy baking and so she rang Mary up and asked her if she would go with father to buy the chair. Mary was very pleased to go and said she would love it. She and father trotted off and It was really a trot because Mary was in a hurry that morning, having to get home early and set the table for a supper party. It always takes Mary a pretty longish while to fix her table right. So she hurried lather out of the gate and we watched them going up the hill, father steaming along like an engine to keep up with Mary. Of course, they didn’t go first to the chair place as Mary wanted to buy olives and pate and bits and pieces for her supper table. Then they went into a. ribbon place where bonbons were sold and Mary had to borrow five shillings from father as the pink ones were just too sweet and a little more than Mary had bargained for. Then Mary was tired and so father took her for morning tea and that cost three shillings because Mary likes cream in the morning and buttered waffies best. After that they walked down toward the chair place, but on the way Mary stopped father at the florists and told him a tale about the lovely cherry blossom and father fell for four and six. Then Mary said she was determined that father must not dawdle about any longer looking at the windows and that he was a naughty old darling and they must get on with the job. Mary was very sweet and playful with father. So they went

into the place where the chairs were, and Mary was very up-stage and haughty with the shopman who showed them saddlebags and leather chesterfields at eighteen guineas. She tried them all, the plush ones and the brocades, and then as father was trying to whisper to her to get the man to show them something cheaper, Mary froze the poor perspiring person who was heaving the stuff about, with a look and said the chairs were not at all what she wanted. Mary walked out looking like a million dollars and father faithfully followed, for mother always makes him do that. They walked a little way down the street and then Mary saw an auction room and told father this was the very place. In they went and the auction man was selling everything. For a

little while they listened to him and then he put up a baby's high chair. Mary suddenly got very excited. She told father rapidly that it was the very thing for Herbert Arthur, her little boy, who is just four weeks old. Father pointed out that Herbert Arthur had such a little bit of a seat as yet It would be lost in that high chair, but Mary thought it wouldn’t be long till it would grow and he could use it, maybe a couple of years, but that didn’t matter because it was such a bargain, only thirty-five shillings and brand new. Mary couldn’t bear the excitement of the auction room. It went to her head and she and a redfaced woman bid and bid—and Mary got it. Of course, she was most distressed when father had to fork out, but she patted his arm and said that little Herbert Arthur would always remember it was his dear sweet old granddaddy who had given him the darling chair. Father smiled and said he supposed so, for mother has always taught father to be reasonable about not getting everything his own way. On the way home they stopped at the tobacconist’s for Mary wanted some cigaiettes, but there was tenpence over from them and so she bought father some plug tobacco. That night when tea was over father took out his pipe and filled it with the tobacco and was puffing at it sitting in his old red plush covered chair quite contentedly, but mother said it smelt a.wful and made him knock out his pipe. Father always does as mother tells him too. Mother says that is why he is such a good husband, and he crossed his hands over his stomach and leant back and closed his eyes. Mother went on with her darning, but she looked at. father gently now and then, and, as he wriggled about finding the bits of chair that fitted into his back and the humps to avoid, mother whispered to us to be quiet and not make any noise for he was resting comfortably after his happy little outing with Mary In the morning.