FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 477, 5 October 1928, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” (U.V .SUCH THTXGS BEf Heading in. an Auckland newspaper. “Airman Not Reported.” He certainly lias grounds for complaint. Airmen visiting New Zealand have certainly not suffered from such distressing indifference on the part of the pressmen. * =s * FIRST FINISHED Steel cables which will support the southern half of the Sydney Harbour bridge are now being placed in position. It is feared that the bridge will not be finished as soon as was originally expected, but the general feeling appears to he that it will be completed before a similar structure spans the Waitemata. PREPARA TIONS Stone fruit promises to be iu good supply for the coming season in Poverty Bay. Apples and pears also promise well. Local chemists’ supply merchants are frantically cabling home in anticipation of record castor oil orders from Poverty Bay pharmacies. . . . Boys will be boys. A QUESTION' OF LENGTH The other day a son of the so*. appeared in the office of the marriage registrar, Auckland, and confessed his intention of taking unto himself a wife. A fc.m was handed to him, and he began to fill in the answers to the various questions. After a few laborious minutes he came to a stop, and pondered deeply. Then he drew the attention of a clerk to the question: “Length of residence in the district.” “Wal,” he drawled, “I dunno that I’m too certain about the length of it, hut it’s a fr -r-roomed house.” » * * STYLITEH A new danger is spreading. The pole-sitters are at it again and have made Sydney a new centre of operations. But Sydneysiders have shown no very great enthusiasm over the efforts of these disciples of St. Simeon —Stylites who cling frantically to the pole-tip, peering into smoky space. Just what prompts them to behave in this “uppish” way is difficult to find out. One of these days a pole-sitter will perch himself in supreme isolation on the Dilworth Building. Customs officials should keep a watchful eye on Australian and American vessels when they reach New Zealand. A man who confidentially whispers to the Customs authorities the interesting information that he is a poached egg is placed under restraint. But, apparently, there is any amount of latitude for pole-sitters. “THE BIRD” FOR HENRY JAMES Mr. Hubert Griffith’s dramatised version of “The Tragic Muse,” by Henry James, seems to have met with a more cordial reception at the Arts Theatre Club th<%n did that author’s own attempt at play-writing. “Gug Domville,” which Sir George Alexander produced at the St. James’s Theatre in 1895. For the first night there was a galaxy of literary and artistic folk in the stalls, and all seemed to go fairly well until the end. Then, on taking a call, James was greeted with a terrific storm of hoots and boos from the gallery. He stood for a moment, white as chalk, then spread his hands pathetically, bowed and retreated. Sir Edmund Gosse, fearful for the consequences of such a scene on James’s nerves, hurried off to his flat next morning—to find him bright and cheerful after a good night’s sleep, and cured of a theatrical ambition which had tortured him for years. “At all events,” he declared, with evident relief, “I have escaped for ever from the fiend Excision!”

MILK A EA MODE It is very difficult to do anything nowadays without the assistance of “psychology,” so there is no great need for surprise at the news that London dairy companies have started special classes for present and prospective employees, “the milkmen being coached particularly in the study of psychology of customers and the art of selling their goods.” Thi3 ought to silence for ever all the old jokes about the cow with the iron tail; it would obviously be a very improper thing to start jesting with a psychologist about the possibility of introducing a pump to a pail of milk. Indeed, even the officers of the law who occasionally charge milkmen with a “fat deficiency” in the bland fluid which they dispense will have to be very careful what they are doing when tackling these psychological experts. “Short of fat, is it? Ho, yus! —and who says so?” “The analyst.” “Well, allow me to tell you that’s no use to me—l want a psychologist for my milk, I do.”