FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 498, 30 October 1928, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By “THE LOOK-OUT MAN.” CASE FOR KARITANE An Auckland motorist, who owns a car of the “baby” variety, was careless enough to run over his oilcan. Result: a punctured tyre. On examining the tyre the motorist found that it contained not only a piece of the oilcan, but also a gramophone needle and a slice of tram-rail. It is wonderful what these babies will eat. WHEN BULLETS FLY

A sober-sided American financial review makes the following comment in its latest bulletin: “Now that the American presidential campaign is approaching, there is a better tone in the metal market. Dead is in keen demand.” It seems that the "silver bullets” subscribed to the party fighting fund are not the only ammunition employed when Uncle Sam goes to the polls. ♦ * ♦ THE CLASSIFICATION There is an air of finality about the notice-board on the new gangway at the Devonport ferry wharf: “Gentlemen will not crush upon the gangway.” It seems to suggest that other familiar injunction, “Gentlemen do not swear, others may not.” Nothing quite so definite was thought necessary at chivalrous Devonport. THE RAID There was panic in an Auckland hotel. Someone had gone the rounds and stolen the rugs from beds. Nothing else was missing, only the travelling rugs usually disposed at the foot of each bed. There was a hurried search, aud talk of a call to the police. Then the mystery was solved. A new maid had introduced a new technique in bed-makings, and the rugs were ail under the quilts. * » » THE REASON The suburban football club was trying its best to induce a star performer to wear its colours. “But I don’t live in your suburb,” was the objection. “You don’t? Why we saw you over there, five or six times last week, five or six times the week before,” “Still, I don’t live over there,” said the obdurate one—"but my girl does.” THIS WEEK’S FAIRY-STORY

An unusual happening is related by an Auckland motorist. In turning in a narrow street he backed into another car, parked at the side of the road, and dented one of its mudguards. He took the number of the car, and left a card saying lie would pay for the damage. Back came the gallant reply: “Sir, the damage done to my car simply makes the guard you struck uniform with the other three, and will save me the need for having any of them attended to. Please accept my thanks. Your apologies are superfluous. Yours, etc., A. N. I. Seed.”

HONE HEKE’S GR A N DSO N. —M r. Hone Heke, who is an independent '7-'eform candidate for the Northern Maori seat in the elections, is a grandson of the famous chief who was the first to sign the Treaty of Waitangi and who cut down the flag pole at Russell. He is a nephew of the late Mr. Hone Heke, M.P. He was an X-ray expert in the Public Health Department before he became a farmer at Kaikohe, “Progress” is his motto and he hopes, to get the vote of the younger Maoris.

PHANTOM FIGURES Mr. J. R. Dundon, a candidate for the vacant seat on the Auckland City Council, tvas talking last evening in hundreds of thousands of pounds. Figures hopped from seat to seat and metaphorically filled every corner of the small hall at Ponsonby. A little man who sat in a front bench listened intently for some time to this maze l of mathematical activity. Then he asked: “Where is all this money?” Quick as light Mr. Dundon faced his bored questioner. “Oh, search me,” he said enthusiastically. “I haven’t got it!” THE LARGEST FOWL

Since the bird-nesting season is in full swing, it is entertaining (though quite profitless) to wonder when the next moa’s egg will be found. These curiosities of oology are rare. Miners sluicingjn Otago Central once uncovered one, and the prize ultimately reaped for them the price of a handy nugget. Far greater yet will be the cash and kudos for the first to lead in a live and authentic moa. Picture the stately fowl stepping at the hind end of a tow-rope on the Great South Road, or dipping its neck as its own special loose-hox (a concession from Mr. Sterling) whistled through the Parnell Tunnel. A story about a live moa in the Urewera Country was published in Wellington three or four years ago. Perhaps there was something in it, the Ureweras being remote and lonely, but in spite of abrasions which the author exhibited as proof of a personal encounter with the largest thing in feathers, there was a widely-held suspicion that this particular bird was hatched in the Turnbull library.