FROM THE WATCH TOWER

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 673, 27 May 1929, Page 8

FROM THE WATCH TOWER

By

“THE LOOK-OUT MAN.”

REVENGE An explosion at Rosenberg's hotel, Buller Gorge, on Saturday night, was attributed to some men who earlier in the evening had been refused a drink. There came a■ knock at Rosenberg's hotel. It echoed through the tavern, rat-tat-tat. Waking mine host, and Mrs. R. as well, Who (maybe) ‘murmured sleepily: “What’s that/’ And sent reluctant Boniface to dicker■ With arid men in urgent quest of liquor. Though in the tavern-keeper's bosom welled Instinctively the urge to “turn it. on/’ This long-ingrained propensity he quelled, And bade his interlocutors begone. They went, but of resentment they were fuller Than winter torrents fill the brimming Buller. Hushed was the music of the pumps that night. No fountains with their amber liquids played, No. jovial echo stirred the shelves bedight With flagonets of rum and lemonade. The parching souls could not assuage their thrist. Nevertheless, they still contrived a burst. XXX. LOST AND FOUND These days, when one sees a newspaper bill bearing the announcement, “Lost Airmen Found,” one almost in-_ voluntarily asks, “Which ones?” SAFETY FIRST Sir William Joynson-Hicks predicts a majority of between fifty and sixty for his party at the British elections. This, of course, is a Conservative estimate. THE CHALLENGE A case for the Pharmaceutical Conference —if there is such a thing—is the unprofessional remark of a young chemists’ assistant to an attractive lady customer. She asked: “Have you any Lifebuoy?”’ The assistant was far from backward. His reply was: “Set the pace, madam.” THE BELLS OF ST. MATTHEW’S Correspondents to The Sun have lately expressed mild disapproval of insistent church bells in general, and of the chimes of St. Matthew’s in particular. It is claimed that life under the austere shadow of St. Matthew’s tower is not without its disadvantages. A little variation is suggested, but it may be worth noting that even the grand chimes presented by John I>. Rockefeller to the Park Avenue Baptist Church, New York, were not soothing to the neighbours. They cost an enormous sura to purchase and instal, and the church, a wealthy institution, spent large sums in defence of its title to play them. But the people of the big apartment neighbourhood in which the church stands had money, too, and finally the chimes had to go. BANKER'S PANTS , As a Minister of the Crown said recently when discussing Land Settlement, it is not settling the farms in the first place, but getting rid of those that come back on the State’s hands, that gives the trouble. Not a few people and institutions who financed farmers into expensive deals are now experiencing the joy of running the properties themselves, but the biggest transactions of this kind were those in which the Bank of New Zealand was involved in the ’nineties. Large properties in the Waikato district came into the hands of the bank, and contributed largely to Its difficulties. One of the wealthiest men in New Zealand today gained his footing in the business he now controls through being put in by a bank to watch its interests as mortgagee. The experience recalls that of a London hanker who had backed a note for a pants-maker in the East End. “Was you ever in the pants business?” asked the pants-maker. “No.” “Well, you are now.” THE CHAMPTOH The setting of this tale is one of those delightful rural spas which do so much to relieve the possible tedium of provincial life. Its capacity to do so is primarily sustained by the golf course run in conjunction with the establishment. In the lounge one morning a gentleman with a Hagen air and the right swing to his plus fours met another gentleman in grey flannels and said: “Do you play golf?” The man in flannels said he did, and was thereupon challenged to play a round for a “tenner.” “I say,” he remonstrated, “that’s a hit much, isn’t it?” “Oh, well, I don’t like going round the links for birdseed.” So 'the man in flannels agreed, and away they went. The man with the “tenner” drove a fair hall from the first tee. But the other drove a better, and went on to do the first five holes under bogey. “Why,” said the challenger, “who in the H are you?” The other casually mentioned a few important amateur titles that he held, and then said: “I think you had better put your ten pounds in your pocket.” And the man who didn't like •'birdseed” could not. do so too soon.