MORE XMAS CRACKERS

Taranaki Daily News, 16 December 1921, Page 8 (Supplement)

MORE XMAS CRACKERS

(Continued from page 7.) BY A LENGTH. No series of sporting yarns would be complete without a tilt at the stipes—those short-sighted, trouble dodgers, who only appear to wake up when pay day arrives. Still, there arc exceptions. At a country Taranaki meeting a stipe posted himself below the distance post, and as the field flashed past him lie noticed that Hector Gray was sitting still on his horse, while the lads all round were laying on the whalebone for all they were worth. Jumping rails, the stipe chased the horses up the straight, and reaching the box just before the numbers were hoisted, gasped out, "Put him out! He pulled his head off! Put him out!” "Put who. out?” asked a steward in the box*. “Put Gray out! I saw him pull Alteration up!” spluttered the stipe. "Garn," replied the steward with scorn, “Alteration won by a length!” THE JOCK'S REPLY. On another occasion an apprentice, whose mount finished "absolutely” was "carpeted," and asked for an explanation. Bursting with importance, the stipe assumed his spectacles and a severely judicial air, and began his cross-examination. But it was short lived- The first question put to the quaking youth was, “Just you tell me, couldn’t you have gone faster, you little imp?” “Not without gettin’ off> the ‘orse, sir!” came the naive reply, and while the stipe grew red in the face, and mopped up half a pint of perspiration, the judicial committee hid their dials in their hankies and rushed off to luncheon. * * * * * * GOOD FOR SHAVING. You strike “pests” everywhere, and one familiar annoyance was always met with on race trains between Patea and Waverley. .He was an old chap, and tall, and his clothps looked as if they .were made on purpose. His "long suit” was to stroll through the carriages, leaving doors open, and to distribute tracts and free advice about “the devil’s pictures.” booze, racing, and all the things which help one to forget the mortgage and the hungry mouths at home. Gee! He was hated! I'm sure, if he was buried up to his neck I wouldn’t hold an umbrella over his head if it rained turkey's eggs. One bright morning we were bouncing along to Waverley, when the of this testimonial entered, and commenced operations. The first person he accosted was an angelic young man, who was deeply engrossed in his correct card, evidently trying to work out whether Marqueteur could give Egmont Park half a hundredweight, or whether Piano could win a race if all the rest fell down. “Have a tract?” demanded the pest for the umteenth time. “Yes, yes,” replied the youth, “will have a hundred if you like.”' not looking up. “You shall have them.” said the pest in dramatic tones, "and see that you read them. They will do you good.” The youth took the proffered literature, glanced at it. and then turned to the giver of gifts. "Haven't yon a. piece of string on you?” he asked.* impatiently. “String? And what would yon want string for, my lad?” came the question. “To hold ’em together,” said the rude youth, “you know they come in so handy for shav- ; n <r paper* I've just used up the bundle you gave me last year!” The pest disappeared amidst a roar of laughter. * **■*, * * THE JOCKEY’S GUEST. Taranaki once possessed a fastidious iocl<ev. who believed himself a cut above trainers and others with whom he perforce associated. Therefore, it was not surprising that he was naj; exactly Popular with the “common herd. He was stopping at the White Hart one nbdit- so was a trainer whom We will caTl Dick. Now Dick was a practical icker Both were out and late, but not to-o-ether. Dick was accosted by an out* of-elbows vagrant and asked if he could | put him up somewhere, else he would have to meander the town the whole | long. Dick had a sudden inspiration. Yes; he could find him a room |

at the White Hart, so thither they repaired, and the vagrant was shown into the fastidious one’s room! “There you are; make yourself comfortable. If anybody disturbs you let him have it!” About 2 a.m. in comes the Superior Person, opens the door, and begins to peal off. Then he saw a figure in the bed! “What the h — ! ! ! are you doing here!” he exclaimed. The sleepy one turned over and consigned him, and his whole family, to the nether regions. The jockey rushed outside and awakened the house, and pelted into the proprietor, who emerged in his pyjamas. He was blamed for it all. Why had he put another man in his room ? The proprietor went into the bedroom and began to gently argue with the inmate, but he got no satisfaction. The vagrant would not budge, and Mr. Jockey had to content himself with a shakedown, hurriedly prepared, in the passage. HE KNEW. It was when the war was on. The Taranaki Cup had been run, and the punter, seeing the posters all around, had come to the conclusion that he ought to enlist. So off he . went to the office, and duly filled up the card and handed it back to the officer-in-charge, who glanced through it. “So you want to go into the Mounteds,” he said in rather sarcastic tones; "What do you know about horses?” This raised the sport’s wrath. “Me know about horses?” he almost yelled, “me know about horses. Me what picked the Cup and seven other winners on Wednesday!” HIS HOBBY. Uncle John—poor long lost Uncle John—had blown in for the races, but he hadn’t mentioned the fact to his nephew or the latter’s wife. The wife was an out-and-out Kill-joy, and looked upon races and the cup that cheers as the copyrighted inventions of his Satanic majesty, Uncle John, had just stowed away, a decent “binder” when he felt the call of the gee-gees, or fancied he heard the rustle of the hups, or something. At all eVents he longed for con-. genial company, and he was unmistakably dry. So he proposed a turn about town. "“Yes, of course, Uncle,” gurgled mother, “little Willie will take you out to see the sights.. There’s Pukekura Park, and Marsland Hill, and the Esplanade. Willie knows them all,” and away they went. Several hours later • Uncle and little Willie returned. Uncle was brimming over with good humor, but was not—well, not as you’d notice it! Uncle was introduced to the parson, and immediately began an animated conversation, extolling the beauties of Pukekura Hill, Marsland Park, and the along the foreshore. Willie was brimming over too, but it was not with humor. It was lemonade and raspberry. And lie had learnt quite a lot in his travels too. “oh, mother,” he exclaimed, “Uncle’s a trimmer!” “A what?” asked mother, ungrammatically. “A trimmer, mother. That’s what al! the men in the pubs called him,” explained Willie. Mother, nearly in a fit, gasped, “Were you in an hotel, Willie?”

"Yes,” replied Willie, “in dozens of ’em. I’ve had ever so many glasses of lemonade and raspberry, and Uncle never left off lowering pints! One man reckoned Uncle was the best long distance booze sinker he ever met. Uncle Said it was his hobby—.” But mother had fainted. The next morning I met Uncle, carrying his carpet bag, heading towards the Criterion. “Shifting?” I asked. “Yes,” he replied, “they’re all flaming wowsers up at that joint!” ♦ * # * * PAY AT THE SCALES. An old time jockey, who now runs a. pubbery not far away, was being pesteied by a down-and-out old time horseowner for a loan, but met his advances with adroit elusiveness. Finally the “bite” got down to flattery—the last fence —and spoke of the great races that Bung had ridden, etc. But Bung was still adamant. “You rode 'undreds of ’orses* -for me, didn’t yer?” the “tug” whined. And then the ex-jockey turn* ed, and as a man reminded of the number of times he had been “scaled” fot his riding fees, said, “You’re quite right I did ride for you—often. But they have to pay at the scales now!” Tile old-time owner went out and kicked the woolly dog on the mat. ****** THE SCRIBE’S JOB. “It must be the very deuce to have to go to races and push the pen all day,” said a pal to me one night we were motoring back from Hawera. “Oh, you get used, to it,” was the best reply I could dig up. "But meeting friends, and all that, don’t you ever get lit up, and wish the writing business to Hong Kong?” he persisted. “No, never,” I replied, quoting "Pinafore,” “we 11.... hardly ever!” But there are time* when racing does pall. You meet a dozen fellows you haven't “seen for years, and you have a couple of “spots” with each. And then the stewards rush you with free booze; and- some popular sport wins the Cup and turns on wine; and you get three races behind with