PROFESSOR STRANGLES.

Taranaki Daily News, 15 December 1922, Page 1 (Supplement)

PROFESSOR STRANGLES.

(Second Prize Short Story Competition.)

WATER DIVINER. I- A TALE OF THE MOKAU. (By “The Cutter.”) • There were six of us on the Mokau Coach. Peter McQuirk lifted the black bottle to his lips and took a typical M-okau swallow. One of them may not make a summer, but it certainly 'brightens up the winter. “Heeled ?” he asked, glaring at a small man named Snobbes, who looked as if he had made a breakfast of liquid appetizers. The small man carelessly kicked a carpet bag. “Nine and the straw round them. Could have got ten in, but had me clothes ter pack.” The two friends occupied as ‘ much of the back seat as .Peter’s luggage would permit. Apparently PeteT had doubts about'the stability of the country, for he kept his assets in liquid form. It may have been the chilly morning or perhaps Peter’s breath that caused the stranger to shiver slightly. “Stranger,” said Peter, “Have a nip.” The stranger stroked his chin, so smoothly shaven—less than a week ago. “Sir, it is with pleasure that I will partake of your hospitality.” He drew from his pocket a card, neatly engraved, “Professor Strangles, Water Di viner.” “Pleased to meet you,” said Peter, lifting'his hat and nudging his small friend. “My pal, Mr. Jim Snobbes, he is a distributor of books for biishmen, sent up from town by kind ladiessort of honorary censor—he reads every book before sending it out.” He handed the stranger’s card on to Jim. Snobbes gazed at it curiously. “Ono of them lecturing prohibition parsons I reckon,” he finally said. The professor looked at him doubtfully. “Friend, yon mistake my calling, I am gifted by Nature to locate springs of water, however far below the surface of the earth they be hidden. As I pass above them my fingers tremble. Huge fees have been paid for my services.” “Just for finding cold water—do you really mean that?” replied Snobbes m an incredulous tone. The Professor bowed gravely. McQuirk took another swallow. He believed that the bird in the mouth was | worth two in the bottle. The horses plodded steadily up the rise and rattled down the other side. They were good horses—going down hill. The Professor told tales of the boreing he had done in Queensland. The driver said that he quite believed him. No one seemed to appreciate his remark, so he hit the chestnut savagely with the whip, and went on meditating on the folly of earning ten pounds a week and being paid half of it. Alongside the Professor was a stern looking lajy, draped in sombre black streamers, yet with a gentle hint of a rogueish nature. She reminded McQuirk of the long ago, when he had ridden in a hearse to an undertakers’ picnic. The coach rattled over a small bridge. McQuirk interrupted the conversation, “That bridge, Professor,” he said, “is the hyphen of the Wet-Dry Area, we must drink to it.” Professor did so in a manner that suggested his hands would tremble next morning even if he were locating water in the Sahara. McQuirk was so enthusiastic that he addressed the sombre lady in front: “Ever take anything Madam?” Her head came slowly round in a half circle and silently went back again. It looked like a hat fashion model in the pictures until her face came into view. “Horstile,” Snobbes remarked. The Professor raised his hat. “Do not take my sporting friends too seriously. Madam.” The lady unbent to remark, “Sports, I am sick of them, rushing off and enjoying themselves with fast society and leaving their wives at home. I married one once. Every Saturday into . his best clothes and off to the egg laying competitions. He had a ben once at Avondale,” —but McQuirk dropped tinhottie and woke up the whole coach. There is nothing like falling glass to alarm the residents of the King Country. The coach rambled on, so did the Prol fessor, until he was seized with a vioI lent fit of trembling. The lady pasj ganger looked up, and saw that they were coming to a great river. “What is -that queer raft looking thing?” she j asked. The driver turned round. -“That,” he said, “is the Mokau Ferry, built specially to keep the King Country dry. There is a one-cough power engine which is sufficient to retard the action of the tide long enough to drive passengers to consume all the alcohol they bring with them. Anyone leaving that ferry with liquor in his possession is looked upon as a sly-grogger, which even a Taranaki jury might convict, if he continued the practice and lived long enough.” The Professor looked thoughtful. “I guess I'll drop off here for a day or two.” He did. His fame quickly spread 1 round the district, even as far as Awakino, where they treated him well and often. . A Maori called Hoti rushed round to -the boarding house the day after the Alcohcollie trials, and declared - Uie river had uuderwued whole

road. He had seen the hands of the Professor in action on the ivay to purchase his breakfast—of aspros. Tommy Tucker, of Tomatamairc, was sceptical enough to bet a fiver that the Professor would not find any water on his place. When the linger trembling started on a patch of limestone, and the Professor declared abundant water existed fourteen feet below, public, opinion sisted on Tommy either tugging down or paying. He paid. Hone Poreka, who sat twenty-two stone in his socks, —when he wore them —called upon the Professor to locate a domestic supply of water. A spot was indicated and the liquid promised at .twenty feet, but, despite the persuas'jon of McQuirk, who had attached himself to the Professor as a sort of honorary corkscrew, Hone refused to dig. “Too prurry deep,” he exclaimed. “Just so easy let te missus go town to te river like now.”

The Professor and McQuirk wvre returning one night to the boarding house, when the policeman gently touched the Water-diviner on the arm. “Come along with me,” he said “You’seem to fit the description of a chap wanted in Dunedin.”

The Professor turned pale, his fingers shook convulsively. “Cripes-,” said McQuirk, “he is terribly close to water right now.” “You’ve said it,” replied the policeman. “There’s a hot bath waiting for him at the lock up, and he needs it.” The grip on the Professor’s arm tightened, and they climbed the hill to the police station. As the key grated behind them the policeman faced his prisoner. “What sort of a bag Jim” he said.

The Professor looked thoughtfully at a small notebook. “Well, if the beak’s in form 1 reckon two at £5O and perchaps three or four at, £'2s, but there's one cove I want to see get six months’ hard labour just to teach him to sell better stuff!” The detective stretched himself out. before the fire, and lit his pipe.