DIABOLO!

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 9000, 10 December 1907, Page 6

DIABOLO!

A TIMELY SKETCH.

I had stepped on to the quay at Marseilles and was vaguely admiring the color-scheme of sky and town and rock, when "Pardon, pardon, monsieur!" cried someone close by, and I started to find a thin infuriated child dashing toward me with what I conceived to be a life saving apparatus. Intuition" suggested a playmate struggling in. the sea, and I promptly got out of the way of the rescuer. But his eyes were directed toward the sun, instantly I-became conscious of a hundred others gazing upward, rapt. I was mystified.,. .Now the manikin was stock still, arms outstretched and raised, each hand holding -a short stick connected at the pointy by a cord. A moment later, I noticed a; lump of something falling like a bolt from the blue. The youngster cleverely caught it on the line, and deaf to the applause of, the onlookers he contrived, by .alternate upward and downward movements of the arms to keep the bobbin revolving along the cord.. Presently the juvenile maniac (as I conceived him to be) jerked his arms' apart, and the bobbin flew high into the air. With eager eye and puckered brow he watched the thing ascend and descend, then caught it spinning on the string, whisked-it up again, and so on. He never smiled. "It is very sad," said I, "in one so young." ■' "Sad!" exclaimed a man. at my side.- :■..'.

"The boy ought to receive.medical attention," I went on. The maw guffawed. , :. "This is Diabolo, Ie jeu du diable —the devil's game," he said. "That," said I, "is precisely what I thought," and I went my way, , I had not gone far befcre I saw a dozen other youngsters, with sticks and bobbin 'and cord.: said I to myself, "I can't imagine English .children, taking up such a ridiculous game," and I proceeded to reflect on the differences of national character. CAUSE FOR SADNESS. 'ln the main boulevard I found grown men and women—clothed, but evidently not in their right mindsmanipulating the preposterous, toy. It was a shock to me. With every desire to sympathise with the "entente cordiale" and to appreciate the fine qualities of the French, 1 could not stifle the thought, "thank goodness, John Bull still plays cricket and football." And ' when I got into the.train for Paris I was sad at heart. I left Paris sadder, for 'everywhere the air was thick with bobbins. At Boulogne one could not walk on, the sands for Diabolists, and the tramway cars had often to pull up to wait the capture of a descending-reel. A child of five was performing outside the Casino, before a large crowd that had forsaken the 'tamer joys of petits chevaux. The exhibition was undoubtedly thrilling—judging by the excitement of the onlookers and their eager, envious glance at . the juggler-child. On my way to the quay I noticed a stall absolutely abandoned by Diabolo. Should I get a set for Mny niece? ' i • "How much are they?" I asked, smiling with ripe condescension. "That depends," the good woman renlied, "on what you require them for; For children I have them at 5 centimes, but for serious sport, tournaments, and " i "Serious sport and tournaments." i exclaimed. "Is it possible!" <'Tliey run up to 10 francs,"she continued. 1 bought a set for a franc, and slipped it into my handbag—l think unobserved. As the boat drew away from the white shores of France, 1 could not help a sigh of relief that Lwas on my way to a nation of men. ANNOYANCE, ANGER, DISGUST.' '. Unpacking in my room, I noticed: the toy 1 had bought for my niece, and it occurred to me to try it—not because it interested me in the slightest degree, but because I. thought it just as well to be able to show my niece how to use the thing. Slipping the string underneath the bobbin, I essayed the simple movement I had seen in France. I had.no doubt that the result would be the same, and I was surprised when it was not the same. Surprise -waxed into annoyance, . annoyance into a'rig'er, and anger into-disgust. The whole idea was ridculour, and a waste of time. 1 would ge* rid of the thing at once. On going down to a friend's hous* for the week-end I was surprised while dressing for dinner to hear a series of noises evidently arising in my host's room, and resembling the' sound that would be produced by the repeated falling of a metallic body.' I was at a loss to account for it. The hostess, moreover, was a''little late for dinner, and appeared looking very hot and Hushed. During the conversation I mentioned Diabolo, and described how it was dominating France at the present moment. I pictured it with playful imagery, and lashad the French with my most cutting cynicism. 1 was quite in my best form. It occurred to me, however, that my persiflage was not telling su well as usual. Both host and hostess seemed hardly at their ease. "Have you ever tried it?" asked the wife presently.

I lied to her. "Have you?"I asked sternly. She faltered "Yes." "And John too," sho added.

"John!" I exclaimed. The tension thinned off a little, and we changed the subject. Next morning, as I was looking out of my bedroom 'window before breakfast, I saw my hostess walking across the lawn with a small cloth bag. My curiosity was ; s.timul.ated., I decided to follow her. Keeping obscured by the trees I soon arrived at an excellent point of view. There she was on the tennis court diabolising! "Caught!" I exclaimed. "Don't tell John!" she whispered,

"I practise every morning before breakfast." And now—let me whisper to you, gentle reader—so do I.—Raymond Needham in the "Daily Mail."