PSYCHIATRISTS had been meeting in solemn convention at Chicago, after which the representative from the Ontario Hospital at Penetanguishene started for home with his wife. They were driving through East Chicago at 40 per, the Canadian psycho happily mulling over the latest info on fixations and hallucinations, when wifey pointed to an airplane crossing the highway just ahead of them at extremely low altitude. From there on we give you the psychiatrist’s own (signed) statement.
“Almost immediately something appeared on the windshield accom-
panied by a dull smack. I was most surprised to see stretched out below the windshield a green snake, some 18 inches long. Above it was a big smear of blood, on the ventilator of the door two more blood smears. My wife and I feel anyone’s guess is as good as ours as to where the snake came from.”
Not ours, Doc—not ours. We keep our mind free and untrammelled, and just take life as it comes.
• • •
“Constance Collier has made 33 Atlantic crossings,” reports one of those movie publicity fillers in The Montreal Herald. “The distinguished actress was born in London, in the shadow of Windsor Castle.”
One of those 26-mile, stupendocolossal Hollywood shadows.
• • •
Don’t unburden your complaints about Toronto to the first cab driver, should you detrain at the city’s Sunnyside station and hail Scotty Davidson’s cab from the adjoining taxi lot, where he’s been hacking since 1905— when hacks were hacks.
“Drove a horse and buggy five years, then bought my first car for $1,000. It hadn’t any steering wheel
—you drove it with a stick, a crank and a pump.”
At 65 Davidson is Toronto’s greatest booster, because “Toronto’s been good to me. I arrived from Aberdeen in 1899 without a quarter. Been through two depressions and never on relief. Why, this city will be the capital of the world one day!”
With their family grown up, Scotty and his wife find more time for fun on their own. “I drive mother out the Weston Road to a nice little park of an afternoon. I get her all set under a shady tree with a book, then nip back to pick up any fares from the three o’clock train and drive out again for a nice picnic supper. It’s a lovely spot down there by the Humber.”
And it’s a $1.60 ride if you don’t own your own cab.
• • •
Leander achieved undying fame by swimming the Hellespont to see his beloved Hero; an eight-mile swim from a point near Nanaimo, B.C., to Galiano Island earned a lovelorn Canadian Army private a term in the clink.
Military Police found the soldier being treated by his Galiano girl friend for severe sunburn and blistered feet. He had made the long swim without ill effects, but had climbed the rocky cliffs quite naked in the hot summer sun, then borrowed a pair of pants from a conveniently unwatched clothesline.
The soldier’s explanation was beautifully sincere in its FrenchCanadian simplicity: “Sir, I wish
pass for boat to Galiano. Sergeantmajor say, ‘No, you had pass last week.’ I ask again. Sergeant-major get ver’ mad, say, ‘You get to Galiano, you bloody well swim for it.’ So I swim, sir.”
• • •
There’s a milkman in Saint John, N.B., who’s been going his rounds with a baffled look ever since a beaming customer handed him an entirely
—“It tastes much better now since the Government has taken the subsidy out of the milk!”
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