A RUNNER has just stumbled into our office with a flimsy in a cleft stick from our man covering the building of the Peace River Highway, between Prince George and Dawson Creek. Work is progressing slowly but surely, says the report, hitting only such temporary snags as one which occurred the other day when a section boss suddenly challenged one of the workmen.
“Hey, Frenchy—I thought I fired you yesterday?” he demanded.
“You did,” replied Frenchy, giving the super a sharp look between swings of his pick—“but better you not do it again. My wife, she mad as hell!”
• • •
A barrister in Dauphin, Man., writes to protest the severity of a penalty recently handed down in
the courts and headlined in the Winnipeg Tribune:
Winnipegger Sentenced To 14 Years in Toronto
• • •
Speaking of That Place, a stern sentence of a different sort has just been served by another man in Toronto. He works for the Canadian distributing office of MGM pictures, where not long ago a wire w 13 received from Hollywood HQ informing the Canadian brethren that MGM was thinking of reviving the six - star, endurance - record epic, “Gone With the Wind.” And would the Toronto office be good enough to check over their prints of the film to make sure these would be ready for re-release on short notice?
There was nothing for it but that the librarian in charge of storing used film had to blow the dust off eight different prints of “GWTW,” and take up a solitary vigil in a darkened projection room while one after the other, they were flashed across the screen. Eight times Scarlett tumbled down the stairs, eight times Atlanta burned, eight times 80 times Scarlett and Rhett clinched passionately . . . for 164,064 feet, or a total sitting time of 30 hours and 40 minutes.
After paying his debt to society the unfortunate fellow—he’ll be head of MGM some day—declared stoutly
“I liked it even better the last time than the first!”
• • •
In Montreal a mother had to take her six-year-old daughter to be examined by an eye specialist and determined to get there before the waiting room was jammed with customers. They arrived promptly at nine o’clock and at 11.30 they were still waiting, the doctor having been delayed. Meanwhile the nurse flitted about putting drops in patients’ eyes, finding chairs for those of weaker vision, and admitting callers till the room was full.
In the way of waiting rooms, nobody said a word, and the silence grew so oppressive that even the six-year-old spoke in the faintest whisper when she wanted to communicate with her mother.
“Pardon?” asked the mother, then after another soundless whisper— “Speak up, dear, whispering isn’t at all polite.”
The child cleared her throat: “I said—your stomach’s rolling.”
• • •
One afternoon before school let out in Sandwith, Sask., a crucial interclass ball game was heading into the ninth inning when a Grade Four Babe Ruth swaggered to the plate, bravely swung at a fast one and much to his own surprise clouted a high one into left field. But he wasn’t half as surprised as the gopher that darted out of its hole just in time to catch it square
on the noggin. The scorekeeper chalked up an error against the very dead gopher.
• • •
And here’s a thought for Dominion Day. The president of the Canadian Club of New York City, in this eighty-first year of Confederation, is named Stonewall Jackson. That’s what we like about the No’th.
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