Dominion Day note: The plaque mounted on an old office building in Kingston, Ont., a few years ago by the local historical society to mark the place where “John A. Macdonald, Father of Confederation anti First Prime Minister of the Dominion of Canada Began the Practice of Law in 1835,” was manufactured in the U. S. A.
A resident of Orillia, Ont., sends us this helpful guide to tourists who may find themselves wandering around in circles there, en route to northern Ontario: “South St. in Orillia runs west from West St. North, and North St. runs east anti west from West St. North, but South St. is north of North St.” Any travelers who don’t find that too clear can take the bypass around Orillia, but if they penetrate the hinterland as far nor’west as the Kenora country we hope they don’t get taken by the locals in as shameful a fashion as an American tourist we’ve heard about.
This gullible city slicker flagged down a local motorist on the highway between Kenora and Sioux Narrows. He said he had struck and killed a dog that had bounded out of the underbrush, there were no homes nearby and he didn’t know how he could find the owners to apologize, and he was on his way home to the States. “1 live around here, so don’t you worry—just leave everything to me,” said his friend-in-need, and after
profuse thanks the American drove off greatly relieved. Then as soon as he was out of sight the local man threw the dead wolf into the trunk of his car and drove to town to collect the twenty-five-dollar bounty.
At last: a practical workaday use for Elvis Presley. A Saskatoon housewife encountered one of those baffling electronic hazards the other morning when about five other telephone lines became crossed with hers, and every time she tried to “get out” it seemed she was connected with everybody except the friend she wanted to call. One gruff male voice even suggested rudely, “Why don’t you get off the line?” That gave her the bright idea. There was her teen-age son’s record
player standing close by, and there was a Presley record already on the turntable. She flipped the switch, turned the volume high, moved the phone as close as she could, and by the last quaver of I’m All Shook Up everybody else had hung up and her line was clear.
Shortly before school got out, a teacher in Chilliwack, B.C., discovered that her total haul of marbles collected from youngsters careless enough to spill them
out of their pockets during class had reached ninety-eight. The term about over she decided to give them hack, but not knowing whom they all belonged to and being a good sport she said she’d let the kids win them back from her at recess. This system, she explained, should be boih fast and fair. Only trouble was. when recess was over she found she had a hundred and three marbles.
“Take notice,” ordered one of those stern legal announcements in a Toronto newspaper, that the courts were preparing to “hear the application of John
Alexander Brown to change his name
to John Alexander .Smith.”
There’s a kiddies’ TV program seen in southern Ontario, a feature of which is a progressive story in which the teacher starts to tell a story and then each of the youngsters in the audience that day in turn makes up what happens next. A Milton mother was watching the other day with her own brood, having been fascinated on previous occasions the way teacher kept the kiddies spinning it out for several minutes of exciting adventure. This time teacher started: “Mr. Whitey, the fluffy, fluffy rabbit, ran across the green grass and quickly jumped into his little hole in the ground . . Then she pointed dramatically at a wide-eyed boy in the studio story circle, who added eagerly: “And died!”
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