After all, dear reader, money is merely a fashion; certainly it has so far survived the rages; but the Moa was a fashion once, and now he is no moa. No doubt he started modestly, but ambition got him down. He grew moa and moa and moa until he outgrew his strength. Now he is only a fossil of a fowl—mere material for the moa-constructor at the museum. But, in his day, he was the whole air force, until he sacrificed aviation for avoirdupois, and was no longer a wing commander because he had no wings to command. The “moa-pork” is no relation to the Moa, who was a strict greengroper. Moas were sometimes tamed and allowed to roam about the garden; these were called lawn-moas, but were never borrowed on account of the difficulty of lifting them over the fence. The ancient Maori sometimes used the Moa as a means of transport. They were then called “moators” and their riders “moa-torists.” The Moa never washed its neck because this meant practically taking a bath, for the Moa was one of those birds with the deuce of a neck. They still exist, but nowadays they don't wear feathers. The Moa's dislike for washing its neck was so intense that, at the slightest hint of rain, it would stand on its bowsprit and spread its tail like a “gamp.” When it readjusted its underpinnings the Maoris knew that bad weather was over; hence that old song of rejoicing, “It Aint Gonna Rain No Moa.”