Take it Easy

There's a ton of types, the Bloke says, who let old superstitions, popular fallacies, and archaic proverbs order their existence.

Too right!

There's Jones who never went indoors with his brolly open till eventually, in the folding-up act, he ran into the landlady on that concealed bend in the path. Poor old Soul lost an eye and the Jones family their lodgings. Now they're at Miramar—sic-transit gloria!

Then, says the Bloke, there's that puerile one about glass houses, and throwing things. Was a guard once in the glass house back of Maadi—the phenomenal throwing there! Stripes were thrown in, food thrown back, choice abuse thrown all ways and fit-throwing in high places was quite a regular feature—one night the Sergeant threw eleven heads and was thrown out! See it all goes to show.

As for rolling stones—I've rolled from Rongotai to 'Rimini, from Remuera to Ras el Balbek and what I've gathered! It it isn't moss it can certainly be [unclear: licitened] to it. Sorry.

And finally says the Bloke, by now quite carried away, or about to be, all those types who stand befuddled betwixt looking before leaping, hesitating and losing, or taking Ferdinand by the horns (being a Taurus Strength)—you'll always find their way out in the rain.

Talking of hay: surely you've got enough to support Salient. Rally up Digs. For the meantime—take it easy.