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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, June 1928

More Interviews

page 10

More Interviews

I.—the Secretary of the Dramatic Club.

At the muffled shout "Come in!" I timidly turned the door handle and sidled gently into his room, found the nearest chair, promptly subsided therein and waited expectantly, with pencil poised, for the great man to speak.

"What," I asked "are your views on modern literature"?

"Ah! modern literature," he said, in a meditative fashion, as he leant back in his armchair. While he thus thought I had time to notice his deeply set eyes, his fine pointed fingers, his roughly brushed hair, his new pearl-gray double-breasted suit (price £4 4s. Od. with extra pair of trousers, as advertised) and the Chinese cigarette which he negligently smoked. Here, I thought, was a man of powerful personality yet withal genially humane, one capable of savouring the supreme triumphs of the actor's art yet steadfast in his allegiance to high ideals. I had known him of old when we were be the undergraduates at V.U.C. together, laying down the law to our elders in the Free Discussions Club or even in the Common Room, with the usual youthful inconsistency. Now, however, he had become a great man—no mean actor, a connoisseur of books, of wine, and, might one add, of women?—while I had become a mere drudge, the cub reporter to "Spike." Although, therefore, my erstwhile friend remembered me only distantly, nevertheless I still retained for him much of my old admiration.

"Well," he said at last, in tones of dramatic mastery, 'I don't know. Out-side the pages of "Spike" and perhaps those of "Truth," I find very little of real interest in modern literature. Of course," he added quickly, "we still have such old favourites as Ethel M. Dell—I must lend you her beautiful book: "The Rosary"; Bertha Ruck—I find her 'What Happened Behind the Billets' one of the most essentially artistic productions of our age, and, last but not least, that prince of novelists, Wadgar Ellis. But beyond the work of these acknowledged masters, I find the outlook black; inky black, in fact. So that when now I wish for serious reading I always turn to the pages of 'Truth.' At present." he added brightly, "I am studying the exploits of the Kewpie Club, They make very interesting reading, I assure you, and help to relieve the monotony of over-much concentration upon academic works."

"Thank you," I said. "I am sure your remarks will be of great interest to readers of 'Spike,' many of whom are just of the age when guidance, other than that provided by our worthy Professor of English Literature at V.U.C, can be of the utmost service and value in forming their youthful minds on right lines."

"But tell me further," I went on. 'I understand that you are contemplating some small piece of research work on the nature of laughter. Would it be possible for you to give me some particulars that might be of interest?"

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"Ah! Laughter,"' the great man replied. "A very deep subject, I assure you, full of metaphysical subtleties and practical problems. Now if I could discover what the Absolute laughed at I would have the key of the problem in my—"

"Quite so," I hastily assured him, "but your methods of work?"

"Oh, quite simple," was the reply. "I have been studying the inmates of such institutions as the Ohiro Home, the Home for the Aged Needy, the Condemned Cell—one of my most pleasant experiences was a few minutes' chat with a man who was hanged for getting rid of seven wives—his excuse was that they bored him—and also the Karitane Home. I don't know which institution provided me with the hardest work. At the latter, I played tigers and trains and quite spoilt the crease in my trousers. At the two former, I told funny stories and acted the drunken man. Quite exhausting work, but it gives me data; also practice unfortunately, however, the babies do not think me funny and have refused me admittance at the Home again."

Just then I had a brain wave.

"I have two small nieces," I said. "Perhaps you would like to experiment with them? I am sure their mothers would be only too pleased to sacrifice their future happiness at the altar of science."

Our hero's face lightened. A smile flashed across his countenance and chased away the gloom. "You are indeed a true friend," he said. "Come and celebrate."

It was just a few minutes to six. Together we raced neck for neck down into town, only to find that my watch was exactly sixty minutes slow ......

II.—the President of the Stud Ass.

He welcomed me gladly into his little room which served the purpose of study—cum—laboratory—cum—ticket office. With a careless hand he knocked a pile of books and apparatus off a chair, with a backward flick of his elbow he roughly dusted it and then finally presented it to me. I sat down; so did he. We lighted cigarettes and hesitatingly I cleared my throat.

"I come from 'Spike' " I said."The Editor thought that you might wish to favour the students with some few remarks. Coming from a man of your importance and holding such an honoured and worthy position as you do, he is sure that your opinion on such subjects as the Prof. Board, the College Council, or the Science Society would be listened to with respectful attention."

"Spike?" he answered. "Oh yes, I have been expecting you along ever since my election. As a matter of fact, I think you have been rather long in coming, but we will let that pass," he added in a sudden burst of magnanimity.

'Would you let us know what made you stand for election to the Presidential Chair?" I suggested.

"Well it was an unexpected honour, I must admit," he replied, "although I will not say altogether unexpected. The fact is I always was a few seconds late in getting up to decline nomination, owing to mal-development of my joints while young, and this time I forgot to entirely. However, now I do hold the proud position of President I assure you I will do all that is in my power to uphold the ancient traditions and glories——"

page 12

"Yes, yes," I said, hastily endeavouring to stem the rushing tide of eloquence, "but would you care to amplify the statement you made at the last Haeremai pie supper that the girls of Otago are far prettier than those of V.U.C.?"

"To that statement I can only give an emphatic denial," was the indignant reply. "Can you expect a man in my position, and a man who has always been worshipped by the women; can you, I say, expect me to endanger my reputation by agreeing with such a statement as that? I hold in reality that there are more women wearing silk stockings and using powder puffs at V.U.C. than at Otago, or any other university college in New Zealand——"

On the matter of College Politics he refused to commit himself. "I am now occupying a responsible position and cannot let 'Spike' know my opinions about the Profs., the coming election, what is wrong with the world, or the failure of democracy. In any case I am extremely busy now. If you wish for a considered opinion upon the price of wool next season, the value of the chemicals stored in this room or the possibility of me resigning my Presidency within the next few months, my fee is five guineas paid in advance. Otherwise I would consider it a favour if you would leave me alone to solve the problem as to why the Haeremai did not receive a grant of £5 last year."

We both rose from our chairs, clasped hands vigorously; then he opened the door and pushed me out. The last sounds I heard were his muttered curses as he tripped over the books he had so carelessly flung on the floor half an hour before.

III.—the Secretary of the Tramping Club.

He was somewhat roughly attired when I met him—indeed one might go so far as to say, exceedingly roughly dressed in an old grey shirt open at the neck, a pair of repulsive looking trousers, once navy blue, but now rapidly going the colour of old copper, and an old coat very much the worse for wear. On his feet were a pair of the biggest boots I had seen for many a long year (size 12-13 at a guess); on his back a large green bag arrangement with an axe sticking out of one pocket and a coil of rope out of the other. He was quite unashamed of his inelegant sartorial garb. In fact he was apparently unaware that his clothes would put many a hardened navvy to shame; he was wholly cheerful and radiating unlimited amounts of be bonhomie and good fellowship.

I explained to him my purpose. Would he grant "Spike" an interview? Yes, surely. If, that is, it would be of any interest, he added, with a touch of characteristic modesty.

We were soon seated in front of a cosy fire with tea things handy. The tramper's swag and boots were pitched into the corner, and while we browsed and sluiced, he told me of his week-end adventures—for apparently, when I met him he was just returning from a two days' tramp. As soon as tea was over I got out my pencil and notebook.

"I understand you have been successful as a tramper?" was my first query.

"Oh, a little success has come my way," he answered with a modest blush. "I occasionally lead the Tramping Club for a slight jaunt of thirty or forty miles or so. My greatest successes, however, have been my record ascents of Mt. Victoria, the Wireless Hill and up to V.U.C. when late for a lecture. You see the notches on this axe handle?" he said dragging the object from his swag. "Each page 13 of those notches represent a successful climb of 500 feet or more. The first is for Mt. Victoria; the second, the Wireless; the third—er-er—I forget the rest but there you are."

After expressing my admiration for his skill and indomitable courage, I interrogated him again. "Could you give me any indication of your hobbies or amusements?"

Again that modest blush suffused his cheek.

"Once upon a time I did a little harrier running," he replied. "After that I took up marbles, then ludo and now it is snakes and ladders and ping pong. When I want a little excitement I go to the pictures. Now I assure you," he went on, "there are some batty people up at V.U.C. who will go to such lengths as to imagine that there is an art of the cinema. None of that highbrow stuff for me though. I like the good meaty films; plenty of stabbing and red blood flowing and fair damsels and husky he-men. You see," he added apologetically, "it is so thrilling to see such people after long contact with highbrows at V.U.C. The star I like best is Ruddy Valentino. You know that picture where he rushes into a Chinese restaurant, shoots two Chinamen, kicks a third in the stomach and punches the fourth on the chin and then—"

"Quite, quite," I interrupted, "I know that one well. But tell me what you—"

This time it was my turn to break off, for the great man was looking at me closely, watching my every movement, and making notes in a small black book.

"Ever been psycho-analysed?" he flung at me. I answered in the negative.

"Or been mentally tested?" again I answered no.

"Or been behaviouristically examined?" I shook my head.

"Or visited a clinic for mental cases?" I shook my head more vigorously still.

"Then it's time you came with me up to the Psychological laboratory," he said with an air of pleasant anticipation, very much like a professional torturer beginning to gloat over his victim ......

I threw a glance at the open door. We both raced across the room for it. I got there first, tore straight through, down three flights of stairs and into the open air. Behind me echoed that peculiarly malevolent snarl of a psychologist cheated of his prey ...