The White Man’S

“Paper.”

And the Village Constable.

THE faith of the savage Papuan in a piece of the White Man’s “Paper” is only equalled by the naive way in which he presents unsigned or stolen cheques for payment at a bank. His credulity would command sympathy were it not for the invariable roguery underneath.

Some time ago, a recruiter visited a remote village, up the Fly River, and was met on arrival by the village con stable, who appeared to have some important business to transact with the new-comer.

From his pouch he produced a mysterious wad, wrapped in a piece of rag. This was unfolded, to display more and more rag, till finally a dirty bit of paper was disclosed and handed over.

“Two bag flour and twelve tins meat,” quoth the village constable.

"Nothing doing!” was the answer.

“What for? I give you piece of paper.”

“Too right, you did! Take it to Woodlark!”

The document was a five-years old order from a miner down at the other end of the Territory, authorising the delivery of the goods to his boy. The slip had been stolen, and, quite pos sibly had changed hands for a trifle many times before it reached the Fly, To the Papuan mind, “once an order, always an order” may be a fixed idea: but it was rudely shaken, that day, and village constables up the Fly may fight shy in future of buying “Papers” from returned labourers.