Lost Passports

THAT seems to be all,” said M Glover. “I’d better take oc passports now.”

Mr. Davies stared at him in su prise. “But you’ve got the pas ports,” he said.

“I have NOT,” declared IV/ Glover. “They’re still with you.”

Mr. Davies went into what irre erent people call a flat spin.

The place was the Travel Depai ment of the Bank of NSW, in Sy ney. Dramatis Personae were IV E. P. Glover, managing-editor South Pacific Post, Port Mores'; and Mr. Nigel Davies, manager the Travel Department. Time w Wednesday, March 9—the day M fore Mr. and Mrs. Glover were sail for long leave in England.

In these days of bureaucrat chains and shackles, a traveller ca not move without a passport.

There was a wild scene in t Travel Office, until Messrs. Glo’i and Davies finally got onto the saj wave-length. Then they decio that the passports had become sit tracked somewhere in their tortm movements among shipping offio banks, taxation wallahs and all • other officials who dance upon 1 necks of prospective travellers.

While Mr. Glover marched up a down the office, and fumed a steamed (it was one of those res “sticky” days), Mr. Davies suppl a telephone solo of great lem and variety. It was calculated t; at one stage he had fifteen curse people in ten different ofE searching through files and recce at the one moment.

But—no passports. Everyone I seen them —all insisted they I been passed along the con channels.

So then, in rapid, well-direo motion, Mr. Davies reacted to accepted fact that The Passpti Were Lost. He began a plea* High Officialdom that applicate be accepted for issue of two ot passports, to catch up with travellers in London, and that Glovers be given some sort special certificate to allow them leave on the ship on the morrow Meanwhile, Mr. Glover seizes taxi and frantically sought I Bunty Glover. Port Moresby’s n popular young matron eventu was tracked down at a cosy fare; party, amid eight adoring worn® The haste with which she was moved left the ladies gasping. E Mrs. Bunty Glover’s sweet ten broke under the stress of husband’s explanation that shej to be passport-photographed wi ten minutes. . .

The day waned. The tired (so far as one half the partnen is concerned, anyway) enfurr Glovers had a harassed late din and began to pack.

Then Mrs. Bunty Glover stopped nd stared, and stiffened. [“Ted,” she said, in a quiet, danger us voice, “what is this?”

There was a packet. Inside were vo passports. The packet had been laced in a drawer among Mrs.

Hover’s garments, and somehow ad become buried.

“I cannot remember collecting lem,” wailed the defenceless Mr. lover. “I did not put them there, am sure I did not even call at ie Bank until to-day.”

That line of argument proved tile. Mrs. Glover knows about the itorious forgetfulness of harassed itors. . .

Then Mr. Glover collapsed again, [y God,” he cried, “how am I go l .to tell Davies about this?”

Mrs. Glover was not sympathetic. ‘Bunty,” began Mr. Glover, softly, ou have always been a great [p to me.”

Bunty turned upon him a very d, suspicious eye. He blundered We could say that you collected se passports, and forgot to tell about it. Yes, that would get r everything. . .” tut it was not Ted Glover’s lucky He accomplished nothing, illy nice wives will enter into 5t domestic conspiracies, when ;umstances seem to call for it. , “deceiving courteous and helpful vel men, who have done every ig possible for us” is, according Mrs. Glover, one of the things done. [r. Glover was at the Bank at next morning, and grovelled un )mingly. Mr. Davies laughed. r main feeling is one of relief ind that Our System was not at t,” he said. r. Glover began to depart, still ling apologies. ust a moment,” said Mr. Davies, lat about the 34 6 I paid for e passport photos yesterday?

“ct me to carry that lot, too?” * ♦ * irewith, please see the photo ns in question. The circum ces under which they were taken ain why Mrs. Glover is show her teeth without smiling, and Mr. Glover looks less like an »r than an ogre.—RWß.