appealed from a health point of view—but in vain. At last came a brain wave—he had cards printed and placed everywhere, bearing this inscription:
He who expectorates upon the floor cannot expect to rate as a gentleman.
This clever and original example of the subtle art of punning (backed no doubt by the fighting qualities of the man responsible) appealed to the diggers, and had the desired effect.
Reverting again to the Confucians of Old Westland, many of whom made a fortune, it was generally considered that their success was entirely due to what was known as “Chinaman’s Luck,” which most of the diggers held to be infallible. So great was this belief that the writer actually knew an old timer who, before attending a race meeting, always made a point of kissing a Chinaman for luck. This term we would to-day apply to those addicted to purchasing winning tickets in Tattersall’s, or to backing at the psychological moment a horse that wins but one race in a lifetime and pays a record dividend—as a matter of fact, to those who “can’t go wrong.” But here is an incident which completely explodes the theory of infallibility, and shows how, when fickle fortune forgot to smile, the remains of the sons of the Flowery Land who died in Westland (and throughout New Zealand) were lost by shipwreck, a dire calamity
