The world has been greatly impressed by the news of Sir Malcolm Campbell's new land speed record of over 300 miles an hour.
"Wot's all the news these late days? Where's the world bound?" asked Dad. "Seems men has lost them slow, sure ways, Like when I was a lad Man dreams to git somewheres or bust; Tho' durned if I knows where. He won't be happy till he's just Occurrin' here and there. But, me, I'm still content to go Me seven mile an hour or so. "When I was married to yer ma, Them was the days, indeed, Altho' we never owned no car An' didn't seek no speed, We travelled easy, her an' me, An' took time as we went For to admire the scenery; An' mostly found content. Our ole spring-dray of one-'orse pow'r Did us, an' seven mile an hour. "But seems that since them days the world Has growed a crazy place, To hear of fellers gettin' hurled Like cannon balls thro' space. Why fur? Who's happier? Don't ask me, I'm just a dull ole dunce. Mostways the world don't seem to be No happier than once. When we jagged on in shine an' shower Content with seven mile an hour. "They tells me it saves time," grinned Dad. "But I replies, 'Wot for?' Their time, compared with wot we had, Seems rather less than more. It looks like man's become time's slaves; They saves it everywhere, Yet -- funny thing -- the more they saves The less they have to spare! But I jist grins as on I plods At seven mile an hour. Wot odds?"
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