I HAD lost myself in Auckland. I had been visiting our American consul in one of the suburbs under the shadow of Mount Eden and had started back on foot when I met a rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, healthy-looking young man and asked him to direct me to my hotel.
“I am going that way,” said he, “and if you will walk with me I will show you.” So we went along together.
“How are times here?” said I.
“Very good,” was the reply. “We all have plenty of work and we get enough to keep us from starving.”
“What is your business?” I asked.
“I am a carpenter. I have a job building workmen’s houses for the government, and I get sixteen shillings and tenpence ($3.75) a day.”
“What hours do you work?”
“Oh!” with a laugh, “my hours are not bad. I work only forty-four hours a week and have a half holiday Saturdays.”
“But how about wages on Saturday?”
“The wages are just the same as for the other days. I suppose I should say I get one hundred and one shillings per week instead of fifteen shillings and tenpence a day.”