Violet Towne and I were in inner city Melbourne this week when we were accosted by person who might be these days termed ‘height-challenged’ but in the time of my less politically correct childhood would gave been called a dwarf.

Personally, I can’t see much of a problem with the term ‘dwarf’. Before Lord of the Rings the logical cultural link anyone was likely to make with that term was with the happy chaps that whistled while they worked, made squillions from their diamond mine and were shacked up with a spunky chick. When I was a teenager hanging out in the theatre, we had a chap who fit that image perfectly. Well, if you included a fondness for sherry and imagined the local newspaper packing room was a diamond mine. In any event, he certainly hit it off well with the young ladies…

But I digress.

The short fellow who confronted us in town seemed a little agitated and with little preamble reeled off a story about his wallet having been stolen and how he was going to have to make phone calls to cancel all his credit cards and how he needed some money to get a train to his home in the Dandenong Ranges (an area just on the outskirts of Melbourne).

Now, as cynical as you all know me to be, I am still inclined at first flush to cut people the benefit of the doubt. I gave the guy a bill. Not enough for his train fare all the way, but I thought it would help him out. It has to be said: he snaffled the cash without so much as a backward glance and was on his way.

Violet Towne, who is possibly a little more street savvy than I am, wasn’t about to part with any of her hard-earned change for someone she pegged pretty quickly as a pan-handler (I noticed that she kept a tight grip on her purse as the exchange took place). Reflecting on it as the little man zipped off into the crowd, I couldn’t help but agree with her; it did seem fairly likely that Shorty had peddled that particular story more than once.

“Oh well,” I said, “I guess if he feels compelled to ask people for a handout he’s somewhat worse off than we are.”

The following morning this text conversation takes place between me & VT:

VT (on her way to work on the train): Hey! The dwarf just got on the train! He’s dressed in a suit!

Reverend: See! I was right!

VT: But he got on at Heatherdale. That’s a long way from Dandenongs.

Reverend: Whaddya expect? You were too mean to give him the extra he needed to get home.

The jury will probably remain forever out on the truth of the matter, but I figure that this is a Christmas Parable that can be read in whichever way you are inclined to view the Season.