The Washington times., 1894-07-30
IN HOT WEATHER:
TiLTING At OLD SOL.

TILTING At OLD SOL.
1t had been terribly trying day, trying to
body and trying to temper, for how can an
ordinary person keep a cool temper when the
body Is like a canteen OF hot and boiling
water? I hated to ride In the cars, becaus g
the people looked SO hot and cross and ugly;
/ hated to walk, because the sun beat down
on my gloria umbrella in a spiteful way, as
and he might save himself the trouble, for
can find plenty Of home manufacturers to do
that any day. Then the dust on the unpaved
streets. What a horrible yellow cloud it was,
| to be sure! How it did sift into the white
| garments, causing me to think many a night,
| when gazed at its yellow traces that the
summer girl, all sweet and white, must
either be myth invented by the penny-a-
liner, or a dear. good girl. who stayed in dur
ing the day. kept strictly away from dusty
roads, and came out on the piazza on summer
evenings, looking as cool as white autumn
| rose, as she rocks in the rattan chair or re-
! cliues in her Mexican hammock.
During the first spell Of hot weather had
grave thoughts of telling the coal dealers.
| whose places have to pass, that 1t would be
| much nicer il one could see brick or two on
| which to put her foot, instead OF having to
wade through mounds of black dust. But 1
did not-for the same reason l never scold a
dressmaker-I know 1t will not do any good.
| 1t always seems to me that all the carts and
carriages happen to pass up and down the
dusty street just as am passing under the
| shadow of its maples-this, OF course, gives
me dust bath. l quicken my pace and try
to outrun the carts and get out Of their way
and the wake of dust, and walking at such a
pace is not the greatest pleasure to be found
| on hot summer day, can assure you.
On and on: there is the little red-haired girl
with the blue-eyed baby, whom l used to
| smile at in those delicious spring days. 1
try the smile this morning, but the baby puts
his little hands up to his face, twisting his
nose and mouth as though he had tasted his
first pickle, fretfully turns his head and slides
down on the cushion of his carriage. His lit
tie nurse explains: HE is so sick and cross,
and cries nearly all night"
Poor baby, it is hot," and on go. The
hoolibuildings look nice and cool, perhaps
because they are now empty. Most crowded
things look hot. empty one. cool. There is a
man used to think was n respectable citizen
and pious church member; perhaps he Is,
but nevertheless. do not like to see those
shoeless feet of his propped on the window
Sill. He may think those summer socks
pretty. but don't.
do not see why people need look so aw-
fully miserable even if they feel SO. You need
not tell every one that it is hot; they will feel
1t, but probably YOU who give the information
are laboring under the delusion that no two
people think alike, or are impressed in the
same manner Look at those women Hot
black and blue dresses. Now begin to hate
the man who invented outing suits. for they
are always on an outing, and the pretty pinks.
baby blues and winning whites are discarded
for these horrible suits, because forsooth,
they save washing.
There wish 1 had on mine now. or at
least the skirt of II. / know that little imp
saw me coming, but still he had TO keep that
hose splitting spitefully on the hot bricks, and
OF course the light dress gets generous
splashing.
Il suppose, OF course, I'll have to excuse
you. but the flowers on my gown don't need
washing. thank you: the less water they see
the better of they are"
-.
OF course those boarders have to sit on the
steps OF this row of houses every day and in
spect the people who pass by. If you are
bit shy. and happen 10 hear some criticism
passed on your style. don't mind, hold your
head up high. They had onions for break
fast. smelled them. and any one who would
eat onions-well would not be surprised II
they wore a green hat with a blue dress.
Listen to the smart child. past suppression.
no matter how her mother winks and beckons
TO her: Mister Wills, I'm goin' TO tell Miss
Jones you beat her dog last night for howlin.
Ma says the dog aint half so bad's You prac-
ten on your bugle." She fops of, showing
her scarlet stockings to her knees, as she as
sures another equally smart child, who was
never Young that she can dance the skirt
dance better her.
Why. there's Mr. Brown. What's the mat
ter with the man. He used TO look so nice
and neat last winter when L met him at the
lectures; now he is a regular mop; wonder If
he knows how sovenly he looks i'll that out
ing shirt? He sees me. bows, and asks:
Hot enough for youl''
/ am surprised that man of his intellect
should ask such question, so reply:
Not quite. am very cold blooded. you
know. 1t takes a good deal to thaw me out"
II thawed as much," He grins like fend
incarnate, and as be passes on, l ask myself.
does the hot weather make men idiots. that
man who would stand up for an hour to
hear a lecture on MANS place in nature"
would stoop to making such Il paltry pun.
oh, yes, tell me / was mad because did not
get the chance myself but am not. / hate
bright things now, especially the sun.
Night, or evening, rather, at last. go for
some ice cream" he asks.
mo; it is too hot"
"Too hot for ice cream?'
mo. but to see others eat it, Besides, there
is only one place nearer than half a mile frcm
here. and they use pewter spoons, and the
dishes are so greasy-looking."
Then bring your own spoon along If you
are 90 particular" Grossly.
Il might do that, but then he does not suit
me, either
A silence, only broken by the katydids
swapping about the mean temperature of the
day. II believe that term, "mean tempera-
ture,' ought to be applied to hot weather.)
He makes another attempt: Il saw you
walking up the street to-day, aud you looked
like a dish rag" Complimentary surely, but
back she snaps: "Dish rags never walk: only
Office towels do thati'
He mildly suggests that if she will not go
for ice cream she will at least get him glass
of water while her sister wonders what makes
her so cross she is usually angelic; but then,
angels of SO bright caste are not used to hot
weather.
'.Now what in the world has set you growl-
ing like this; you used to love summer. and
do yet, know? What is the matter?"
Nothing, only am sick and tired of let
ting other people have the grow all to them
selves. am sick Of bankrupt sales and mid
summer sacrifices, of excursion rates. and re-
ductions in parasois, Of those stale jokes in
the funny column, weary of the cry of .ice,'
and the housewives complaint against the
garbage collector. am tired of the pessi-
mists promise of cholera, of the old song
about the length, breadth, and depth of the
Jersey mosquito. and discussions about the
mierohv ruInpS