Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-06-04
They DON'T NEED SYMPATHY
SORROW WASTED ON LABoRERs
WHO ARE MISSING THE AVENUE.
Devote Considerable Time to Rolling
Cigarettes and Watching the
Cars Go By.

| Everybody seems to feel so sorry for the
| laborers who are busy mussing up Penn
! sylvania avenue. Almost every car, yell
/ low or green, that bumps along over the
blocked-up rails carries some elderly dame
/ or sweet young thing who, glancing at the
/ grimy men in the little bitches at either
| side Of the track, has some comment to
make upon their cruel lot.
But it's wasted-just wasted They
! don't need sympathy and they don't want
| it They are tickled to death with their
jobs, and from what some Of them said
| today tbs evident they couldn't be pried
! loose with crowbar. They're up against
an easy thing and they know it.
! OF course, the average car passenger
| who merely gets a passing glance at the
| laborers working on this job of elevating
| the tracks and raising the crown OF the
avenue accumulates an impression that
| the sons of sunny Italy whom he sees
| climbing out of the narrow bitches to
| right and left Of the car tracks labor
| under great disadvantages and are in i'm
minent danger of losing a leg or an arm
| or a life. But their fears are ground
! less. A Star reporter went out this morn
ing to watch the work for a while. And
he asked one of the laborcrs If it wasn't
hard WORK and dangerous, too.
Does Not Need Washing.
Non, non, said the laborer, whose name
should have been Diego Mario ct al, but
probably wasn't, this is fine job See da
blue shirt? 1 wear da shirt three week.
four week, five week and no need wash
yet l no work hard. l ~ sweat much
Da shirt no need da washy
Probably every one wouldn't have agreed
with Diego Mario ct al. about the shirt, but
it was plain he was telling the truth so
far as his work concerned. The Star
ROM W frh a6 of al
half an hour as he labored in front of the
Star office.
After the Illuminating bit of sanitary
conversation with the reporter Diego Mario
spat enthusia stically upon his horny, hard
ened hands, clutched his trusty packet of
cigarette papers in one hand and bag of
tobacco in the other and deftly rolled a
cigarette. Then he glanced hopefully down
the avenue toward the Peace monument,
and a shade of resignation and regret
spread over his countenanGe when he noted
there was car nearer than 9th street.
So Diego, Struggling his shoulders at the
inevitable. placed his cigarette on a nearby
cobble stone, gngery picked up a pick,
put it down, and still more gingerly picked
up a shovel, put that down and looked
noyed, and finally decided in favor of the
pick. Then he sat down on the concrete,
swung both legs over into the ditch along
side the track, glanced reproachfully at the
still far-away car and raised the pick on
high. 1t fell, the steel fang sinking an inch
looked pleased, placed the pick gently upon
the concrete, pick up the shovel, removed
the eleven ounces of earth displaced by the
pick and climbed out of the ditch again.
Not Taking Chances.
What did you stop for?' the reporter
asked Diego Mario ct al.
"Da car at nine street." Diego replied,
with truly Italian fiutter of the eyelid.
''Mucha danger. No lose da leg
And Diego ct al and his companions sat
on the edge of the trench and chartered
busily while the crawled up from 9th
to 18th and bumped slowly past on the
propped tracks
Diego Mario ct al sank his pick into the
yielding earth full five times and removed
equal number of half pounds of dirt in
the course of some twenty-nine minutes.
The rest of the time he sat on the side of
the track and smoked and watched the
cars go by.
Do Diego and his companions like their
jobs? Do they? 1t would take nothing short
of nitroglycern to lure them away.