Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-09-17
Around the CITY.
She had just washed her hair al

She had just washed her hair and
couldn't do a thing with it.
She said so To the woman who sat next
to her in the car. When she had fur
nished the information she went into
Ella borate details. And before she was
half through every passenger around
knew we'll as she did that she had
|, Just washed her hair and couldn't do a
thing with it.
The woman who sat next got out and
her seat was taken by another woman.
Maybe the two were acquainted, and
then again, maybe they were not. All
the passengers knew was that in less
than one minute and two seconds the
recital was on again:
I've just washed my hair, nd / can't
do thing with it."
While she was saying it, man who
had pushed a button was coming down
who had just washed her hair and
couldn't do a thing with it. the car gave
a lurch and in reaching out to steady
himself he touched her on the shoulder.
He was d polite man, and every pas
senger aboard openly approved of his
apology:
Excuse me. madam, I've just washed
my hand and can't do a thing with it,
Two women were standing before the
bulletin board Of The Star building. The
one in hobbled white read out a late dis
patch. interrupting herself midway to
calculate to the onc in buttoned-up-on-
the-side- blue:
How do YOU pronounce it. any Wayo
Is 1t Beatty. Betty, Baty, Batty or
What
And It rather elderly, conventional man
touched his hat and observed:
My sister married a gentleman of that
name, madam. They call it Barty.'
\ woman had ordered her luncheon at
a cafe and was congratulating herself at
having a bay window table all to herself,
when another woman came up, hesitated,
and then pulled out a chair and sat down.
She was a plain. wholesome looking per-
son. with no frills about her, and a
really beautiful pink came into her mid
dle-aged face as she explained that she
couldn't seem to enjoy eating unless she
could look out of a window.
I've always lived on farm miles
from everybody until | came up to be
with my married daughter. l guess You
read about her husband being killed last
month, it was all in the papers, and
don't see how she's going to keep up
with those two children. both of them
babies, YOU may say, unless | can get
her to go back with me. l always tell
her. no. indeed | don't want to eat in
this little cuddy of dining room'-you
know what fats are: So l take my plate
and cup into the kitchen where, anyhow,
can look out OF the window down OF
the top of a tree
fled the prologue with d welcoming smile
and when she got a chance, put in a
small-sized remark To the effect that
she. too. had Il weakness for Windows
and farm life.
why. fresh air is Just as necessary
to me meat and drink. d gasp myself
to death if l had to keep on in that fiat
but my daughters just the other way
She likes it because the waters always
hot and you don't nave to bother making
fires. but as ] tell her. when you've got
wood pile and plenty of chips there's
no call to want for either All she's
fretting about is she can't afford to keep
II after the lease runs out, but between
you and me- I'm glad of it. I've got 400
acres down at my place; part of il is
woods, of course. but there's a good liy-
ing front and back. I've got an artesian
we'll that money coGldn I buy from me
and q. half-acre front yard full of trees
I'm trying to persuade Alice to give up try
ing to get work and go home with me
1t would be a heaven on earth for the
clildren-but she says she can give them
better advantages here. \ congressman
promised to get her place where they
clean offices mp 10 one of them public
buildings. but when she went to see him
| about it he had left town.
Just think of il. neighbors. There's an
Alice in our midst who prefers charrinS
to home and mother!