Evening star., 1912-09-29
Around the City

II you happen to be walking along
most any outlying street about twilight
you will come across a man who looks
like deeper shadow than the shadows
around. 1t is the lamplighter.
Every time he comes to a lamp-one OF
the oldtimers. many of which are still In
use here-he will shift a small ladder
from his back to the post; step up. open
the glass door. strike a match. light the
gas. shut the door, get off the ladder,
sling it on his back and hurry on to the
post ahead.
You want to look at that gray shadow
of a man with friendly eyes, and with
something of the tenderness due to an ole
institution that is about to bid you good
Some inventor has found a way to light
lamps with a chain fuse-whatever tina,
is And the lamplighter must go with
his ladder to that land we call the past
and take his place with hoopskirts, blue
linen gentlemen, black mammies, candles
hOrsecakes and dreams.
Unconventional people are always in
teresting, If only for their splendid un.
concern for the opinions of the rank and
file. AS one small Illustration:
A woman walked along l4th street
turned a corner and went up II street
In appearance. she was as like as pea
to any other nice woman In black skirt
white waist and straw hat that you might
run across in days march. But she
was doubtless the only one Of the lot who
would be going along with a packing box
in tow. 1t was tall. narrow pine box
labeled glass, and she dragged it after
her as nonchalantly as though 1t were a
noodle a nd 0f a CfrinO
made sort of rasping noise, but the
woman kept it going without any show OF
extra exertion. And she didn't seem in
the least to be aware of doing an unusual
thing.
Most of us would have paid some odd
job man a quarter to push-cart the box
and the stack of magazines she carries in
her arms. We would have done 1t wheth-
er We had the strength to tote them our
selves or not. We would have been
afraid of what people would say. Ism,
that so Mabel dear?
Well, this woman knew she could haul
that box and AIRY those magazines. II
suited her to do it. And she did it. She
wasn't like us She didn't belong to the
spineless rank and file.
1t was her own business and she was
attending to it with no thanks to any
body
But she sure had some audience, before
behind and around.
y dog was having his day
He was a spotty black and white dog.
except for the brown patch on his head
His ears were fiappy black silk, and his
tail was a white plume. That kind of a
dog
And he was riding on colored mans
back, with the man on wheel. The man
leaned low over the handle bar to accom-
modate his passenger. for the dog was
long enough to cover him like rug. And
the front paws hugging the mans collar
must have felt like fur tippet: but Lor'
the man didn't mind. You could tell that
by the way he spun down the asphalt un-
der line Of trees that hedge Smithsonian
Park-though. maybe, it ought to be
grounds"
Into this paradise of smooth road, dap
pied sunshine and restful Sunday silence
came a temptation that took the shape of
another dog. He was the f1eetest-footed.
gayest little terrier that ever slipped off
without a muzZle, and he was wild for a
play. At the first challenge, the spotty
dog showed signs of being sporty and
joining his friend in race. He thumped
his tail in ecstatic greeting. He tapped
his ears and flashed teeth of very wet
white coral but--he stayed on the col
ored mans back.
He must have reasoned it out under his
brown patch that he could run aror Id
any time of year. while this might be his
only chance for riding. He was having
his day. And he knew it.
It's a great thing, folks dear, to have a
day. And to know it-at the time.
There is small junk shop on a back
street downtown. 1t looks as if 1t had
picked itself up from a dump heap and
started rival business on the side. In its
one window there Is shelf covered with
gled scarf. The paper is mildew-gray and
the spangles are tarnished. and both are
fy-specked and set off with few time
battered plates. potty cream jug with
castor with two half-cocked cruets tnat
look as If they won't go home until morn
ing, and china dog. 1t is a white china
dog with a smudge of BLACK on its nose
and long, flowing red ears.
A woman stood at the window and
long and SO lovingly that, being we'll
laundered in white, with a dangling bag
of promising substance. you might ron
der why she didn't go in and buy the
thing and take it home, but--wait a min
ute. There Is always a reason.
The price of the dog Is 81. 1t ism t
worth cents in these days of intelligent
art. No sane creature would want to sad
die herself with q white china dog with
black smudge of a nose and flowing,
published collection and cost oodles Of
money-or because of some association.
That was it. The dog on the fly-specked
shelf reminded the woman OF a mantle
piece friend of her childhood. 1t made
her hear voices-and see faces-and a gar
den with blossomy pear trees.
But she didn't go in and buy the dog
because of a later memory of other faces
and other voices. that comes to her every
time she wants to throw money away on
a thing she doesn't need.
The first time was one Christmas eve
when the woman was a girl in a strange
city. She had spent her last cent on a
gilt lracelet and was looking in the shoI
window wishing she had bought some
thing else. when UP came two children
who began picking out the things they
would like to have. There We're toys In
the window but the children "choosed
only The cakes, until the babiest one OF
the two began to whimper out tha, she
wisht she had piece of bread
The girl could see the child's tears
miro j in the glass so she .rent inside
and told the man two hungry children
were outside and please would he take
the bracelet bac., and let her have the
nanay'S worth in fOOd And ha mould