Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-06-23

l ben up here right smart goin' onto a
munf. now. l knows de way to chuch
an aleroun'. but / likes cuttin' cross dis
fiel bettern any other place-it minds me
Marse Gawge an old miss. / has to
tote dis cyahpet bag evy time I walks
out little SPELL cause l got a gran
chile lows she gwine bum 1t fore shes
troo. She p'tends city folks gwine make
funner me- but l tell her dis bag b'longed
to Marse Gawge. an what's fifteen fol
him to carry is fifteen for ole Emmyline-
an futhermo, | says. eff any you gran
chillen lays yoh black hans on NAH hes
| finery cep'n to mire II. I gwine leave my
| little patcher Ian to de church. OATS
what l tell EN-. Ole miss willed me dat
Ian when she lay down to die an me an
her an Marse Gawge got to have oul
propty spected."
here and there, but 1t wasn't worth re-
Numbering.
And equally. Of course, by this time
somebody's homefolks are handing
around among themselves a snapshot OF
the founced skirt, berege shawl, spoon
bonnet and carpet bag. And it will be
labeled: "A Washington type"
He had just told the man seated next
to him In the car that he had passed his
seventeen milestone, but he flew no dis
tress signals that spelled three score and
ten.
Gray hair. of course-it foamed from
under his sombrero like silvery cascade
and beloved down to military shoulders
OF blue cloth. His white muStache had a
fondly cherished appearance and a GRIM
| son necktie gave the necessary dash Of
color that time had taken away.
pretty girl sat behind the two and
apparently listened as other passengers
were doing. at the sombrero mans de-
scription of Memorial day exercises, and
the other mans remark about poem
that somebody had written. Finally her
attention centered on the blue cloth
she turned. as If to see If any one were
noticing and stretched a hand forward
| only to draw 1t back. But she kept on
| looking and looking until, as the car
stopped to let out a file Of passengers
| at Market space the fingers flashed out
again and plucked from the blue cloth
| a loose strand of silvershfnfng hair.
While she curled 1t around her finger the
| girls demure eyes were as gay as
child's her pink checks deepened into
as white as rice. Then she put the
| silvery ring in her purse and. presto, lost
interest with astonishing suddenness, and
| began to look at a woman's hat across
the way.
Why. do you suppose. she did it?'
What makes all of us do funny, silly,
| noble. wicked splendid stupid. sublime
and altogether unaccountable things un-
der the spur or Impulse!
There is no answer, OF course. If we
knew it we would be too wise to be al
lowed to keep on living in this world.
Wonder will we find out in the next?
We all know that man. beloved. hard.
working man. has no time to waste In
idle pleasur1ngs during the business hours
of a day He gets an afternoon off
maybe, once in great while, and If he's
lucky, there's two weeks summer vaca-
ton with pay. But. believe me. that's al
there is to it.
It's different with women: every day Is
play day with them. That's the advan
tage OF being a woman. with some man tt
buy ease for her at the expense Of wha'
dear Mantilini calls his demnition grind
Therefore: Can any body figure out why
! it is that any time you happen into a pic.
ture show-morning. midday or early aft
| ernoon-two-thirds Of the audiences are
men? Not one day, but every day. No
one show, but every show. Ever notice?
| One woman asked another woman these
questions as they came out OF a motion
| picture show.
| A third woman overheard and put 4
down on pad. That's how you come Il
| get it.