Tulsa daily world. [volume] (Tulsa, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1905-1919, 1916-08-01
WHEN HOME TOWN is MISSED.
At First the City's Strange Land to
One Who is Transplantcd,

1t gives you a queer feeling to be
transplanted from the little home
town to crowded city street made
up of houses, houses houses, where
you don't know a soul, and never ex-
pcct to. City folk don't care who
lives across the street or next door.
They have their friends scattered
about in various places where they
find them when they want them. But
We small town folk just wonder and
wonder who lives behind all those
lovely front doors, and when we catch
glimpse of the inhabitants we're in
terestcd in them and wonder where
they came from, and what names they
all bear.
II by chance we find. from the
telephone directory, that the people
just back of us wear the very same
name we wear We wonder If they
might be some of our long lost kith
and kin, and if we'd like EN- If we
knew EN-! It's always risky business
hunting up kinfolk, 80 Wen not try It;
but really, the woman is so pretty.
and the baby so cunning. and the
young maD who comes home in the
machine at the ems OF the day is so
proud Of both OF them. that we'd just
like to say "HOwdy-you've got the
same name we have!" and take the
consequences.
There's the 2-year-old baby three
houses down the street who waves
her tiny hand and calls "by-by" when
we pass We'd like so to know her
name and answer the friendly little
greeting And there is the lonely boy
across the street who isn't used to
city ways yet He sits on the front
steps with his elbows on his knees and
his chin in his hands, the most de-
jeCted looking lump OF boyhood that
you could imagine. You want to
cheer him up and tell him things will
be better when he gets acquainted,
but how In the world is he to get ac-
quaintcd' And the young woman who
walks up and down the back yard Of
tho house across the alley carrying
tiny baby in her arms and looking
anNiously down into its little face. II
! was only little grayer. I'd risk
assuming Erandmotherly air and
ask her II the baby is sick.
And there's the old man who sits on
the front porch Of the handsome
house nearer the car line. We can't
decide for certain whether he is sad
or grouChy-feeling the bitterness of
having to live off a son-in- -law-or
whether he is a hectoring Old duffer.
worrying the soul out Of his daughter !
in-law. Back home, we'd know all
about it. And the handsome woman
who sometimes buys fruit on one side
Of the Italians cart, while you're buy /
ing on the other sde-you'd like to
know her or you think you would.
That's the trouble in the city, you ,
can't know for certain whom you .
want to know. until you know which .
makes things complicated. Gradually .
you grow accustomed to the strange I
houses and strange faces. and form
your own ideas.
Gradually you set on speaking
terms with the shy baby boy next door.
so that when you go out he doesn't
make a wild dive for his back porch,
but stands up in his sand pile, waving
hts hands eXcitedly while he tells you
some wonderful rigamarole about his
bucket and spoon, and you find him
quite as lovable as any baby at home.
The city throws its spell about you,
and you find it mighty interesting and
and you grow to love the
strange street because it seems home
after the little trips away from IT, but,
foi country folk used to country ways,
give us the home town, where every
house beams on us like a familiar face
AZ we pass-where we know the peo-
pie behind the front doors, and love
hem, just because they are our home
Clk.-lndianapOliS News.