The Arvada enterprise., 1917-09-06
IN STRANGE CITY
Lot Of One Transplanted From
Small Town Is Hard.
Yeu Can't Tell Whom You Want to
Know Until You Know, Which
Makes Things Complicated.

II gives you queer Ieeuuk W uo
suddenly transplanted from the little
home town to a crowded city street
made up of houses, houses, houses,
where you don't know soul, and never
expect to. says writer In the Indian
upolls News. City folk don't care who
lives across the street or next door.
They have their friends scattered about
In various places where they can lind
them when they want them. But we
small town folk Just wonder and won
der who lives behind all those lovely
front doors, and when we catch a
glimpse of the Inhabitants we're inter-
ested In them and wonder where they
came from and what names they all
bear.
II BY chance we nnd. from the tele-
phone directory, that the people just
back Of US wear the very same name
We wear, we wonder II they might be
some Of our long lost kith and kin.
and II we'd like 'em II we knew 'eml
It's always risky business hunting up
kinfolk, 30 we'll not try It; but really.
the woman Is SO pretty, and the baby
30 cunning, and the young man who
comes home In the machine at the end
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 two-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 detected looking
lump Of bOyhood that you could imag-
Inc. You want to cheer him mp. and tell
him things will be better when he gets
acquainted, but how in the world IL he
to get acquainted? And the young
woman who walks up and down the
back yard Of the house across the al
ley, carrying tiny baby In her arms
and looking anxIously down into Its
little face. II was only little grayer
I'd risk assuming grandmotheriy 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 hav-
Ing to live of son-in-law-or wheth-
err he Is hectoring old duffer, worry
Ing the soul out Of his auRhter-ln-law.
Back home we'd know all about 1t. And
the handsome woman who sometimes
buys fruit on one side Of the Italians
cart while you're buying on the other
side-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 houses
and strange faces, and form your own
ideas.
Gradually you get ON speaking terms
with the shy baby boy next door, 30
that when you 20 out on the back
porch he doesn't make a wild dive for
HIS hack porch. but stands up In his
sand pile. waving his hands excitetlly
while be tells you some wonderful riga
marole about his bucket md spoon.
and you hnd him quite M l0vable AZ
any baby at home.
The city throws the spell about you.
and you ind 1t mighty interesting and
entertaining. and you grow to love the
strange street because II seems home
after the little trips away from It, hut
for country folk used to country ways,
give Us the home town. where every
house beams on US like familiar face
~ We pass-where We know the people
behind the front doors. and love them,
Just because they are our home folk.