Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1917-11-18
AROUND THE CITY,

He was so old that he might have beer
| twin to Father Time, and SO young thai
| his skin bloomed like a pink rose on 3
bush. He was SO busy that it was TAX
ing a kit Of tools to fix a door knob. ant
so idle that he paused at his tinkering. UNI
der the impression that a woman at q
table ought to know the history of hts
life.
"Yessum, I'm an old soldier-arunery
Some Johnny give me a bullet that makes
me remember him every time It rains
Gettysburg. Sometimes the old fight feel.
so close behind me that can smell pow
der and hear the pounding of drums-bu
when get to hgurin' that I've passed my
Bible limit, and that all my folks arr
gone-wellum. I tell you. it's mighty
lonesome job bein' the last button on ole
Gabe's coat. as the sayin' Isl
The woman who was having the dool
knob fixed admitted that 1t was a mighty
lonesome job. She had experience to
go by.
"Yessum, its nature for a man to wan,
com-panionship. and If he can't do any
better. he takes to dumb critters-and he
might go farther and fare worse. / got
SO lonesome one time last year that paid
out a dollar and half for a duck. and
that duck. ma'am, is almost as much COM
pany as an entire family"
The woman looked up from her work to
glimpse the old fellow. who was sorting
his tool box leisurely for screw The
crows feet that made humorous tracks
about his eyes evidenced the pleasure he
was getting out Of his monologue
'Yessum, a duck Is real sociable when
you can't do any better Some Of these
here writer men claim that dumb critters
lacks sense, but I tell you. mum. it seems
to me that duck has got the knowledge
to talk. If SO be it mout 1t has got bright.
KNOWN eyes-and it's right purity little
thing. too. with fine blueish. greenish
feathers and sort of speckledy down
under its tail and wings"
To fight for ones country. and to suffer
for it for more than a half century, and to
intimate comrade rather touched the
woman. for she showed aside the pencil
and asked with real heart interest:
what kind of a duck is it?'
"a stuffed duck, mum"
x X
Anybody around here want to know
about Mr.. Thornton Burgess, who
writes the Bedtime Stories for The
Star?
My goodness, children, don't crowd up
like that! There's plenty Of room If
you will stop your pushing and shov-
ing. Here, you boys. pile up on the
desks and let the girls have the chairs.
Well, Buddie Sniff, I'm sprised at you,
sitting down like that when you see
little sister standing. Any one would
think you had been brought up by a
street car. Come right in. Mr.. and Mrs
Everybody. Big sister, give your seat
to Miss Serand Yellow. that's nice lit
tie lady. Now, then:
Mister Burgess breeZed into this very
newsroom Tuesday. accompanied by
Peter Rabbit. who is always tpperty-
Tipping around in the story mans
brain: Why, yes. Buddie. it's perfectly
simple when you get the hang Of 1t.
Look at the boy who kept the squirrel
In his pocket-and that other boy who
wore a fox under his jacket-and the
lady who made a show of herself with
a snake wound around her neck. the
same as real boa made out of feath-
ers and-everything.
Children, dears, he's a nawful nice
man. Just like every child's father,
and you know how splendid he is. And
here is how the stories began:
One time. when Mr.. Burgess was
away from home. he wrote about some
little animal creatures every day and
sent it to mamma to read to their four