The Birmingham age-herald., 1918-11-24
A STREET SCENE
By ROSA cLIsBY JOHN

As I am convalescing s.fronl4 l4influenza (knocking out the theory that the aged uld not have iH, sit by the window watching the endless procession of peo- ple anA vehicles winding up and down the street.
 As the ancient and noisy, and most too old for service street car breaks this procession and thereby my story it is weaving feel like boy who has rock and wants to throw it awful bad
 I think the noise of these antiquated cars the limit till a motorcyclist races down the street shooting off his hot-ar in nops and maniacal shrieks. Some wise policeman should confine him a few days in a ceIl to convince him that the world would move without his ego and ma chine.
 Then comes the truck drivers with their deafenine shrieks at the cost of gas add ing to the pandemonium of street trat- fife.
 A thrifty, progressive town where cltI- zens are wide awake for the best is to be desired. but yells, shrieks that curdle ones blood are not requisites for prog ress nor steady growth
 As to the pedestrians, from the wed tots to the infirm, they interest one They come as an army with milk bot. ties to the same destina tion--the dairy The young husband and wife just start ing housekeeping come laughing ana chatting as they swing their milk bottles in blissful ignorance of the passing criti. cism.
 The servants of well-to-do folk walking in stately dignity never unconscious of the $10 week salary disdaining the plain, sad-faced women, who, as they push their way into the door of the dairy. cause you to wish for better feel ing in our big democratic country.
 Just as l have this sad thought see a little dot of humanity stump her toe and down goes milk and all, much to papas embarra ssment
 Then comes the go-cart with the baby pushed by some kind-hearted husband and father who is sharing the wifes burdens in these trying days of high living.
 To add variety there comes the touring car with plenty fuss and feathers Of feminine array that feel the whole os- trch farm and the sables NQf Russia cant compare with mineN
 I, the poor shut-in, in looking down upon this miniature world of human be- irgs representing rich, poor, old, young aud happy and sorrowins, wonder about the homes where the milk goes.
 see the well appointed table of the rich glistening with cut-glass and silver
 
 hands have never felt the pressure of baby fingers, nor his heart felt the joy of having the love of child.
 Then across the street the busy, happy housewife whose smile and help sus- tain her husband in his long march of toll, piles high the smoking cakes from griddle, then giving the milk and honey with flushed cheeks of pride in serving her husband, says. Eat, my good hus- land, rest now. for we are entering the land of promise. you see, flowing with milk and honey.'
 Now the scene changes have dreamed my drearls, saw smiles and tears, met and talked with the great, helped the sorrowins, and in thought served the Master for being one of these specks of humanity that come along the way. Conscious of lweariness I phone my doctor: "Why, I have fever. what's the mattere" You should be in bed. l told you not to read or write, comes in the true ring of the long years. But keep ing up old Eyes reputation for first in disobedence creep back to bed and cover up. looking as innocent as Mary's little lamb.
 Birmingham, November, l9is