The Washington herald., 1918-06-25

N~fN---
New York. June 24.-Fifth avenue.
world window shop. is always
colorfuL All the hIgh-lights OF
wealth. aristocracy and snobbery
are to be seen there. Liveried cars.
coaches and fours. lorgnettsd ladies
in victorias. stunty roadsters and
Picadilly buses clog the Elistening
asphalted street.
The sid. lks are the parade
ground for all the world that drifts
through New York. There are faces
olive hued and dark eyed. faces
fair. fat and fragile. On Fifth ave-
nue. one In never surprised. The
Englishman with his hafl OF TOO
dle-oo?' and the answering Pip
pip!" greets his native friend along
side of the Indian Prince. swathed
in Q riot Of colors. who salaams to
someone from his land.
New Yorkers walk by them with
out even turning their heads. Being
a product OF the tall grass regions
where a tobacco drummer with a
flaming red tie never failed to ex-
cite my curiosity can always get
thrill out Of q stroll along the
avenue.
Just recently I saw a white
whiskered, white-haired patriach
step out OF Delmonico's cosy little
eatery. In his lapel he wore a pink
carnation and in his right eye he
wore q monocle He was at least
so years old and I followed him for
six blocks and nearly got mangled
under a truck or might have been
following him yet.
am still wondering what he does
for q living. You can never tell in
New York. He may be a pickle
salesman or he may belong to the
peerage. One Of the handsomest
best dressed men I ever saw in New
York delivered theatrical folders to
hotel newstands for a living. He
made $l2 . week and was always
afraid somebody was trying to get
his job.
Ny recent experience on Fifth ave-
nue.. however. capped the climax. It
was in front Of one OF those great.
glass enclosed entrances to million
aires home. The doors started to swing
"a n powdered WIZ
stepped out. I got out OF his way.
They always make me feel like q
miserable worm.
A fashionably dressed woman
emerged and on a leash she had
wire-haired fox TERROR. That wasn't
so remarkable but on the dogs right
foot. below the knee, was strapped
a wrist watch. That was all But /
rrrk.w
Central Park at twilight is a fasci-
mating spot The moon hangs its
slight crescent on the sky, and mist
gathers on the trees and the lakes.
through the long ghostiy beauty of
the night, lie lightly dreaming. AS
I write / can look out over the vast
acreage in the heart OF the greatest
city.
There Is q soft gravity about the
trees. It Is twilight. All the walks
and driveways lie purple in the gray
light The many lamps are still pale
and ungleaming, scattered like yell
low balls over the lawns, a warning
Of oncoming night.
Over near the Fifth avenue entrance
stands a woman. She has been there
for years. She isn't old; she stands
straight and she Is all gay with
colored balloons and pinwheels which
she sells to park visitors. They al
most spill out of her basket, and some
climb up her arms and hang, near
her ears, tremendous blooms and
spil<y ornaments. Her dark face is
30 weary.
The children stop to look at her.
and many run down the gray paths
bearing their wheels like torches
against the wind or trailing, their
gaudy balls after them. She does q
good business, but neither that nor
the pretty hurry Of the children glad
dens her. Her sorrow seems as black
as her burdens are radiant. She is
the saddest woman I ever saw.