The Washington herald., 1919-03-27

New York, March 26.-Nassau street
Is one OF those odd little thorough
fares in great city that fairly bulge
with life. 1t is narrow, cramped and
filed with a polyslot assortment Of
shops, lunch rooms and whatnots. It
Is the promenade for stenographers at
lunch time. 1t is the boulevard for
the sandwich men" and SO many
people are forced 10 walk In the street
that vehicular traffic is barred
Before the boys went across, there
was a young man who used to work
in the Wall street district. Day in and
day out he passed certain station
cry store on Nassau street. Before II
he always saw slack-lipped. blear-
eyed human anachronism with shoul-
ders that stopped and eyes that
watered.
He wns gaunt and a great Adams
Apple raced up and down as he
chewed prodigiously upon an ever
present cud of tobacco. He did not
wear collars and his face was al
ways unshaven and his elbows and
knees and toes We'd with each other
in ,unkemptness.
During the winter he wore a blue ov-
ercoat that had faded to green and he
fastened 1t at the neck with a horse
blanket safety pin. Once in awhile
he would land job for a day holding
a sign advertising a sale in the sta
tionery store. But as rule he Just
loafed. chewed his tobacco and
watched the hurrying crowds from
the doorway.
1t was a picture the young man
who went across the sea remembered
He thought of the man many times in
France and when ne returned lately
he walked down Nassau street to see
II the fellow was still at his post. He
found him looking just about as he
did before he went away.
Except there was something bright
and fresh on his blue green coat
lapel. 1t was a shiny celluloid button
and the Inscription on 1t read:
NO Beer; No Work"
At the crest of the lunch hour In a
side street cafe the table near the
door was occupied by young officer.
hard Tipped and cold eyed. a bit too
conscious Of the divinity that doth
hedge about the wearer OF chevrons
Near by stood a soldier private. His
sleeve bore two wound stripes and by
his chair was propped a pair of
crutches. The young private was
homely and his contrast to the officer
was striking. And yet when he start
ed to go. five different people asked
the privilege and honor of paying his
check. When the officer left-no one
looked up.
Snooping around the arches of the
Brooklyn Bridge the other afternoon
1 was impressed with the number of
newswomen along Park Row. There
are more women selling newspapers
there than men. Newswomen are much
more pleasanter to see than newsboys.
Their heads are always wrapped up in
knitted affairs. They do not screech
their wares but call out gently and
distinctly the names of their papers.
All my life 1 have been fascinated by
the women who can balance large
bundle OF sticks on their heads. fol-
lowed one the other afternoon all
around the Brooklyn Bridge section.
I also like the roar from the cobbie
stones. Somehow il stimulates the
imagination-especially II one comes
from the less-congested sections.
Frankfort street near the Bridge is
paved with cobble stones. Horses
climbing it always come with a plunge
and a grinding of sparks. Phil May
would have been pleased with Frank
fort street and so would Rembrandt.
With the coming of spring in New
York there Is also the return of the
trampish-looking fellows who have
nothing else to do but explore street
receptacies for waste paper and mis-
cellaneous articles that wayfarers
wish to bs rid of. They drive a nail
in the end OF a broomstick. sharpen
the blunt end of the nail and then
walk around hunting for what they
might find.