The Washington times., 1922-04-03

drowsy desert of Arizona, the
Texas, the redness of Georgia, ,
was Florida.
"Kitty-ka-thunk. kitty.ka-thunk,"
sang the Pullman wheeis as we
worked our way out of Jacksonville
last night. At first it was long
spaced. Gradually it quickened It's
most in q monotone. Its music of the
rails.
To one who dotes on strange places
there is JOY in hearkening to the
kitty-ka-thunk. Lying in the close.
stuffy berth, one hears the grinding
grip Of the airbrake, the rattle OF
the window, the groan Of the car
IS 1t is swung around the curve.
"Crash! Bang!' But wait, 1t IL
only q brakeman on his way
through tho darkened car. II Is
no modern Jesse James looking
for money or lives. And back you
70 to Illuminating on the kitty-ka-
thunk, ktty-ka-thunk. kitty-ka-
thunk.
How many glorious miles must
those wheels have Travelled? And
they say they are made of paper,
too. Possibly of old paper turned
back into the mills somewhere. It's
barely possible that in that very
wheel below is a sport page OF The
Washington Times, now turned by
the skill of a modern world into the
resemblance Of iron.
All, round a curve we go, rafting
w or loG
q shrill tune over the countryside.
We look out. All Is blackness. Then
water sparkles somewhere. A wee
station the size of plano box
flashes by and is gone into the night.
Now we must have struck
straight piece for the train is speed
ing up. The electric light fixtures
have tune of their own up there Oh
the ceiling, as though jealous of that
lordly kitty-ka-thunk below.
The engine far ahead is pu-ring
now like some great giant who knows
he has his task we'll in hand. That
giant pulls his swaying cars behind
him across little bridges over
swamps, past lonely farm houses,
through sparsely wooded sections,
beside huge.bullSing freight sheds.
And always is heard that kitty.lia-
thunl<. kitty-ka- a-thunk, ldtty.ka-
thunk below, singing litany Of the
rails. 1t sings Of the miles, the
rails, the bridges, the stations, the.
farm lands, the hills, the BROOKS.
grades. Yet its words are ever the
same, just kitty.ka-thunl.
What joy can there by for the
clod lying in his berth and knowing
nothing Of that great tune, that kit
ty-ka-thunk!
The clod turns in, rolling himself
In his blanket, and is off to sleep.
He sees the slow OK cart moving in
Palestine. He sees the gorgeous pal
anquin of an East Indian mahara !'ah,
swinging and swaying. He sees the
rtcksha, with its human engine slip
ping along a rainy road in his wood
en- clogs. He sees the Tartar tribe
on the move, with the yellow horse
tails Haunting In the wind. He sees
the Turks janissaries swarminR into
what is Hungary, their entire posses.
Sions on their back. He sees the rein
deer team of the Laplander AS he
saw it years and years ago in his
school geography. And they all spell
locomotion. But not one moved to
the kitty-ka -thunk Of the Pullman
car.
The dreamer, lying there in his
berth. sees the canoe speeding over
the lake, the pirogue lurking along
the Mississippis bayou. the muttcr-
ing motor boat of Miami, the bird
like hydroplane OF st. Petersburg,
but they have no kitty.ka-Ihunk.
hn nf hn do, xryto
some master musician will trans
pose that marvellous music of the
rails SO that all will know II, even
to the clod sleeping there rolled In
his blanket.
It will he n great opera, too,
that Of the kitty-ka-thunk. It
will tell Of the desert and the for
est, the river, the lake and even
the mighty ocean, all conquered
by the genius residing In mans
head.
II will tell the story of the rise
OF man as shown by his ability to
move abroad on the face of the
earth. II will tell of the long camel
trains winding their way to e.
Kerak, of the wagon trains bat
the gold caches Of California. Of
the catamarans flocking about the
explorers ship, of the burros pur-
suing their rocky road up a new
Mexican trail, of the vikings bold
ships of war, Of the spirited horses
OF the Mamelukes. of the pirate
craft Of Barbary, of the modern
motor car. the tractor and the aero
plane.
Surely will be he a master mu.
sician who will 80 write that the
universal song OF travel will be
stamped therein for evermore. And
IL is a simple song, merely a kitty
ka-thunk, kitty-ka-thunk, kitty-ka-
thunk, that's all, all through the
night, now fast, now slow, but
ever the kitty-ka-thunk.
What wonder that the navy is fill
ed with lads from the farms Of the
middle West! They hive stood by the
roadside and seen the long freight
crawling its way around the hill and
- Ia, 6iotonra haOLpp.