Evening star., 1924-08-19
THIS AND THAT
by C. T.. TRACEWELL.

| activities. In the kitchens of all the
! homes busy housewives were to be
glimpsed getting ready the evening
meal.
! one man down the way was NOW
ing his grass, WHICH glowed with
| a duIl. defiant green under the dark
enlng skies which threatened to pour
down water momentariIy. Usually
| the coolest place in town, Estey al
| ley had suffered with the rest Of
| Washington.
The hot spell had brought discom-
fort to the alley dwelIers. as to the
remainder of the inha bitants of the
National Capital. There people are
not alley dwellers in the usual sense
They have come to look upon them
selves as living on the alley be-
cause the backs of the houses ex-
press more Of the Individuality of the
| owners than the fronts.
Only free use Of the hose had
saved the yards OF Itstey ALLEY
There they stood. however. green and
resplendent, to greet the oncoming
| ralnstorm. the first in nearly Il
month. They seemed to say:
| We do not need your rain, q
clouds, because we are well cared for
but We VIII accept it, nevertheless, be-
cause we can always use more water
in our business.
y
He shall come down like rain upon
the moWn grass"
The zinnias waved their bright
blossoms before the slight breezes
that played across the yards. a tiny
green humming bird. which had been
J l,,.y,
among the flowers, dipping first into
a yellow Zinnia, then into the bell
OF a pink malloW. then into the wide,
white blossom of Il Rose OF Sharon.
The humming bird is one OF the
| regular guests Of Estey alley. To
him the low fences mean nothing az
all. He comes and goes at his pleas
ure. Let no nature-faker declare.
however, that this fragile thing never
rests.
Often he may be seen. sitting al
ease on a telephone wire. as if
cuperating from his arduous duties
Of honey gathering.
For he on honey dew hath fed.
And drunk the milk of paradise.
x ::
On this pastoral scene-ir the
city, yet not of it. not SO many miles
from the Capitol, yet, oh, SO far away
breaks the sound of a motor car,
calling the contemplative citizen
back from the world of honey bees.
1t is Bill Jones getting home in
his small, popular car. Estey alley.
twenty feet wide, if you please, and
perfectly paved, with a gentle slope
to the west, recently has taken on
the dignity of street.
all, the municipal government has de-
cided that the street ought to be
paved. That is, out front, where the
houses sit snhgly behind their front
yards and ornamental shrubs.
So milk men deliver their wares
in Estey alley these early morn
ings, while the street lies staked off
with little pegs. sunk into the earth
to show the proper slope for the
paving when it shall be cut in.
Heaven and the contractor alone
know when it will be done. The
curb is there, the little stakes are
there, the concrete machine is in the
gully.
And the hooded Clouds like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.
Here comes the rain, Children
scream to their mothers. They want
their bathing suits. Father runs up
stairs to put down the windows.
while mother hustles the clothes off
the line.
The walks become wet. Then the
white alley, then grass and flowers,
take on a glistening appearance. 1t
is the rain, long waited, come to
cool off Washington.
Hotter than any place in the United
States except Phoenix Washington
may be, but there is a saving fact:
That always a cooling storm will
come. 80 -,
Unlike many less blessed places,
where hot spells last all summer long,
| without break, the National Capital
/ seldom has a heated. spell longer
than a week or two weeks Then
comes the rain or wind storm. Let
the critics of Washington circulate
| this fact. along with their recital of
the mere mathematical and basely
material thermometer record.
| X
"I have heard a greater storm in
| boiling pot" said jealous Greek
| faults, ridiculing either player who
| initiated a storm at sea.
This storm. however, is enough to
| cool the houses off delightfully."-, and
| put back into the air something of
| the sparkle and snap that make life
so worth while to us oxygen breath
| erS.
Draperies wave against easements;
| a door slams with a bang some
| where. as if to emulate the clap of
| thunder resounding over the houses;
| patter, patter goes the water.
All, Palmer Cox, gone to join the
| great of all ages. could you be here
| this afternoon you would think your
Brownies had come to life!
Little green-clad, brown-clad, blue
clad figures dart along walks to
gates, fling them open. and pour into
| Estey alley. their white feet and legs
| shining against the darkened con-
crete.
The little ones. in their bathing
| suits. are out to cool off. An oc-
casional flash Of lightning, or rumble
of thunder. does not scare them in
the least, for they are modern chill
dren who have not been brought up
in the fear of anything. think they
will be all the better for it.
Here comes a cat, hugging the
houses, as he jumps from porch to
porch, over ratings, to get to his
home base. Meow! how glad he is
the screen door, he will lick himself
dry in no time.
X X
Now the rain is over, but the cool
ness it has brought lays like a bene-
diction over Estey alley. blessing in
tangible way the inhabitants there
OF.
Trees drip with wetneSS.
Flowers shine to the lazy-soft days
Of the sun, just peeping through the
clouds over that hill, where the
great treetops wave and mutter
among themselves.
The people walk through their