Evening star., 1925-05-16

~ I'D yon eveYhotice how many
persons Who pass YOU on the
street in New York are talk
~ ing to themselves? But did
you also take note that so
many of them are old men? They
shuttle past. their eyes fixed on moth
ing in particular, which means every
thing in general. and their lips work
ing to form the muttered and, to YOU
mea ninsless word. And YOU say. "Old
party is nutty, | guess Or. if you
do not come out and say it. YOU think
it.
If it happened in smaller place
your unconsciously cruel diagnosis
might be the correct one. In the
smaller town the normal-minded in
dividual who lives there has no valid
excuse for talking to himself in pub
lie. On all sides there are others with
whom he may swap the commonplaces
that are the grease for the hub on
which neighborhood life revolves. But
have you ever stopped to think that
in the big city ii may be that he Cos
sips with himself because there is no.
body else for him to gossip with? Out
in the country or even in the lesser
city two are company and three
aren't always A crowd. although the
proverb would have it so. and any
number up to ten or a dozen make a
communal circle. But sometimes, in
2 city. such as New York. 6.000.000 or
Z 900 600 only make a great loneliness
greater still. 1t is like one of those
puzzles where the more of a certain
ingredient is added to a given guam
tity the less you have for an answer.
Like the riddle of the hole in the girls
stocking, for instance.
figure it that the retired group in
New York-.hat is. the rank and file
of it's made up of several hundred
thousand lonely old men whose feet
hurt them. Mind you. l am speaking
of the pedestrian class, not of those
superannuated captains of business
who have cars to ride in or club win
dows to doZe in. In an emergency
these last have their chauffeurs to
fall back on. or the walters. Chauf-
feurs and walters get paid for listen
ing to garrulous old gentlemen and
agreeing Wa them.
But these other old men. now: they
drift along With no special erIand to
take them and Hhere is nowhere to go
but out and nowhere to come but in.
so they talk to themselves and we
call them nutty. If all these mumbled,
disconnected scraps of speech were
united I'll bet you anything within
reason they'd make a chorus of bitter
homesickness, a wall of feeble protest
against all this peopled solitude, that
would be loud enough and strong
enough to blast down the walls of
Jericho.
Old Mr. Reuben Oldham was one
Of these old ones who walk by them
selves and talk down their own chin.
just to hear the sound of their own
voices Only he didn't deal always in
idle and inconsequential vaporings.
There were moments when his utter
ances had pith and meaning in his
ears. For example. there was the
time when he came out of the Greek
coffee room on Second avenue and
looked over his shoulder at what was
behind him and said, addressing the
vast realms of space. by Hickory
Jackson, / know what's the matter.
These here people amt foreigners in
my country. I'm a foreigner in their
country. by Hickory Jackson. That's
what's the natter
He went away then shaking his
head-a neat withered old man who
would put you in mind Of an amiable
box tortoise out for stroll on its
hind legs. Most humans do suggest
animals or birds; probably scientists
would say il either does or does not
prove something about evolution. To
olHSlS we suSSeSt piSS VI Hd"hS VI
geese or rabbits or sheep or whatnot.
But old Mr.. Oldham was distinctly
t1rtle-looking old man, with skinny.
shrunken neck, which seemed always
getting ready to retreat back into
stiff turned-down collar very much
too large for it, and he was shrunken
and wasted in places, but quite firm
and solid in other places, just as
Br'er Tarrypin is.
The shell was his overcoat of stiff
black diagonal that was plumply
rounded at the back over the con-
vexity of his shoulders; and his
trouser-legs below the shell, being
wrinkly and fiabby-iooking. were the
two rear fiippers. His face. though,
with its beaky nose and its eyes set
deep in loose pouches. might be rather
like a turtles, but there was nothing
cruel about it. 1t was really kind
face, and, as you might say if you
gave it a second glance, mildly be-
wfldered.
That expression of his told no lie.
He was in Q state of constant be-