Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1926-03-14

oiic was MIS-. MI
Stevens. the lady -
If the house, and
the other was
Mrs. Blank. And they were discuss
ing their husbands and homes, the
hostess being quite worked up over
'he high cost of living.
Now. don't you think that was a
nawful price to pay for a simple little
woast beef dinner?"
Il do no." admitted the visitor.
who was Mrs. Blank. I'VE don t
have dinners any more-not since my
husb'n lost his Dove nment office
we don't have hardly nothin', an we
have TO save mos Of that for our
little daughter, Daisy dear. You
cant have dinners when YOU haven't
got no money! been hungwy SO lon
l don't fink We'll ever get nough to
eat any more. But we don't let on
10 nobody because ives too pwoud,
AN. O, Mrs. S'tv'ns, I'm SO afWaid
any husbn will do sumtin despit. lie
keeps sayin' if he was dead ! could
take Daisy dear home to my people
bun | tellim John. Id wather starve
with you than have envy thing
wivout YOU Q, Mrs. S'tv'ns. YOU
don't know how dwefiie it is-it mos
bWeaks my heart
The lady at the window got up from
her sewing and went into the hall
where the telephone is. and called up
her husband. who is a good and in
1luential man. Then she looked in on
the children to tell little daughter not
10 have a party with her toy dishes.
because she would fix up a nice
luncheon for the two Of thenl-a
rhange of program which Mrs. Blank
accepted with a rhapsodic Let's
And then they went back to their
homes and hushands-not just two
little children playing on a living
room floor. but a couple of house
wives talking together in that
slamourous place of Make Believe,
which, geographically, is situated in
Kingdom OF Childhood--that lost
Atlantis, neighbor. dear. which was
once our home. but which we can
never go back 10 because there is
high. high wall. And we are on the
outside.
THERE IS one woman i'll this town
u for whom Michelangelo lived in
vain. No personal SrudSe, mind YOU,
for she had never even heard tell of
him until she came into an office and
CHANGED to notice print of Moses"
on a woman's desk. And at that all
she said by way of comment was
You just ought to see the sand
pictures down at Chesapeake Beach.
One day, early last summer. me and
my husband leaned over the board
walk rail for an hour. watching
young Teller make President Coolidge
outer wet sand-life size--and after
that sailor and an angel BLOWN q
horn, and I couldn t tell YOU what all
an n
heartily, He had I, grand taste for
art. and what pleased him so much
was the off hand way it was done. He
was taken down soon after that-and
don't YOU know. when my sister made
me go to the beach with them for a
family picnic, a couple of months
after Tom died couldn't stay--thinll-
ing of how me and him had watched
them sand DEMONSTRATION
There are times when argument
Is so much language gone TO waste
and this seemed to be one of the times,
BESIDES:
The woman who owned Moses
knew that the patron of sand art was
Nisioning. with memory-eyes. some
dabbler under the boardwalk. making
so many set pictures to the fall Of
nickels, while she leaned over the rail-
ing with a companion who had kept
loving steps with her womanhood
until they came to a cemetery gate.
And besides, again: Any idea that
gives you a better one Is always
worthwhile thing. In this case, 1t
reminded the Moses woman of other
sand pictures-the ones that hang
on the cobwebby walls Of forgetful
ness in the back attic Of your brain
except for the occasional times you
take them down for a busting. Here's
one:
A blue sea blIowing on a beach.
with two soldiers drawing a straight
line on the sand to let the waves
know how far they may roll in.
His Royal Foolishness. inside the
line, sits in his throne chair to watch
the sea obey his command. And
while he does it the breakers crash
in; over the line. up to the throne
chair. AS if any Canute that ever
lived can hope to control a. world
he had no hand in makinS
This is a better one: A park in
Syracuse. with Archimedes on q.
bench, drawing mathematical circles
on the sand You can see the Roman
invader rushing forward to cut him
down. Archimedes sees him. also. but
there is something more important
10 he considered:
Don [ tredu on lH0 CIIClc
You can hear his warning cry. as
his blood SoakS into the sand.
This is the best one of all:
Another place of sand-with a.
white-robed figure STOPPING to write
"A sentence-and brushing 1t away,
that man might forever wonder what
the words were.
And never know.
* x X X
WHEN you have paid your last
w tribute to the royal dust and for
ever living genius shrined In west
minister Abbey and have reached the
inst then deserted portal you give the
nearest gray stone column a stealthy
nat of farewell And, because you
always make believe, to yourself, that
ancient things grow a sort OF human
understanding the Abbey has
had a half dozen centuries OF birth
days-you add to that farewell rev
parting remarks, in strictest conf
dence, of course, because you daSent
say it aloud in England.
II am glad to get acquainted with
YOU. and would love to know you bet
Ter, butt regret that l did not come
here straight from home, before See
ing the cathedrals of Italy and France.
each a miracle of scuiptured splendor
and some Of them SO vast they could
Put all your treasures in a corner and
forget they We're there. l don't Won
der England is proud Of her bards,
but after you have seen tombs ana
monuments that are affairs, or foun'
tains, or colossal figures, or draperies
of marble lace--all dedicated to men
who were once Michelangelo, or Ra-
phael, or Dante, or some other among
the countless and supreme immortals
OF this woodland, maybe, of the one
10 which they have gone--and said