Evening star., 1928-12-22
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES E. TRACEWELL.

self) A look reveals bath robe and
slippers in their accustomed place. II
one must flee, one desires to do 1t with
benefit of covering Stories about peo-
pie being rescued In their nighties flash
through the musing mind.
Let us arise and go hence about the
house. Stairs and rooms seem queer
in the dark. just as the quietnesS OF
the night strikes the sleepless as un-
usual. Even at its quietest city Is
never really quiet. There is sort Of
subterannean noise going on all the
time, gathered from one knows not
how many miles, Incorporating the
clack of street cars (owlS) over the
rails, wanderings of taxicabs, beat of
milk wagon horse hoofs, groanS Of
brakes needing adjusting. signing of
treetops, creaking of garage doors loose
| on their hinges, rattle of piece OF tin
somewhere in the neighborhood.
| Little noises take on great impor-
tance. Doors are bolted, windows lock-
| ed, but every little sound causes one
to listen. 1t is the old dog instinct in
humanity. We are never so civilized
but what we will listen intently, al
though unconsciouSly, in the middle of
tween the walls. Hushl What was
where. Sh'h! No doubt it was a
rafter swapping, as they sometimes will
on cold night, but one can never be
sure.
How bright the lights are! Surely
the power company is working solely
for our benefit at this hour. What shall
we do? Here is good book to read
First, however, let us look at the fur
1 ClH eta d. l.
ment. A look In the feed door shows
the iron Lady to be doing very nicely,
thank you. One can stand here by the
window and look out at the Snowberrv
bushes waving in the wind They are
the variety called coral berry" since
the fruits are red. The reflected light
makes them shine. One might think
birds would have devoured them long
ago. Evidently the birds do not like
them as much as the books say, or else
they have somehow failed to discover
this possible source Of food. Birds are
silly things, let their admirers say what
they will.
The light goes out with a snap of the
finger and the basement is left in dark
ness. Hist! What was that? WHY.
nothing but the gas meter. These use
fui, ugly contraptions make strange
HolSeS III colo WeaCher. Sometimes theV
sing tune, but mostly they lust click.
Cats, when first making acquaintance
OF basement, will spend many hours
watching for mice to pop out, but when
none ever does they give it up as a bad
| job, and forever after disdainfully ap-
pear to refuse to listen. Then let a
gas meter do its creaking best. honest
Tom will stare stolidly in the other
direction.
Ho, huml Do you suppose there will
be any radio stations broadcasting at
this time in the morning? Let us
switch on the set, hopefully turning the
dial for far-away stations. Mostly we
get only those sharp clicks which seem
inherent in tuned radio frequency. All!
The sounds of music watt into the air.
Hopefully we wait, and wait, and wait
We have never received a station at
this precise point before. Maybe it is
London or Holland. Listen to the voice
OF the announcer: I'VE will now play
Ten Little Miles from Town." Thump,
thump, thump. thump-there Is no use
waiting for him to announce the call
letters-announcer believe in keeping
the secret Is that light coming In at
the window? Good! Now we can get up.