Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-12-22


Extral" through the rainy night
"Extal Extra!"
Mr.. Whidden, reading his evening paper
wondered what was the trouble He could
gather nothing from the ominous shouts that
assailed his ears. The two men might have
been lusty-lunged Russians for all of him.
But there was an ominous note in their voices
the warning of dark calamity-the grim sug-
gestion of wars plaques, holocausts.
Where do they get those men with voices
like that, and what do they do between extras?"
he thought.
Mrs. Whidden emerged from the kitchen
whittier she had retired to battle the supper
dishes.
There's an extra out, Ray" she announced
$50 hear" said her husband, who was not
above an occasional facetious sally.
She walked over to the window opened it.
and thrust her head out into the rain. In the
street. five stories below, she could see the
two newsvenders.
''Extra Extra!"
Mrs. Whidden turned from the window
Something must have happened?"
THERE was an overtone of complaint in her
= remark that Mr.. Whidden recognized only
too well. 1t was tone that always suggested
unwelcome activity on Mr.. Whidden's part. He
wished that she would came right out and say
Go downstairs and get the paper" but she
never did. She always prefaced her commands
with series of whining insinuations.
Fl wonder what it WASP" she asked, as though
expecting her husband to know
"Oh, nothing, I guess. Those extras never
amount to anything"
Mrs whidden turned again to the window.
Something awful must have happened" she
observed, and the counterpoint of complaint was
even more pronounced.
Mr.. Whidden shifted uneasily in his chair
the one comfortable chair in the f1at-the chair
which he himself had bought for his own oc-
cupancy and about which there had been so
much argument. He knew what was coming:
he didn't want to move, and walk down and
up four flights of stairs for the sake of some
information that would not affect his life in
the remoteSt degree
Don't you intend to find out?" asked Mrs
Whidden, and it evident that she had
reached the snappy stage. Her husband knew
that, If he didn't go down and buy that paper
he would provide fuel for an irritation that
would burn well into the night Nevertheless.
that chair was so comfortable, and the weather
was SO disagreeable, and the stairs were such
climb.
Il guess 1 won't go down, Emmy Those
extras are sometimes fakes anyway, and, be-
sides, if it is anything important We'll find
out about it in the morning paper"
The roars of the men shouting Extra!
Extra!" reverberated through the street beating
with determined violence against the sheer
walls of the walk-up apartment houses shud-
dering through the open window of the Whid-
dens living room, Earring the fringed shade
OF the reading lamp. the souvenirs on the book
shelves, the tasseled portieres that led into the
little hall.
You're just lazy, Roy Whidden," said Mrs.
Whidden. You sit there reading your paper
night after night-night after night" She
turned as though to an invisible Jury to
whom she was addressing a fervent plea for
recognition of her prolonged martyrdom Then,
with all the dramatic suddenness of an ex-
perienced prosecutor, she snapped at the de-
PENDANT: What do you read. anyway? Answer
me that What do you read?"
Mr.. WHIDDEN knew that the question was
purely rhetorical. No answer was expected
you don't read thing. You just sit there
and stare at that fool paper-probably the
death notices. When anything important hap
EA2SSSos ESNslS ~