The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-07-13


 not seeing the darting cars which breasted the sea of vehicular traf- fic, Don Mason sat on the second step of a faded brownstone stoop, five doors from the Monarch Thea tres stage entrance.
 Mason's pose, elbow on knee and chin resting on a grimed, heavy head, resembled Rodin's Thinker" However, the middle aged mans body was less sym metrical. The shoulders were too broad and bowed, as though from carrying weighty / burdens. And the head, half hidden by crushed, torn hat, was grizzled, sprinkled with the cares of years.
 Stretching, suddenly and hunch- ing his abnormally wide shoulders, Mason told himself he was happy happy just sitting there waiting. He had been waiting more than I two hours on the stoop; previously, he had waited many years for the | moment he was soon to enjoy. He wished the fieeting contact, 500 nto materialiZe, could be diff | ferent. He felt he'd enjoy reach | ing the stage entrance in a dream car-one that would cause traffic | patrolmen to adopt note of add ed respect. Then, if he could step | from the car while chauffeur and footman stood at attention, that would be something like it. She'd be proud of him then.
 "Oh! she'd gasp. and her voice l xxyftl, 0finr CT want you to meet my father. You must know father" This to George, Jim or some fictious Harry. And then she'd take his arm, lightly wave farewell to her escort, and l step into the car with the powerful and wealthy father she loved so well.
 Of a certainty, as they said in l those French ports, that would be l of a goodness unsurpassed. Mason sighed. "Ce-monde est plein de fous this world is full of fools," he told himself. He removed his hat and shook his head. A passing pedestrian dropped nickel into | the limp hat and passed on, con- scious that he had done at least one good deed that day. Mason | looked at the money stupidly. 'PANHANDLING,
 NOW, EH?"
 "Panhandling now, eh?' he mutt tered digustedly. "A fine bum," l he snorted Yeah, a fine bum! | You must look good, Mason, when they drop jitneys in your hat. Talk ing nickels, and you're the hombre that's waiting to see your daugh- ter come out of that door wonder. | You're a credit to her, Mason. A real credit to her and yourself! Mason's harsh chuckle drew the startled glances of strolling cou- | pie to him. The pair quickened | step, believing the man lurking ir the shadows was drunk. Mason sneered, running his hand along | his sunburned, unshaven chin. God! if he frightened a couple that did not know him, how much more he'd frighten Mary Mason, his | daughter. We'll, he'd stay in the background. A helluva note, wasn't it, to have come from out the Far East to see your kid, now 22, stage star, whom you'd not seen save in rotogravure pictures, since she was l twelve years old. A good joke, that. Very amusing. Quite. quite, as the toffs had it in London. We'll, he guessed it didn't mat | ter. Nothing mattered, much. One | learned that when one used the world as a highway.
 If you made business of walk ing hand-in-hand with death, either at sea, in eastern wars, or trying to beat the North in the game of life, little things meant nothing, and the world was just a mass of little things. Even death didn't matter so much, excepting 1t had more dignity than most other things, and was great deal more positive. Robbie Burns had written something about death. It went
 Mason reflected:
 Farewell, thous fair day, thou
 green earth and ye skies, |.
 Now gay with the broad set-
 ting sun;
 Farewell, loves and friendships.
 ye dear tender ties,
 Our race of existence is run!"
 "Yeah, that's the way it went, and a lot more of 1t, too." Mason rose and watched crowds hurrying towards subway stations. He heard the cries of newsboys hawking papers, still wet with the dew of the presses; he heard the din of the city, and it made his head ache.
 Blaring horns barged against his ear drums, and throbbing motors of countless cars gave off sound
 recalling the rolling of muffled drums.
 For moment his eyes followed