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SOB WRITER FINDS THIS A SELFISH WORLD OF
CHICKEN AND OTHER FADDISTS
"Are you a chicken fan?"
The sob writer realized the mo
ment she asked the question of the
city editor that it was a personal one
entirely outside the business of writ
ing stories, and she reached out into
the verbal atmosphere to call it back
before it would be noticed, but it
hadn't escaped the c e.
"What's the idea?" he asked, with
a mingling of astonishment and in
dignation. "Are you trying to be
witty? To spring some pun? Or
just what prompts a leading ques
tion of that kind?"
"Oh, dear, that is what comes of
my thinking the thing over so long;
it just slipped out I am growing to
loathe chickens."
The s. w. slipped into a confiding
"now that the fat is out of the pan"
mannerism.
"You know I am a stranger in this
great city, by which 1 mean I
haven't any relatives here in whom I
can confide when the longing to con
fide grows strong within me. But I
have friends!"
She paused impressively. "That's
why I hate chickens," she exclaim
ed. "I go to visit them and just as
soon as I get seated, this is what I
have to listen to until I get. up and
leave:
" We sold five settings of eggs to
day. Two of them to a woman who
came before breakfast ' Edward sold
those.'
" 'Yes, and Agnes sold one of the
pullets, one of the best birds, almost
perfect marking.'
"I try to interrupt 'This has been
a peculiar day,' I start, but don't get
any further.
" 'The woman who bought the pul
let didn't know anything about
Rhode Island Keds, so I spent half
an hour explaining to her,' Agnes in
forms me. 'I showed her the prize
rooster, and told her how to tell the
under color it must be a deep
orange with no smut ' v
"Edward interrupts: 'I don't see
why people don't always raise blood
ed stock like ours. The common gar-
den chickens' " .
The city editor, who had been lis
tening with a far-away expression,
suddenly brightened.
"That reminds me, Jenny, you
ought to see the garden we have.
It's a peach. Half of it is in flowers
and half in vegetables. I planted
sweet peas, pinks, begonias, tube
roses sweet Williams, nasturtiums,
and some bulb flowers I cannot just
remember. Oh yes, and some pan
sies." He paused and the s. w. began -.
hopefully again: "It isn't .that I
mind"
"And the vegetable garden is the
prettiest thing in the neighborhood,"
the c. e. continued, as though the
s. w. had not spoken. "I have four
rows of onions, four rows of lettuce,
four rows of peas and four rows of
tomato plants, and every single row
is up just even with the other, so that
it is a sea of green in perfect waves
when the breeze blows the tops of
the plants.
"When the flowers get blooming
there are a few pansies now, but the
warm speil made them go to flower
rather than stem, so that they can
not be made into a bouquet, but
when they all get going we will have
sufficient flowers for the table for
the entire summer, to say nothing of ,.
fresh vegetables."
The sob writer gave a frigid assent
and walked- away. Instead of going
directly out on the street she sat
down at her desk a few moments in
the hope that the c e.. might remem
ber she had started to tell him some
thing very vital, but at the end ot
five minutes he was still deeply bur
ied in copy, unmindful of her exis
