Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 309, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 December 1915 — THE LITTLE TOWN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE LITTLE TOWN

By KIN HUBBARD.

Stew Nugent is at home t’ put his feet under his mother’s table. He h»« been t’ th’ city fer three years an’ says that th’ trouble with a little town is that ever’buddy knows ever’buddy else's business. That’s th’ reason Stew went away three years ago, an’ it’s one o' th’ best things about a little town. You know who your next door neighbor is in a little town, an’ you know who lives over th’ hardware store. An’ you know who’s able t’ have a tourin’ car an’ you know who's able t’ own one. In a city where you don’t need no other credentials but a good front, an’

where you’ve got th’ choice o’ lots o’ groceries, it’s different. Some folks flourish in a city that couldn’t buy a box o’ corn flakes on time in ther home town. Some fellers apologize fer livin’ in a little town. When you ask 'em where ther from they color up an’ stammer an’ stutter an’ say, “1 — er —why—I—l’m from Rossville —that is my folks live ther. Well, I’ve been livin’ ther too, but I’m thinkin’ o’ goin’ t' Chicago. Thar’s no opportunities in a little town fer a young man.” An’ when you size him up you can’t help picturin’ what a flurry he’ll cause when he gits ther. O’ course lots o' folks that go t’ th’ city succeed, but they’ve got th’ ole home metal in ’em. But whether they succeed er fall, th’

memory o’ ole scenes an' faces grows greener an’ greener as th’ years roll by an’ many a time ther hearts swell with a longin’ t’ be back. In th’ great city parks th’ benches are filled with poor unfortunates from the little towns who have tried hard an’ failed, pride alone keeps ’em from returnin’ t’ th’ ole home town an’ they become aimless wanderers on th’ face o’ th’ earth an’ are lost an’ forgotten in th’ mist o’ time. A four-flusher jist seems f be cut out fer th’ artificiality o’ th’ city, an’ that’s where he ought to live. But if you want t’ live a honest, quiet.

peaceful life an’ enjoy th’ love an* confidence o’ your friends an' neighbors, tiler's no place like th' little town where th’ sheep are separated from th’ goats, whoa one-half th’ people knows how th’ other half liven, where respectability is a real asset, where a K. of P. watch charm won’t save you if you can’t toe th’ mark, an* where you’re remembered long after th’ hearse gits back t* th’ livery stable. (Protected by Adams Newspaper Service.)

"I Wonder What They're Doin’ at Home?"