Page 68 - 1929 Hartridge

A Tale of Strife
It is a dark and chilly night of late February, and all about reign peace and quiet. The stars sparkle in the heavens, and the moon is softly shining overhead. It is the sort of night when one must perforce feel at
peace with all mankind. And yet, from the Acorn come sounds that rend and tear the air, as they rise and increase in violence. It is the same cry that
has come down to us through the ages, the cry of a human being for water. Over and over the sounds are repeated with a strange sameness: “Time five
minutes ago— my bath— can’t you hurry— always late!” After this ensues an even more violent noise than before— water splashing, wild thuds and poundings, and a low sonorous undertone— “ Hurrving— towel— lost— yes
— right out— hurrying— towel— lost— yes— right out!”
Comes a brief silence, and then in the hallway appears for a fleeting
moment a scantily clad figure, joined almost immediately by another, who
brushes past in a whirl of indignation, and is lost to sight and sound in the rush of running water.
d'he story is ended for a brief ti\e minutes, hut then, with incredible accuracy, it repeats itself, six or seven times a day, for seven days eyery
week.
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