You go around stepping lightly
so as not to strike the pavements
too hard. They might blaze, and
only the fire department could save
you.
Seems like somebody Is falling
down on this job of pavement-mak
ing, anyway.
If they’re going to build 'em so
hot, then why don’t they attach
patent air-coolers, build the streets
in a creek, or something.
They’re too hot. Anybody will
tell you that.
If you doubt it, try them for a
mere half hour, providing you have
good endurance.
The automobile tires are kicking
up snuff about it. I listened in
the other night and heard them
agitating for a society for the pre
vention of cruelty to inner tubes.
They said they ought to sue the
road-builders for damages for sev
eral hundred of their maimed bre
thren. It was just killing their
soles.
Besides mountains and oceans
and foreign trips, and visiting cou
sins and uncles and aunts and
grandpas and friends and strange
towns, Birminghammers are buying
pink and blue and green parasols
and affecting King Tut garments—
and just living in the swimming
holes at East Lake and West Lake
and Pine Bend.
Cahaba river and the Scout
camps are also doing overtime in
the swimming* business. Cascade
Plunge and Edgewood are brilliant
with water nymphs and mermen,
the Ensley pool is sticking full of
little and big inhabitants, while
natives are giving Shades creek the
dickens from 12 o’clock on and
scaring the little fishes under the
logs—where they have to stay
trembling till night—not a bite of
worm nor anything.
That’s about all anybody is do
ing these days—having holiday and
swimming parties.
