. The Suburbanite; a monthly magazine for those who are and those who ought to in interested in suburban homes . ere is no jam, no jostling of ladies,no trampling on children, no swearing,and no shouting. Over there, its dol-lars to doughnuts that if you manageto get on a train undamaged, and with- out leaving part of your rigging be-hind you, you will have the joy of sus-pending your manly foim from astrap, while other unfortunates treatyou like a punching bag; here you stepaside for ladies and children, defer-entially and politely make way for theaged, walk briskly or leisurely, c
. The Suburbanite; a monthly magazine for those who are and those who ought to in interested in suburban homes . ere is no jam, no jostling of ladies,no trampling on children, no swearing,and no shouting. Over there, its dol-lars to doughnuts that if you manageto get on a train undamaged, and with- out leaving part of your rigging be-hind you, you will have the joy of sus-pending your manly foim from astrap, while other unfortunates treatyou like a punching bag; here you stepaside for ladies and children, defer-entially and politely make way for theaged, walk briskly or leisurely, conveniently and comfortably,to your train and—get a seat- a com-fortable seat- in a car that looks good,goes good, and is good. Over there,if you are in a train and feel like smok-ing, you—take it out in feeling; here,if you are so inclined, you take your-self into the smoker and—where areyou going? Lakewood! .shouted the man infront of the outstanding coat-tails,and the next minute he was lost toview. Jimpson stood still. In theyears that he had been riding to andfrom Westfield he had frequently seen. Githrdml Drive at Ukrw,«x) THE SUBURBANITE the Lakewood sign at the track gates;he haci often thought of the Jerseywinter resort as a place where the sickmoaned, the rich dallied, but ithad never occuired to him that he, ahealthy man in moderate circum-stances, might go there for a visit. Itwas strange, he thought, that the ideaof going to the Jersey pine belt hadnever struck him before, but- All aboard! cried a neat-lookinguniformed man at his elbow, and, likeone in a trance, Jimpson mounted thesteps of a car, walked leisurely up theaisle, and sat down. Mechanically,and from force of habit, he picked uphis evening papers to read, but thetype meant nothing to him. Overand over he read the same lines. Theywere meaningless. His thoughts werenot on the printed words. Theyseemed to be dancing before his they took the shape ofone big Lakewood, and at last
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