Ah! why didn’t I? And I snickered to myself, as I dashed out into the street for a run. We like crowds, and music, and excitement. We like to be pushed, and hurried, and worried; and have funny things and adventurous things, and dreadful things happen. There’s nothing in the world that some human beings and some dogs hate as much as being bored, and that’s what takes us to the cities, and keeps us there till we’re exhausted, and go to the country to recuperate.
But wouldn’t it be possible to have the country made more attractive, I wondered. I’ve heard human beings talk about good roads, and more telephones, and theatres, and moving pictures and churches open all the time, like some of these New York churches where you can go in and rest. More city in the country and more country in the city—that would suit everybody.
I opened my eyes wide when I got to Seventy-second Street. Why, I thought I was down town. How the traffic has moved up!
Broadway got quieter, and cleaner, and broader, as I ran like a fox along the wide pavement. Here was more danger of being seen by a policeman. Two did see me, and one gave chase and threw his club; but I laughed between my paws, and ran on. Let him catch me if he could.
Old Broadway looked fine. There are huge apartment houses where there used to be nothing at all, or else contingents of fair-sized houses squatting along the way, waiting for something to turn up. Now these sky-scraping apartment houses have come in battalions, rearing their lofty heads with their rob-my-neighbour air. There’s something powerfully mean about them, in spite of their good looks. The health commissioner had better get after them, for they steal air and light from all the little houses, and do more harm than we dogs do.
At last I turned toward Riverside Drive. Ah! here was something I liked best of all—plenty of air and light, and the grand old Hudson as sparkling and handsome as ever. I had to jump up on one of the iron seats to look at it, on account of the stone wall. I think a city river, flowing smoothly between houses full of pleasure or trouble, and flashing back their myriad lights, is one of the most soothing sights in the world.
I love the Hudson, and the Thames, and the Seine and many other rivers, and next to them I love the bays, but they are mostly too big to love. It’s the little things that creep next us.
Well, the Hudson looked all right outside, but I hear the fishes are giving it an awful name inside. In fact, no respectable fish comes now within miles of New York.
Riverside Drive is grand with its fine houses, and its breadth and open park spaces. I began to sing a little song to myself as I ran past the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ monument, “Who’ll take poor doggie in for the night?”
I had struck the regular dog and baby district by this time. Both kinds of pets flourish on Riverside Drive. The babies had all gone to bed, but lots of little boy and girl dogs were taking the air. The most of them were led by maids or men-servants, and a few by their fond owners. Here and there one scampered about, trying to look gay and careless in spite of his sobering muzzle, which made me think of Gringo and his health commissioner.