sickening smells, the more I marvel at what the school means to such a neighborhood, and what it will eventually mean to the nation. The strength of the chain is the strength of its weakest link, and the strength of the nation will be measured by the success of the school in these districts; and this success is based upon the teachers' loyalty, inspiration, and sense of grave responsibility. They must, besides giving the prescribed emphasis to the three r's, shape the patriotic and civic ideals, see that health is safeguarded and morals guided.

I think over what I have seen in one day within that school. Its surroundings are limited, narrow, or evil, but the school has stretched its arms out and over it, and brought from the outside world a new environment. There are inspiring class-room talks on current events, into which a wildly interested class bring newspaper clippings, discussing under the teacher's guidance the history of nations in the making, encouraged to share as Americans this country's problems. Once a week the worlds of industry and of commerce and their processes are shown to them through carefully prepared and selected "movies," widening their narrow scope of factory life, and making them respect the power and wonder of production and construction. Or again, the greatest of musicians play or sing to an enthralled audience of young music lovers as the phonograph is played. Lantern slides of famous paintings, and talks on the world's foremost artists, bring to them a world of beauty. And then there are library periods when these children, whose parents are powerless through ignorance to guide them, are taught to choose their reading with care and thought.

The tortured existence of an alley cat or dog is alleviated by the school, since most of the poor youngsters have never dreamed of treating animals in a humane way. They have never heard of it in their homes. This cruelty of theirs is not innate, but, like so many of their faults, is due to ignorance. The

child's natural and instinctive love for dumb animals is encouraged in their lessons in biology. They can repeat bloodcurdling descriptions of scenes that they have witnessed in which some miserable horse, bird, cat, or dog has been the victim. It is rather a harrowing lesson until the culmination comes in their expressions of passionate sympathy and condemnation!

What is the matter with the public schools? The only answer is that there is too much public, too little of the school. From one end of the land to the other we need more and more schools. More schools, so that the cherished hopes and ideals and hard work of the whole teaching force from the superintendent to the assistant teacher may serve the nation as they so sincerely aspire toand plan for.

A street fight will bring back the sharp contrast again. I remember the day that a teacher came into the teachers' room with her arm bleeding badly from an ugly scratch. Jennie had been having a furious argument with the girl sitting next her in the auditorium, and in baffled rage decided to run home. It was then that the teacher had blocked her path. Jennie had flown at her like a young fury-she was fourteen-and had dug her nails into the arm which obstructed her headlong flight. . . . Then I recall with a shiver that ugly-looking weapon which I wrung from a boy who was trying to use it on a young teacher. It was shaped like a "black jack" and was made of solid mahogany. He had been shrieking and kicking like a little fiend, and was threatening her with death one minute, and his whole gang the next. Most of his life had been spent in "homes" and reform schools. But many parents of these children recognize and appreciate what the schools are doing for them and are grateful.

Once after the war was over we had occasion to visit most of the homes in the neighborhood. One rather prosperous Italian asked us about his Antoinette. Was she good?

VOL. CXLIV.-No. 862.-63

FTEN I black my own boots, and

OFTEN

I never enjoy doing it. But Giovanni, now, likes to black boots! You could not mistake him. He has a real fondness for his profession.

When he stands outside his little booth on a sunny day, it is not at the faces of the passers-by that he looks, but at their lagging or hurrying boots. He is so interested in watching and reading and interpreting these that sometimes, when I have passed quite close to him, he has not seen me, to accord me his smile. He has seen only my boots, which, alas! on these occasions have not been greatly in need of polishing.

As to the weather, it has for Giovanni a meaning so woven in with his advantages or disadvantages that it becomes easy to understand the genesis of mythology. Were Giovanni pursuing his profession in the mythopoeic age, Mud would be Giovanni's beneficent god. As it is he crosses himself on Sundays, with a prayer to the Madonna, and mud is to him only mud, howbeit a desirable, not to say downright fortunate thing.

When, having received his welcoming smile, I mount one of his two chairs, with their iron footrests, business begins. With the dignity of a priest about to perform his office, he brings out his brushes, rags, bottles, and grease boxes. He is a fat little Italian, very goodnatured, and extremely intent on doing his polishing in the right manner a bootblack in a hundred. When he gives, finally, the last touch, your boots shine so that they are fit like "them golden slippers" for walking "the golden streets, hallelujah!"

It was inevitable that I should find out something about him. Moreover, he was ready enough to tell me. Oh, yes, he had been in America for a long while, twelve, fifteen years!

He has an OCcasional partner and crony, an inconsiderable person against whose rather grayish neutral character that of Giovanni shines vividly, as a sea gull, swooping, shines vividly white in the sun against gray clouds.

If a blue sky shone back of Giovanni-I mean to say, if his partner, for instance, were young and glib, with the terrible

lightning-like efficiency of the youngGiovanni's vividness would, I believe, alter wholly and be subdued, until, like the gull flying against a clear sky, his shining plumage would turn dull and his pleasantness fade to somber silence.

A moment after I enter the booth there comes in a large overcoated man in a checked suit, who takes his place heavily in the other chair. Giovanni summons the crony with a terrible sweeping gesture.

The crony shuffles in from the pavement where he, too, has been watching people's boots as they pass by. Giovanni points at the customer's very large shoes with a terrible commanding finger. The crony understands, and begins with Theocritan leisure to reach for brushes and other preliminaries.

Meanwhile Giovanni bends, I should say almost tenderly, over my shoes, which really do look rather small, al

most lovable, in contrast to the great, flat, broad, spatulate ones of the hippopotamuslike gentleman in the next chair.

The heavy customer, meanwhile, is in no mood to be patient. Moreover, the crony really is slow and the heavy gentleman has, obviously, an appointment. "Get busy, will you?" he says, sharply.

He has taken out his watch and keeps it in his hand, opening it and snapping it to, a nervous, impatient performance calculated to destroy artistry.

The crony takes an almost rapid glance at him and eliminates all extra flourishes. Silence! Laboramus! The bent back of the crony accedes perfectly to the heavy man's request. Yes. Laboramus!

Meantime, Giovanni is pursuing his task very leisurely. He puts one grease box back on the shelf and takes down another with a really Jovian gesture.

He takes down from a hook a pair of shoe laces that have nothing to do with the case, looks at them, and hangs them up again. I think this extreme leisureliness is Giovanni's way of making me very welcome.

The heavy man gets down, soon, weightily. The crony seems willing to do a great deal more for him, but he will have none of it. He rams a heavy hand in his trousers pocket, brings out some coins, throws one on the base on which the chair stands. The crony stoops over it and picks it up deftly without comment, much as a dog that is hungry does not pause to register his disapproval of your manner of throwing his bone, but seizes it. The coin safe in his pocket, the crony makes one inefficient dab at the gentleman's trouser legs with a suddenly remem

bered whisk broom. The hippopotamus escapes.

Then ensues a really terrible conversation between the crony and Giovanni. Before this I have always longed to know Italian. Now I am relieved that I do not. The polishing of my boots is abandoned, save for an occasional swooping, lightning-like dab at them by Giovanni's right arm and hand, which seem to work independent of his intellect, that being wholly and hotly engaged with the crony.

They talk in a really alarming manner. You had supposed them to be old friends! You even think that the traffic policeman on the corner might be called in. Before taking this step you decide to try the dissuasiveness of your own voice. Giovanni, you think, likes you. You will beg these

men to desist and to stop short of what it seems may develop any minute now into murder.

Well, we are a prejudiced people! God forgive us! Personally, I see little hope of nations understanding one another. What we take to be the terrible breaking of friendship may be its cementing. The crony goes out gesticulating (which is much for him). Then Giovanni puts down his brush, opens his grease box, swings the tips of his fingers around it with a gesture beginning at the elbow, pauses, and says, not only with mellow satisfaction, but with positive melting affection, "Hee is a verra good man!"

Well, so be it! They have given you a verra bad few minutes. Yet there is a law of compensation, too, for Giovanni has just given you, to offset your fright, an immense sense of relief.

"You said you have been in this country fifteen years?"

Giovanni stops all operations to nod a deep nod such as they give on the stage.

"Fifteen-a-year! Tha's long-a time!" "And you like America?"

"Oh!" Impossible to give a hint of the tone. Loyalty, fidelity, gratitudeeverything rolled into one!

The polishing of my shoes goes forward. I look at them, waiting, and finally further information that I've been hoping for comes.

He straightens up, almost as though he were about to salute a flag, but instead squares his elbows with his sides, looks me kindly, proudly-I had almost said patronizingly-in the eyes, like a man who believes himself to have better knowledge than you are likely to

possess.