vegetables from one market-woman to another.

'So I was brought up in this Soschmaken. The most I remember of it is having my ears boxed, being beaten, seeing red sparks before my eyes, having black and blue bruises on my body, and being hungry all the time. You know there is nothing I remember as vividly as I do being hungry. I was born hungry; being hungry is the first thing I can remember; hunger and faintness. Do you know what pine pitch is? It trickles down the trunks of pine trees, and violinists use it instead of rosin. I practically lived on it, believe me or not, a whole summer. That was the summer my stepfather, a pug-nosed tailor, wrenched my arm out of joint and drove me from my mother's house. I ran away from Soschmaken to Mitau. Look at my hand, here. You can still see the effects.'

My new acquaintance pulled up his sleeve and, exhibiting what appeared to me to be a perfectly sound arm, continued:

'I lived around Mitau half-starved, half-naked, slunk about in alleys until I got my first job. I led around an old Jew prayer leader. This prayer leader had once been a famous chanter. He lost his sight in his old age and had to have someone to guide him, so I got the job. It was n't a bad one altogether. However, I could n't stand the old man's whims. He never was satisfied, never for a single moment. He was always grumbling and nagging me and pinching me. He insisted that I was not taking him where he wanted to go. I don't know to-day where he really did want to go. He was a fearful, capricious, ill-tempered old chap. But in spite of that he made up all sorts of fairy tales about me. He used to boast that my parents had gone over to Christianity, and been baptized, and

wanted to baptize me, and that he personally had saved meat great danger to himself - from the hands of Christians. I had to listen to all these fairy tales with a sober face. More than that, he made me back up his yarns.

'I soon saw that my prayer leader did not profit me much, so I jumped my job and skipped out to Libau. I half starved there for a time, and finally joined a party of pauper emigrants. These emigrants intended to get out of the country by the first boat going to Buenos Aires. I begged them to take me with them. They told me they could not help me; it did n't depend on them, but on a committee. The committee settled who was to go. So I hurried to the committee and cried and implored and did my best to be sent to Buenos Aires.

'If you struck me dead for it, I could n't have told you what Buenos Aires was. The others were going there and I wanted to go too. It was n't until we reached Buenos Aires that I learned we were really headed for another place, and that Buenos Aires was merely a distributing city from which we were sent to different destinations. As soon as we landed, our names were put on a list and we were shipped off to a place Adam himself never saw. Just listen. There was n't a single thing there. But they set us all to work. Want to know what kind of work? Better not ask. Our ancestors in Egypt surely never had to do what we did. And all their sufferings, as told in the stories of their stay in Egypt, were not a tenth of what we endured. Tradition has it that our forefathers had to knead clay and make brick and build Issom and Ramses. That was luxury! Did they ever try the way we did to subdue and cultivate the arid prairies with their bare hands? Prairies covered with thorn thickets? And to handle great savage oxen that could

kill a man with a toss of the head? And to tame wild horses which you had to chase a hundred miles before you caught them, and generally fail then? Mosquitoes which ate you up alive every night. Nothing but old stale biscuits to eat that tasted as if they were made out of stone. Slimy water to drink, full of wiggling worms. Believe me or not, when I saw my face reflected in clear water it frightened me. The skin peeled off, my eyes were inflamed, my hands and feet were torn till they bled.

""So that's you, Motek of Soschmaken?" I said to myself, and burst out laughing. And that same day I spat at the great oxen and the wild horses and the dry prairies and slimy water, and started off on foot for Buenos Aires.

'It looks to me as though there must be a fine bar in this station we're coming to. Look in your time table and see if we don't have time to take something? It will strengthen us to go on with the story.'

After a bit of luncheon, washed down with some beer, and another cigar each -fine, fragrant, genuine Havanas straight from Buenos Aires - we again took our seats in the car and my new acquaintance continued the story of his life.

'Buenos Aires, let me tell you, is the finest place that's been built since God made the world. Have you ever been in America? In New York? No? Never? And in London? No? In Madrid? Constantinople? Paris? Not any of those places? Then I've no way of telling you what Buenos Aires is like. I can only say that it's a great ocean, and hell. A hell and a paradise. I mean to say that for some men it's hell, and for others heaven. But if you keep your eyes open and hit it just right you can make a fortune there. Believe me or not, you can pick up money in the streets. Yes, people walk

VOL. 310-NO, 4017

around on gold, bend over, just stoop down and shovel it up by the handful. But, take care that someone does n't step on you while you're doing it. The secret of it all is never to stand still. Don't stop to think about risks. Pay no attention to any sort of proprieties. Everything goes. Take a job as a waiter in a restaurant; that's all right, Start in as a shop boy; that's all right. Wash glasses in a bar-that's all right. Peddle newspapers in the streets - that's all right. Wash dogs - that's all right; feed cats that's all right; catch mice that's all right. In a word anything's all right. I've tried them all. But one thing I learned. Work for others and you'll be a poor devil all your life. The thing to do is to make others work for you. What are we to do if God made the world so the other fellow has to sweat to make beer while I drink it; or the other fellow has to sweat to make cigars while I smoke them? The locomotive driver runs the engine, the fireman shovels coal, the yardman greases the wheels, and you and I sit here in the car comfortable and tell stories. If you don't like it, all you've got to do is to make the world over again.'

As I observe my companion I become increasingly curious as to what he really is. A rich upstart? Some former sweatshop workman in America who now has a clothing-factory of his own? Possibly a real manufacturer, or a tenement-house owner. ement-house owner. Even perhaps

a capitalist living on his interest. But I'll let him run on. He'll tell the story better if he is not interrupted.

'Believe me or not as you like, I am no thief. I am no robber. I am no swindler. I am an honest merchant. I deal square. I trick no one. I buy what I have. There is none of your pig-in-apoke business with me. I sell goods the world knows but does n't talk about. Why? Because the world is too wise

and shrewd. They don't want to have black called black and white called white. They prefer to have things turned round and black called white and white called black.'

I observe my man from Buenos Aires more intently, and say to myself: 'God in heaven! Who is he anyway? What is his business? Why does he jabber along like this, black white, white black?' But I restrain my impulse to interrupt him and ask, 'My dear sir, what are your goods anyway?' and instead, let him run on.

Oh,

'Let's see, where were we? my business in Buenos Aires. But my business is n't in Buenos Aires. My business is, if you take it right, all over the world in Paris, London, Budapest, Boston. The principal office, however, is in Buenos Aires. It's really too bad we're not there now. I'd show you my head office and my clerks. All my clerks live well; as well as Rothschild. We stick strictly to the eight-hour day. A young man is regarded as a young man in my employ. Do you know why? Because I myself keep a young man. There are three of us owners now. Formerly there were only two. I have been the right hand of the business. I can say that I carry it on my shoulders; buying goods, appraising goods, sorting goods. I keep things under my own eyes. Believe me or not, I merely have to look at an article and can tell you at a glance what it's worth and where it is to go. But having a good eye is not enough in our business. You have to have what you might call a sharp nose too. You must have a keen scent for new business, for where you can make a .good trade; and also where you are not likely to break your head or get cornered. Make a single false step and you're done for. Some trifling blunder and you get the public after you. You have some kind of a row in the papers.

The papers are always ready for rows. If they get hold of a sensation, that's what they like best. I don't mean that we do anything illegal. We have the police on our side. If I were to tell you the amount of money the police cost us you would be appalled. A little bribe of ten, fifteen, or twenty thousand, we forget next day.'

As he said this my man made a gesture as if he were throwing a few thousand marks out of the car window. As he did so the big diamond on his finger sparkled, and the man from Buenos Aires paused a moment and observed me closely to see whether his make-believe thousands had dazzled

me.

'And if a man has to pay more, do you suppose it makes trouble? All the members of my firm have confidence in each other. I mean all three partners. We take each other's word for it, how many thousands we pay for police bribery. We trust each other implicitly as to the expenses. We take each other's word. No one would conceal a thing from his partner. And suppose a man tried to do it; it would go bad with him. We know each other mighty well. And the places where we do business? We know all the world like our vest pocket. Each one has his own personal agents and spies. What do you suppose? Business based on a mutual confidence cannot be done differently. . . . Don't you think it's high time we got a little exercise at this next station and wet our throats again?'

With this sudden ejaculation my companion grabbed my arm and we hurried to the vestibule of the train as it slowed down. At the station buffet we had a couple of lemonades. My friend drank with an enviable thirst. But all the time I was puzzling about his business. Why was he so lavish with his money? Why should he have

the police of the whole world in his pocket? Why should he need agents and spies? What kind of smuggling was he doing? Stolen goods? Imitation diamonds? Or was he merely a crazy boaster, probably one of those chaps whose sole ambition is to make a big impression when he gets away from home? We drummers have a slang name for them 'Wholesalers.' However that may be, we each take a fresh cigar, resume our seats in the train, and the man from Buenos Aires rattles on:

'Let's see, where were we? Oh, my partners. I mean my present partners. Formerly they were my bosses and I was, as I just said, their clerk, their young man. It would be a lie for me to say that they were bad bosses. How could they be bad to me when I was as loyal as a dog to them? A dollar of theirs was just as much to me as a dollar of my own. And I made enemies on their account, bitter enemies. Yes, there have been times when people tried to poison me because I stood by them. I mean literally poison me. So I can say without boasting that. I was a faithful servant. No one could have been more faithful. To be sure I did n't forget myself; a man never should do that. A man should always bear in mind that he is alive only today, and to-morrow ? Ha! Ha! There is no sense in thinking only of the other fellow. Have n't I got hands, and feet, and a tongue? And did n't I know that they could n't get along without me for a single day. They could n't and I did n't intend they should. There are secrets in our business, lots of them. More than in any other. So I thought the matter over to myself, and one fine morning I go to my principals, and talk to them about like this: "Good-bye, gentlemen." They stare at me. "What do you mean by that?" "Good-bye," I say. “That

means, Ta, ta. Farewell." Then they say, "What's the trouble?" And I say, "How long is it going to take?" Then they look at each other again and ask how much money I have. Then I say to them: "Whatever the amount, it will be enough for present needs, and if it's rather small at first, God is our Father and Buenos Aires is a city." Naturally they understand me. Why should n't they? And so we were partners from that day; three partners, each with an equal share of the business. We have no difference that way. Each one alike, whatever God provides. . . . Neither are we always rowing with each other. Why should we? We are doing well and our business is growing. The world is getting bigger and our goods more costly. Each takes what he needs for personal expenses from the common capital. We are all liberal spenders. Take me alone, with no wife or children. Believe me or not, as you like, I spend three times as much as the average man with a wife and children. What I give for charity every year would be a good income for most men. Do you know, there is hardly anything in the world that I don't spend money on; poor-houses, hospitals, emigrant homes, concerts. Buenos Aires is some city, and there are plenty of other towns. Palestine, believe me or not, costs me a lot of money. Not long ago I got a note from a Jeschivah in Jerusalem. It was a fine letter, with the arms of David and a big seal, and witnessed by rabbis. It was addressed directly to me, with this fine title: "To the honored, distinguished, great gentleman, Mordchai." Aha! I think to myself, if you kind gentlemen have showed me so much respect I cannot be a piker, and will have to send you a few hundred. So you see I am giving away all the time.

'And what do you suppose about my

their manner. Their features are delicate; their faces oval; their complexion of an ivory pallor; their mouths small; but their most striking feature is their wonderful velvety black eyes. They have a rather apathetic and indolent air, and except for a few of the better educated, with whom I naturally came in contact, they impressed me as easygoing and unprogressive. I frequently heard Georgian men who are acquainted with the women of Western Europe lament the inherited Oriental idleness of their own country women. It is usual for the man of the family to make all the purchases, and to superintend the home. Our housekeeper was a Socialist woman whose mother was descended from a German colonist. But she had a large portion of Georgian blood in her veins even on her mother's side, and her father was a pure Georgian. Whenever she was asked to make a purchase at the market it evidently worried her, and she would usually say, pleadingly: 'Can't we let that go until to-morrow and have my husband get it?' Yet she was the wife of a man forty years old, and had five grown sons. The only women purchasers one sees in the market are Russians who make much better servants than the Georgians. Women cooks are a rarity, as men prepare most of the food. In fact the Georgians are the most famous cooks of the East, and always enjoyed a high repute in Russia. Every family in Tiflis who can afford it keeps a Georgian cook, even though it has no other servants and although these cooks are a costly institution. They almost invariably keep a boy-apprentice and are as famous for their grafting as for their skill. The Georgians tolerate these unpleasant qualities with the same philosophy with which they contemplate other petty inconveniences. The magic word Nichevo! (no matter) smooths everything over. When we be

came irritated during our stay at the unpunctuality, the indifference, or the stupidity of our servants, they invariably met our reproaches with a surprised inquiring look, as if to say: 'What are you so excited about? No matter. It's not so bad.' In fact this complacent attitude toward life lends the Georgians some of their attractiveness. You never hear harsh words among them. We never observed a single instance of ill-nature or controversy in the public streets. Even the hackmen are polite and obliging. At the same time Georgians are a very unpretending people and never tire of explaining that they have much to learn. They are gifted with a quick intelligence, and are willing and docile; so we may expect them to make rapid progress. Germans, Belgians, Italians, and Frenchmen, who have resided and managed business enterprises in the country for years, commend the Georgians very highly as employees.

Quite naturally I was primarily interested in the condition of the women. A Feminist movement, in the Western sense, does not exist. Yet even before the revolution Georgian women stood shoulder to shoulder with their husbands in the struggle for independence. Many of them were imprisoned or exiled for life to Siberia. Just as we left Tiflis the women were organizing to provide clothing and comforts for the men in the army that was guarding the frontier. The latter are practically all party comrades. It was a difficult task, for there is hardly any cloth in the country. To be sure wool is abundant, but there is no modern machinery to manufacture it. Many women were spinning with the distaff and weaving cloth on primitive hand looms.

As I have said, the Georgians trouble themselves very little about to-morrow. Their wants are simple. A glass of good wine, a merry meal,