wer and lower in our minds, and
we decided we had to go down to Chinatown for dinner. We went, too!
I've done a little settlement work----Dear me, I'm telling you too
much about myself, O Man of Mystery! It isn't quite done, I'm afraid."

"Please, Miss Winslow! In the name of the--what was it--Order of the
Blue Bowl?" He was making a mental note that Olive's last name was
Dunleavy.

"Well, I've done some settlement work----Did you ever do any, by any
chance?"

"I once converted a Chinaman to Lutheranism; I think that was my
nearest approach," said Carl.

"My work was the kind where you go in and look at three dirty children
and teach them that they'll be happy if they're good, when you know
perfectly well that their only chance to be happy is to be bad as
anything and sneak off to go swimming in the East River. But it kept
me from being very much afraid of the Bowery (we went down on the
surface cars), but Olive was scared beautifully. There was the
dearest, most inoffensive old man in the most perfect state of
intoxication sitting next to us in the car, and when Olive moved away
from him he winked over at me and said, 'Honor your shruples, ma'am,
ver' good form.' I think Olive thought he was going to murder us--she
was sure he was the wild, dying remnant of a noble race or something.
But even she was disappointed in Chinatown.

"We had expected opium-fiends, like the melodramas they used to have
on Fourteenth Street, before the movies came. But we had a
disgustingly clean table, with a mad, reckless picture worked in silk,
showing two doves and a boiled lotos flower, hanging near us, to
intimidate us. The waiter was a Harvard graduate, I know--perhaps
Oxford--and he said, 'May I sugges' ladies velly nize China dinner?'
He suggested chow-main--we thought it would be either birds' nests or
rats' tails, and it was simply crisp noodles with the most innocuous
sauce.... And the people! They were all stupid tourists like
ourselves, except for a Jap, with his cunnin' Sunday tie, and his
little trousers all so politely pressed, and his clean pocket-hanky.
And he was reading _The Presbyterian_!... Then we came up here, and it
doesn't seem so very primitive here, either. It's most aggravating....
It seems to me I've been telling you an incredible lot about our silly
adventures--you're probably the man who won the Indianapolis
motor-race or discovered electricity or something."

Through her narrative, her eyes had held hi