en he wanted to know, so politely kind, so interesting. They
never tired of him, nor he of them. He was with them when he wanted to
be--instantly. Or they came to the flat in the friendliest way. And when
its unpleasant duties claimed him--the Monday wash, the Tuesday ironing,
the Saturday scrubbing, or the regular everyday jobs such as dishes,
beds, cooking, bead-stringing, and violet-making--frequently they helped
him, lightening his work with their charming companionship, stimulating
him with their example and praise.

Oh, they were just perfect!

And how quiet, every one of them! So often when the longshoreman
returned of an evening, his bloodshot eyes roving suspiciously, a crowd
of handsomely dressed people filled the kitchen, and he threaded that
crowd, yet never guessed! When Big Tom spoke, the room usually cleared;
but later on Johnnie could again summon all with no trouble whatever,
whether they were great soldiers or presidents, kings or millionaires.

Of the latter he was especially fond; in particular, of a certain four.
And as he paused now to decide upon his program, he thought of that
quartet. Why not give them a call on the telephone this morning?

He headed for the morris chair. Under its soiled seat-cushion was a
ragged copy of the New York telephone directory, which just nicely
filled in the sag between the cushion and the bottom of the chair. He
took the directory out--as carefully as if it were some volume not
possible of duplication.

It was his only book. Once, while Cis was still attending school, he had
shared her speller and her arithmetic, and made them forever his own
(though he did not realize it yet) by the simple method of photographing
each on his brain--page by page. And it was lucky that he did; for when
Cis's brief schooldays came to an end, Big Tom took the two textbooks
out with him one morning and sold them.

The directory was the prized gift of Mrs. Kukor's daughter, Mrs.
Reisenberger, who was married to a pawnbroker, very rich, and who
occupied an apartment (not a flat)--very fine, very expensive--in a
great Lexington Avenue building that had an elevator, and a uniformed
black elevator man, very stylish. The directory meant more to Johnnie
than ever had Cis's books. He knew its small-typed pages from end to
end. Among the splendid things it advertised, front, back, and at the
bottom of its pages, were many he admired. And he owned these whenever
he felt like it, whether aut