young girl with soft un-massaged chin hurrying to
keep a tryst with her "friend," and country folks, their feet sore on
the unaccustomed pavements, glad to be going home soon.

It is such an orderly procession and although they all seem to be
walking along forever, there is an order in their going and each is on
his way. Each one is free to go to his own place and yet no one is free.
No one is free to leave the procession once he gets into it. Once a man
is born he's done for.

Let him veer one iota from that procession and soon there will come
rumbling up to the curb a big black Maria and off he's whisked away from
his fellows. Let him but get into the wrong house or take the wrong
overcoat or chuck the wrong person under the chin--Pff! Let him forget
where the long procession leads and wander about a free spirit and his
wanderings will lead him to the madhouse.

I love to be one of the procession that marches forever up and down
Market street, such a brave procession.

Where the Centuries Meet

She was a tourist and she had just finished Sing Fat's. As she passed
out of the door she said smugly to her companion--"I don't see anything
so wonderful here."

I was standing right there and said I: "Madame, if you have been through
Sing Fat's and have failed, to see anything wonderful then you should go
home and give yourself the Benet test which is used to test the
intelligence of children." Oh, of course, I didn't say this so that the
lady could hear. The bravest speeches we humans make are never aloud.
Then I continued: "Madame, you may travel far in mileage but you will
never take anything back to Dingville, Kansas, richer than a souvenir
ash tray."

Why, just to take a trip from Sing Fat's to the White House is a
tremendous journey if one has the perceiving faculty. In Sing Fat's a
bit of old Cloissonne, tiny pieces of enamel on silver, done with
infinite pains by hand labor, perhaps centuries ago, grown beautiful
with age. In the White House georgette flowers, exquisite things made
for the passing minute, a whiff and a whim and off they go. Just in
these two there is a meeting of the centuries, Handcraft Days and the
Machine Age--B. C. and A. D.--the oldest civilization in the world and
the newest.

The most interesting thing in Chinatown are the Chinese. To some they
all look alike, but to me they seem very human and individual and
folksy. I find myself paraphrasing: "But for the grace of God there