rt of thing, if you're just aching to
make trouble for yourself? If you want manhood, you'll reach it ten
times sooner if you'll slip into it comfortably, gracefully, lying
quietly on your back and floating--and not splashing too hard. You'll
never get anywhere if you insist on getting there with a rumpus."

I admired the studied grace of his similes, but had to confess that they
did not impress me as true. But, at the same time, I did not try to
explain any further to him how I felt.

That did not end the questioning for me, however. I even broached it to
Aunt Selina once, and she threw up her hands in despair. I think I did
it somewhat with the idea of seeing her do just that. It was beginning
to amuse me, how hopeless she thought I was.

So that was why I did not tell her of my intention to go, one evening,
to see Mr. Lawrence Richards at his East Side Settlement. But
immediately after supper, I bade my aunt good night, and answered her
suspicious query with the information that I was "bound for a social
affair." The answer seemed to reassure her and she gave me gracious
permission to go.

I took the subway to Spring street, walked across to the Bowery, and a
few blocks on the other side of it, came to the Settlement. It was in
the heart of a noisy crowded section, towering high above the shabby
buildings like a great, clean, shining bulwark.

Mr. Richards was at supper, I was told. A bright-eyed little Jewish boy,
neatly dressed and careful of speech, offered to show me the way to the
dining room on the fifth floor.

I had a hearty welcome from the Head Worker when he recognized me. He
was disappointed that I had already had my supper; made me sit down
beside him and introduced me to all his associates. They were mostly
young men, I was surprised to find; one of them told me that he had
graduated from one of the New England colleges only the year before.

Mr. Richards showed me all about the place, as he had promised he
would. Then he took me with him into his "den" as he called it--a little
room, just off the gymnasium, where he had his desk and filing cabinets
and books. He sat me down opposite him on a canvas-covered chair, and,
when he had gone over some reports which needed his signature, looked up
at me and smiled.

"Well," he said, "what's the trouble?"

"Oh, I didn't--well, how did you know there was any trouble?"

The smile broadened. "None of you ever come down here unless you are in
trouble. T