seen, and I was
not unwilling. In charge of a highly erudite newspaper man, and of an
amiable Jewish detective, who, originally discovered by Colonel
Roosevelt, had come out first among eighteen hundred competitors in a
physical examination, my particular friend and I went forth one
intemperate night to "do" the East Side in an automobile. We saw the
garlanded and mirrored core of "Sharkey's" saloon, of which the most
interesting phenomenon was a male pianist who would play the piano
without stopping till 2.30 A.M. With about two thousand other persons,
we had the privilege of shaking hands with Sharkey. We saw another
saloon, frequented by murderers who resembled shop assistants. We saw a
Hebraic theater, whose hospitable proprietor informed us how he had
discovered a great play-writing genius, and how on the previous Saturday
night he had turned away seven thousand patrons for lack of room!
Certainly on our night the house was crammed; and the play seemed of
realistic quality, and the actresses effulgently lovely. We saw a Polack
dancing-hall, where the cook-girls were slatterns, but romantic
slatterns. We saw Seward Park, which is the dormitory of the East Side
in summer. We saw a van clattering off with prisoners to the night
court. We saw illustrious burglars, "gunmen," and "dukes" of famous
streets--for we had but to raise a beckoning finger, and they approached
us, grinning, out of gloomy shadows. (And very ordinary they seemed in
spite of slashed faces!)

We even saw Chinatown, and the wagonettes of tourists stationary in its
streets. I had suspected that Chinatown was largely a show for tourists.
When I asked how it existed, I was told that the two thousand Chinese of
Chinatown lived on the ten thousand Chinese who came into it from all
quarters on Sundays, and I understood. As a show it lacked
convincingness--except the delicatessen-shop, whose sights and odors
silenced criticism. It had the further disadvantage, by reason of its
tawdry appeals of color and light, of making one feel like a tourist.
Above a certain level of culture, no man who is a tourist has the
intellectual honesty to admit to himself that he is a tourist. Such
honesty is found only on the lower levels. The detective saved our pride
from time to time by introducing us to sights which the despicable
ordinary tourists cannot see. It was a proud moment for us when we
assisted at a conspiratorial interview between our detective and the
"captain