en the clasp, slide the tabs closer together, and there you are. And
no picking at your tie to get the knot undone. Now, how many of you men
have spoiled an expensive tie by picking at it? Your fingers come in
contact with the fibres of the silk and the first thing you know the tie
is soiled. This little clasp"--and he casts a beam of affection upon
it--"saves your tie, it saves your collar, and it saves your patience."
A note of yearning pathos comes into his agreeable voice, and he holds
out a handful of the old-fashioned collar-buttons. "You men are wearing
the same buttons your great-grandfathers wore. Don't you want to get
out of collar slavery? _Don't_ you want to quit working your face all
out of shape struggling with a collar-button? Now as this is a
manufacturing demonstration----"

* * * * *

On a warm evening nothing is more pleasant than a ride on the front
platform of the Market Street L, with the front door open. As the train
leaves Sixty-ninth Street it dips down the Millbourne bend and the cool,
damp smell of the Cobb's Creek meadows gushes through the car. Then the
track straightens out for a long run toward the City Hall. Roaring over
the tree tops, with the lights of movies and shops glowing up from
below, a warm typhoon makes one lean against it to keep one's footing.
The airy stations are lined by girls in light summer dresses, attended
by their swains. The groan of the wheels underfoot causes a curious
tickling in the soles of the feet as one stands on the steel platform.

This groan rises to a shrill scream as the train gathers speed between
stations, gradually diminishing to a reluctant grumble as the cars come
to a stop. In the distance, in a peacock-blue sky, the double gleam of
the City Hall tower shines against the night. Down on the left is the
hiss and clang of West Philadelphia station, with the long, dim, amber
glow of the platform and belated commuters pacing about. Then the smoky
dive across the Schuylkill and the bellow of the subway.

* * * * *

From time to time humanity is forced to revise its customary notions in
the interests of truth. This is always painful.

It is an old fetich that the week-end in summer is a time for riotous
enjoyment, of goodly cheer and mirthful solace. A careful examination of
human beings during this hebdomadal period of carnival leads us to
question the doctrine.

[Illustration]

When