ther view of the performance. He began to see, however, that beneath
much that was whimsical and sentimental the young fellow was sincerely
interested in the trend of things in what, during this Whitman period,
he called "these states." Sometimes Allen's remarks on current events
struck Harwood by their wisdom: the boy was wholesomely provocative and
stimulating. He began to feel that he understood him, and in his own
homelessness Allen became a resource.

Allen was a creature of moods, and vanished often for days or weeks. He
labored fitfully in his carpenter shop at home or with equal
irregularity at a bench in the shop of Lueders, a cabinetmaker. Dan
sometimes sought him at the shop, which was a headquarters for radicals
of all sorts. The workmen showed a great fondness for Allen, who had
been much in Germany and spoke their language well. He carried to the
shop quantities of German books and periodicals for their enlightenment.
The shop's visitors included several young Americans, among them a
newspaper artist, a violinist in a theatre orchestra, and a linotype
expert. They all wore large black scarfs and called each other
"comrade." Allen earnestly protested that he still believed in the
American Idea, the Great Experiment; but if democracy should fail he was
ready to take up socialism. He talked of his heroes; he said they all
owed it to the men who had made and preserved the Union to give the
existing government a chance. These discussions were entirely
good-humored and Harwood enjoyed them. Sometimes they met in the evening
at a saloon in the neighborhood of the shop where Allen, the son of
Edward Thatcher, whom everybody knew, was an object of special interest.
He would sit on a table and lecture the saloon loungers in German, and
at the end of a long debate made a point of paying the score. He was
most temperate himself, sipping a glass of wine or beer in the
deliberate German fashion.

Allen was a friendly soul and every one liked him. It was impossible not
to like a lad whose ways were so gentle, whose smile was so appealing.
He liked dancing and went to most of the parties--our capital has not
outgrown its homely provincial habit of calling all social
entertainments "parties." He was unfailingly courteous, with a manner
toward women slightly elaborate and reminiscent of other times. There
was no question of his social acceptance; mothers of daughters, who
declined to speak to his father, welcomed him to th