of his doorpost the word, "Whim." He is half-white, but calls himself a
Negro. He sides with the disgraced and outcast black woman who gave him
birth, rather than with the respectable white man who was his sire.

He rides in the Jim Crow cars, and on long trips, if it is deemed
expedient to use a sleeping-car, he hires the stateroom, so that he may
not trespass or presume upon those who would be troubled by the presence
of a colored man. Often in traveling he goes for food and shelter to the
humble home of one of his own people. At hotels he receives and
accepts, without protest or resentment, the occasional contumely of the
inferior whites--whites too ignorant to appreciate that one of God's
noblemen stands before them. For the whites of the South he has only
words of kindness and respect; the worst he says about them is that they
do not understand. His modesty, his patience, his forbearance, are
sublime. He is a true Fabian--he does what he can, like the royal
Roycroft opportunist that he is. Every petty annoyance is passed over;
the gibes and jeers and the ingratitude of his own race are forgotten.
"They do not understand," he calmly says. He does his work. He is
respected by the best people of North and South. He has the confidence
of the men of affairs--he is a safe man.

[Illustration: THOMAS ARNOLD]

THOMAS ARNOLD

Let me mind my own personal work; keep myself pure and zealous and
believing; laboring to do God's will in this fruitful vineyard of
young lives committed to my charge, as my allotted field, until my
work be done.

--_Thomas Arnold_

THOMAS ARNOLD

Thomas Arnold was born in Seventeen Hundred Ninety-five, and died in
Eighteen Hundred Forty-two. His life was short, as men count time, but
he lived long enough to make for himself a name and a fame that are both
lasting and luminous. Though he was neither a great writer nor a great
preacher, yet there were times when he thought he was both. He was only
a schoolteacher. However, he was an artist in schoolteaching, and art is
not a thing--it is a way. It is the beautiful way--the effective way.

Schoolteachers have no means of proving their prowess by conspicuous
waste, and no time to convince the world of their excellence through
conspicuous leisure; consequently, for histrionic purposes, a
schoolteacher's cosmos is a plain, slaty gray. Schoolteachers do not
wallow in wealth nor feed fat at the public trough. No