The chairman became the treasurer and so forth. But when it came to vote upon the secretaryship, Kessler, who had hitherto been the twentieth of the Union, the only member who had been without an office, was elected Secretary of the Pretzel-Painters' Union, because he was backed by the Russian group. The following evening Kessler was the first to appear at the local of the Union. A little later the dethroned official appeared. They did not even greet one another. Kirshen, the organizer, was the third man to come. "Brother Grumberg," he said to the former secretary, "would you please give over the books to brother Kessler and show him what he has to do?" Grumberg took out from a drawer the two books of the Union and was ready to explain the work. "But by God! In God's name! What do you want me to do with these books?" Kessler cried. "Record the meetings, brother Kessler, write down what takes place," Grumberg said. "What?" the new Secretary called out horror-stricken. "I--write? How should I write? I don't write--I don't know how to write--never did. What do you want with my life--what?" "For God's sake, Kessler! If you cannot read and write why did you accept the nomination for the secretaryship?" the organizer asked angrily. But Kessler was defiant. "Well, how and from where did you want me to know that a secretary must know to read and write?" Kessler's resignation and the election of a new secretary brought the organization on the brink of ruin. And if it would not have been for the superior generalship of organizer Kirshen the Pretzel-Painters' Union would have been crushed under the heel of capitalism. THE GYPSY BLOOD THAT TELLS One does not expect to meet anything out of the ordinary at West Farms to break the monotony where the big city fringes out. The old wooden shacks lean on the brick tenements, and one does not know whether the city invades the peaceful country or the country tries to catch up with the city. The outskirts of New York always brings to me the memory of a certain gentleman in silk hat and dress suit, but with the ends of his trousers in fringes and his shoes down at the heel. But--as a wise man once said--if one stands in one place long enough he sees the whole world pass before him as in a kaleidoscope. Thus also my frequent visits to West Farms were repaid when I saw one morning a gypsy tribe camped there. Six wagons back of the road, a dozen horses neighing as they rubbed their noses on the shafts; a few tents with the flaps undulating windward; a few patches of color on the dress of the women. What a change it made in the dreary place, how stolid old West Farms was transformed when the curling smoke rose from the stovepipes of the camp wagons! I expected to hear the usual noise attending camping; song and laughter, as only gypsies can sing and laugh.