The banker’s office was away downtown, and, arrayed in white shoes and hat and my best white serge suit from London (it was one of the hottest days of the year), I marched out with my nickel in my pocket. At that time I was living up on Ninety-sixth Street, so I sauntered casually over to the subway station, pushed the coin nonchalantly through the grating of the ticket office. The man promptly shoved it back with the curt remark, “No good.” I let it fall on the floor; it dropped with a dull thud and I threw it angrily away, not thinking so much of my own disappointment, but disgusted with the person who had been so cruel as to cheat a baby by putting a lead nickel into its bank. However, I still had a journey to make, and gazed about, looking for an idea. My eye fell upon the shop of my barber where I was in the habit of having my hair out. Going in, I asked him to lend me some change. My clothes and my manner must have deceived him, for he pressed me to take a dollar, although I asked only for a dime and said that I would not be responsible for returning more. Armed with the ten cents, I was on my way. Mr. Lungren, for it was he, was in his office, received my proposal with enthusiasm, and I got my order. He was just about to dismiss me politely, when I said I must have one third cash on the spot. He asked why, evidently thinking I did not trust him, but I replied with Bill Nye’s well-known story of going into a shabby little restaurant, ordering two boiled eggs, and receiving a check for one dollar. Upon a demand for the reason for such an exorbitant charge, the proprietor replies: “Look around you. I need the money.” Mr. Lungren laughed and started to make out a check, but I insisted upon currency, saying that a check was only a promise to pay and no good to a drowning man. Then I added, “I want it in small bills, please.” I got it in twenties and tens. On the way home, I stopped at every subway station, went up to the surface, and bought a drink and broke one of the bills. By the time I had traveled from Wall Street to Ninety-sixth Street my mind was in a very mellow condition and my pockets bulging in every direction. Marching into the house, I yelled for the startled members of my family and, emptying my pockets, hurled the bills into the air so that they flew into every part of the room. These high spots in a man’s life are worth all the years of poverty and struggle. In spite of the fact of the manner of my receiving the order, I think I made a pretty good representation of “Hospitality” for Mr. Lungren.