I was entirely proud & nervus, Mr Editor, to apply to that jobs. Formerly I had been simple, jayseed Japanese working in ½ size towns where nothing was large. But here I was in great city of N. Y. where everything was giganterous & big. Home-life here, I thought, must be unlimited like Pennsylvania Depots. This show how thoughtless we are when we think. I go to address of that Jinx lady, which is at No 333 W 333rd Street, comfortable neighbourhood where 20 miles of sky-scrape homes are clumped together attempting to look quaint. I was proud to see their swollen size. How expansive it was for Japanese Schoolboy to be employed in city where everything was so big that even small cottages look like Flatiron Bldgs! Already I begin to feel pity for Peoria where folks must choke in 2 story houses. Pretty soonly I arrive to Matterhorn Apts. How stylishly enormalous it was! I never observed a place with more upstairs. 12 complete stories I could count with my sore neck. And so fashionable to go into! Its frontside entrance was filled with marble halls, fountains, brassy electricity, golden elevators, noble niggero boys in uniform of admirals. This was most biggest entrance in America, and I was certainly sure that folks what live in those apartments upstairs must enjoy such grand-size rooms they have to ride motorcycles between parlour and dinning-room. While thusly I thought Swedish gentleman in proud overalls arrive up. “What you wish, standing there foolishly?” he require. “Do you own this palace?” I ask to know. “Yes,” he report peevly. “I are the Janitor.” “I am suprised by this Matterhorn house,” I explode. “The mountainous steepness of its apartments apalls me.” “The mountainous steepness of its rents would apall you more, if you seen them,” he explain with insulting eyebrows. So he poke me to elevator where I was uplifted to 9 floors. Folks living in apartment house leads very up-and-down life. When they go outside they must be elevated downwards, when they return they must be vice versa. It are impossible to see how folks can be level in such home life, and yet it is. Hon. Mrs Jinx, entirely Duchess appearing lady, meet me at doorway with Vanderbilt nose. “This are my apartment,” she express, pointing to a hallway surrounded by expensive looking cells filled with gilty furniture, pianolas, painted portraits, rugs and mahoganish tables resembling J. P. Morgan. “Yes,” I report. “This are your apartment--but where is your home?” “In N. Y.,” she report with Waldorf expression, “home is where we pay our rent.” Mr Editor, when that lady show me her apartment I was jigged by surprise. Each room was less than life-size, yet it contain wealth resembling Buckingham. Mahoganish doors, plush walls, luxury here and there--but where was there room to live in?