"One day on the sidewalk of a busy shopping district, in front of a large store in one of the cities, a legless man sitting on a platform about six inches above the sidewalk level was propelling himself with one hand and holding a rope leading to a small monkey with the other. He was trying to sell shoelaces and pencils, which he carried in a cigar box on his platform. Passersby were handing their contribution to the monkey without taking his merchandise. "In another shopping district, an armless man carried a small showcase with notions strapped over his neck and about his shoulders, with a sign calling attention to his infirmity and asking the public to purchase from him. "In the coldest and stormiest days and nights, on slippery icy streets, shivering women with their babies, and old men and women, some blind, others so weak they could scarcely walk, were trying to sell newspapers or other articles. Or they were playing an antiquated musical instrument. There was always the small tin cup for contributions. "In my ramblings, I purposely entered into conversation with many of these unfortunates. At 3:00 A.M., on a very dark, cold morning I had an occasion to pick up an old charwoman who had slipped on the icy pavement. When I asked her why she was out so early, she said that she worked nights in a bank, cleaning and scrubbing. She lives with a widowed daughter who works during the day. She takes care of her children and also contributes to the upkeep of the home from her meager earnings. She told me that most charwomen are old; and they, with the old men, are the all-night army doing the cleaning and scrubbing in banks, business houses, offices, and factory buildings. They are all only too glad to get and keep these jobs. "An hour later, I met at a corner a bent, very old newspaper vendor. After buying a paper, I asked him why he was out so early on the street. He told me that he had the concession to sell early morning newspapers on that corner. Many of his customers were either night workers going home, or early workers going to their jobs. "Arriving in this city that same evening, I saw near the New York Central Station, an old man, shabbily dressed in a light-weight, torn overcoat, shivering as he looked into a restaurant window as if he were hungry and hadn't the price of a meal. Stepping to his side, I invited him to join me as my guest for dinner. He weakly refused; but I prevailed upon him, and he reluctantly walked in with me arm in arm. I assured him that it would give me great pleasure to have his company. "He was cultured and expressed himself with intelligence. I told him I was just adventuring, trying to gain friendship with men of his wisdom and long experience in order to learn their reactions to our way of life." He said, "I have my own philosophy with strong opinions. I may offend you by intensely criticizing conditions!"