My father for as long as I can remember had been nearsighted. Whether it was hereditary or not, I too soon developed that condition of the eyes. I have always been supersensitive about that defect in my vision, and at the time did all that I could to prevent the fact becoming known at home. This defect of vision I shall dwell on at more length hereafter, as I believe it to have been one of the contributory causes of my entering the underworld. The neighborhood in which I lived up to about my fifteenth year was just that kind one would expect to find around the home of the prosperous workingman. About this time in my life, however, an undesirable class of people began coming in, and the older neighbors began seeking new homes. My family followed the exodus and moved into one of the established suburbs of the city. I shall call the place Rosedale. Rosedale was like unto a strange town to me, and I found it lonesome. I was a youngster then, craving companionship. I had left all of my boyhood friends five miles away in the city below. I knew no one, and I needed the fellowship of a youngster of my own age. Whatever sports I entered into I entered as a stranger. I went to school and missed sadly the presence of my mates of the city. I was diffident to an extreme, and to make matters worse my father decided at this time that I should wear eyeglasses. That was before the time when glasses became popular, you must remember. I hated the thought of putting them on. I feared the derision of the boys with whom I must associate. I felt them a drawback in my search for companionship. How well I remember the day I first put them on! I went to school, and the jibes of the boys and the half-concealed smiles of the girls made life miserable for me. The poison of melancholy crept into my heart. I would not have any of their proffered friendships, and the rancor in my heart kept me alien from their fellowships. I drew myself, as it were, into a shell. I made a pal out of solitude and out of silence. I suckled the poison of discontent. Can you imagine the life of a boy like that? The life of a lad is incomplete when it lacks the joys and pleasures found in companionship with other boys. These are a necessary part of his life, essential to his well-being and vitally important in the formation of a good character.