At the time of the murder I was in the mountains recovering from an illness. The letters I received, following the disclosure of the existence of the “gunmen,” particularly those from young men, carried a peculiar appeal. Our own club members urged the need of the settlement’s extending protection to greater numbers of boys. Some of the young men wrote frankly of perils from which they had barely escaped and of which I had had no knowledge. They all laid stress upon the importance of _preventing_ disaster by the provision of wholesome recreation which, as one correspondent wrote, “should have excitement also.” Their belief in the efficacy of club control is firmly fixed. A few evenings ago one of the young men of the settlement conversant with conditions, speaking to a new resident, defined a “gang” as “a club gone wrong.” [Illustration] Mothers from time to time come to the Henry Street house for help to rescue their erring sons. They come secretly, fearing to have their sons or the police trace disclosures to them. A poolroom on a nearby street, said to have been, at one time, a “hang-out” of the gunmen, and its lure evidently enhanced by that fact, was reported to us as “suspicious.” The police and a society organized to suppress such places told me that the evidence they could secure was insufficient to warrant hope of conviction. Mothers who suspected that stolen property was taken there, made alert by anxiety for their sons, furnished me with evidence that warranted insistence on my part that the Police Commissioner order the place closed. Formal meetings with parents to consider matters affecting their children are a fixed part of the settlement programme, and the problems of adolescence are freely and frankly discussed. An experienced and humane judge, addressing one such meeting, spoke simply and directly of the young people who were brought before him charged with crime, showing his understanding of the causes that led to it and his sympathy with the offenders as well as with their harassed parents. He begged for a revival of the old homely virtues and for the strengthening of family ties. A mother in the group rose and confessed her helplessness. She reminded the judge of the difficulty of keeping young people under observation and guarding them from the temptations of street life when the mothers, like herself, went out to work. Ordinary boys and girls, she thought, could not resist these temptations unaided; and speaking of her own boy, who had been brought before him, she summed up her understanding of the situation in the words: “It’s not that my son is bad; it’s just that he’s not a hero.” * * * * *