Not a hundred miles away from Guinea Hill, at the Hazleton Young Men's Christian Association, I want to show you what enlightened justice can do for the "Roundhead." I came down from the Hill disheartened and sad, and, stepping into the office of that rather remarkable Young Men's Christian Association building, I saw a man, with dust-cloth and broom, walking about with the peculiarly graceful stride of the mountaineer. "That's Gabriel--not the archangel; but an angel, anyway," Mr. Hill, the secretary, told me. "Go from garret to cellar and you will find no dust or disorder. The small boy, that bane of the Young Men's Christian Association, fears him and loves him in turn. I don't see how we could get along without Gabriel." "Kiss my cheek, Gabriel, and wish me well." And Gabriel kissed my cheek and wished me well, just as he used to in his Montenegrin home, when kinsman met kinsman upon the war-path as they fought their ancient enemy, the Turk. Now, no weapons bulged from Gabriel's belt, his clothing was faultlessly American, his once furious mustachios had fallen beneath an American barber's shears, and his battle-field was this splendidly equipped building. Officially, he was the janitor; but he was also the self-appointed and beneficent dictator, feared by all evil-doers and breakers of rules, and beloved by all who could appreciate a faultlessly kept building. "You must see his room," the genial secretary said, with a twinkle in his eyes, and we followed Gabriel to the topmost story. He opened the door of his room with pardonable pride, for Prince Nicolas, the ruler of his country, whose bedroom I have seen and in whose throne-room I have had audience, cannot boast of an apartment so neat and clean or so gorgeously decorated. Besides the comfortable furniture, unrivalled in Gabriel's home-land, the walls were hung with pictures which reflected prevailing American tastes. Celluloid toilet articles lay upon the bureau, while many books and newspapers betrayed how this janitor spent his spare time. Gabriel's face was radiant from pride, and so was mine; while added to my pride was a pleasurable feeling to which I could give no other expression than to ask for another fraternal kiss, which he gave me with a resounding smack. When we returned to the lobby, I looked over the group of men gathered there to meet me, and my wits were tested to place each man according to his nationality. I looked into the face of one young man, a veritable giant, and before he opened his lips I said, "You are a Dalmatian." "Yes, yes," he replied, "from Ragusa."