Room 7, third floor. It was a big, bare room, void of almost everything excepting sunshine. There were desks, low and set decently apart. Along the wall, behind gleaming glass, were cases of seashells and botanical specimens. The teacher's desk, at the further end, was on a small, shabby dais. Only a few of the boys had arrived, and the big room rang with the echo of unfilled space. I heard them telling each other what they had been doing over the summer. One of them, brown and sturdy, was telling of Maine and the camp he had attended there. Another, in ragged clothes, and of a thin, pale face, spoke of the heated city during July and August, and of how he had been swimming when he could get away from his summer job--swimming in the East River. It shocked me to hear that. I had a picture of the East River as I had seen it from the Brooklyn Bridge, a brown, littered flood, choked with scurrying tugboats and the floating trails of refuse. I hated that boy for a long while after I heard his story. But he had a sharp, kindly face, and I wondered to see how popular he was with those who knew him. Coming, as I did, from a distant grammar school, it chanced that there were no boys of my acquaintance in the classroom. I was absolutely alone--a stranger to them all. The teacher, on his dais, tapped with thin, white knuckles against the side of his desk. He was a little, timid man with one of the saddest faces I have ever seen. Mr. Levi, he said his name was. The boy next to me stirred in his seat. "A Jew for a teacher! What do you think of that!" he said to me. "A Jew for--" Then he stopped short and looked at me. "Oh, gee! You're one yourself, ain't you?" I felt my face grow very hot. I thought of the words which the principal had only just spoken.... Could I stand up and fight like a man? I wanted to--I really do believe that I wanted to. But somehow the impulse that came to me to face this seatmate squarely and to tell him that--yes, I was a Jew, too--and proud of it--dwindled away into a gulp and a whimper and a sickly smile. This other boy was red-headed, freckled. He was very tall, but I saw a crutch at his side. Later on, when he rose, I could see that he was very lame; also that around his neck (for he wore no collar) was a little leather thong and tab. I did not know then--and I did not learn for many months--that it was the scapular of a Roman Catholic. He looked at me surlily, but laughing. "You _are_ a Jew, ain't you?" he demanded. I hung my head, wondering how to evade the directness of the question. The lame boy seemed to be waiting for my reply. "Well, no--not exactly." I stuttered. But I could feel my face flushing again. "What d'yer mean, not exactly? What's yer mom and pop?" "My mother and father? They are dead."