THEY were having their weekly clean up at one of the rooming houses on John Street a few days ago, and as I walked by I saw one of the fellows raise a window and empty a waste paper basket out into the air. The wind caught the contents, and Sunday supplements and first drafts of themes, and scratch paper, and excelsior went whirling off to land in a score of door yards and to litter up a dozen fence corners.
I have no doubt but that many a man who uses his neighbor's back yard as a dumping ground could write, perhaps has already written, a stirring paper on the beautifying of our cities, but he still continues to throw his cigarette stubs and his Hershey chocolate wrappers, and his empty pop corn bags into the street or to drop his newspaper wherever he happens to have tired of it; it is not his
