stimulating and not easily exhausted. Wide sympathies, spread charity, understanding were their hall-marks, and a certain wisdom, as apart from intellect, their invariable gift; with, moreover, a tendency to wit, if not that rare quality wit itself, and humour, the power of seeing, and therefore laughing at, oneself. The cheaper experiences of birth, success, possessions they had learned long ago; it was the more difficult, but higher, values they had come back to master, and among the humbler ranks of life they found the necessary conditions. Christ, I reflected, was the son of a carpenter.
The Young Souls, on the other hand, were invariably hot-foot after the things of this world. Show, Riches and Power stuck like red labels on their foreheads. The Napoleons of the earth were among the youngest of all; the intellectuals, those who relied on reason alone, often the prosperous, usually the well-born, were of the same category. Rarely was "understanding" in them, and brilliant cleverness could never rank with that wisdom which knows that tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner. To me the Young Souls were the commonplace and uninteresting ones. They were shallow, sketchy, soon exhausted, the Dutzend-menschen; whereas, the others were intuitive, mature in outlook, aware of deeper values and eager for the things of the spirit....
Thinking over my distinguished relations, I found none fit to black the boots of that kindly waiter in Krisch's cheap eating-house, Otto, the Black Forest German, who trusted us for food and often forwent his trumpery tip with a cheery smile. And there were many others, whose memory remains bright and wonderful from those dismal New York years.... A volume of "Distinguished People I have Met," for instance, would include the Italian bootblack at the corner of 4th Avenue and 20th Street, who had the sun in his face, in his bright black eyes and brown skin, and who trusted me sometimes for a month, although five cents meant as much to him as it did to me. The bigwigs I interviewed for newspapers are forgotten,
but the faces of Otto and the Italian shine in memory still.
