riages furling and unfurling their toes with a kind of spartan restraint. They refuse to bawl or to hurl themselves upon the paving below, because they know that their young nurses are having a good time.
Franklin Square policemen are stout and very jovial. An Italian woman was sitting on a bench opposite mine; she had a baby on her lap, one leaning against her knee, three sitting on the bench with her, and two in the carriage. Seven in all and I gathered from her remarks that six of them were boys. "Quite an army!" said the stout policeman, passing by. Her face gleamed with the quick pleasure of the Latin race. "Ah, yes," she said, "Italians good for boys!"
On the west side of the square are the theatrical boarding houses, where ladies with very short skirts and silk stockings air little fuzzy white dogs that just match the soiled marble steps. Midway in the row is a bulky chocolate-colored church, Deutsche Evang. Lutherische, according to its signboard. Gottesdienst, Morgens 10:45, Abends 7:30. It is well for us to remember that God is worshiped in all languages. And up at the little news-stall at the corner of Vine street, the literary and dramatic leanings of Franklin Square seem to be reflected in the assortment of paper-backed volumes on display. "The Confessions of an Actress," "The Stranglers of Paris," and "Chicago by Night" are among the books there, also some exceedingly dingy editions of Boccaccio and
