shipers coming in for a few minutes of silence in the noon recess.
Just around the corner from the Cathedral one looks across the broad playground of the Friends' Select School on to the bright, cheerful face of Race street. In that 1600 block Race is a typical Philadelphia street of the old sort—plain brick houses with slanted roofs and dormer windows, white and green shutters and scoured marble steps. I was surprised to notice the number of signs displayed calling attention to "Apartments," "Vacancies" and "Furnished Rooms." Certainly I can imagine no pleasanter place to lodge, with the sunny windows looking over the school ground to the soaring figure of Penn and the high cliffs behind him. Romance seems to linger along that sun-warmed brick pavement, and I peered curiously at the windows so discreetly curtained with lace and muslin, wondering what quaint tales the landladies of Race street might have to impart if one could muster up courage enough to question them. In the news-stand and cigar store at the corner of Sixteenth I made a notable discovery—a copy of Henry Ford's new Sunday school paper, the Dearborn Independent—the Ford International Weekly, he proudly subtitles it. I bought a copy and took it to lunch with me. I cannot say it left me much richer; nor, I fear, will it leave Henry that way. Much can be forgiven Henry for the honest simplicity of his soul, but the lad who's palming off those editorial page mottoes on him,
