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 twenty, the brown stone monstrosities which their fathers had founded on west side streets which now were preempted by a ghetto population, or had deserted marble mansions on "old" Prairie Avenue and Calumet, on the south side, before the incursions of mulattoes.

Accordingly Calvin thought of the impressive, new mansions and apartments of the Drive as temporary and expedient, merely; here they were to-day, where might they be to-morrow? He felt that these people lacked roots in the land and in that stratum deeper than the soil—in long-respected traditions and long-practiced habits and customs of duty and responsibility and self-restraint.

They occupied places which kept them constantly in the public eye and made their doings of importance as patterns to many, many others; and most conspicuously, they pursued pleasure. Instead of setting an example of self-control and self-denial and respect for law, together with a devotion to duty which would help to establish an orderly, strong society, they displayed extravagance, laxness and self-indulgences; in their city, which was become a byword for murders and lawlessness exceeding the crimes of any like population in civilization, they entertained one another with bootleg liquor and danced until dawn.

Formally they praised the old, strict, frugal New England tradition but, on the younger lips, this commendation became almost mocking.

"You're Calvin Clarke of the historic home way down east, I believe," a débutante commented, as she started to dance with him.

Calvin replied, "My home's in Massachusetts."

"Ancestors shot up by the noble aborigine on the same spot where the matutinal beans are still baked, and all that, I understand. It must be marvelous, Mr. Clarke.