The Exotic and the Unemployed
time and just simply craves Chinese food. "My love," she said to me only yesterday, "I feel that I must have chop suey or I'll die!" The Exotic has worked into her subliminal being, you know.
She has an intense and passionate nature, and I'm sure I don't know what would become of her if it were not for the spiritual discipline she gets out of modern thought.
Next week we're taking up Syndicalism—it's frightfully interesting, they say, and awfully advanced.
I suppose it's a new kind of philosophy or socialism, or maybe anarchy—or something like that. Most of these new things that come along nowadays are something like that, aren't they?
I'm sure the world owes a debt to its advanced thinkers which it can never repay for always keeping abreast of topics like that.
Not that I've lost my interest in any of the older forms of sociology, you know, just because I am keeping up with the newer phases of it.
Only yesterday I rode about town in the car and had the chauffeur stop a while every place where they were shoveling snow.
The nicest man was with me—he is connected with a settlement, and has given his life to sociology and all that sort of thing.
"Just think," I said to him, "how much real prac-
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