Hog Island men have accomplished what they have partly because they go about their work with such a sense of humor. There are more grins to the square acre down there than any place I ever visited. The Hog Islander who drove me down was grumbling because the man driving the car in front didn't give the usual signal when turning across our path. "Why doesn't he hold out his hand?" he muttered. "Must be afraid a flivver will run up his arm." That's the jovial spirit of Hog Island.
SOUTH BROAD STREET
One of the singularly futile and freakish little "literary" magazines that flourish among desiccated women and men whose minds are not old enough for the draft proudly raises the slogan that it "Makes no compromise with the public taste."
What I like about South Broad street is that it does make compromise with the public taste, every possible compromise. In the course of a three-mile stroll from the City Hall down to the South Broad street plaza one may see almost every variety of human interest. It is as though South Broad street had made up its mind to see all phases of life before leaping into the arms of Uncle Sam at League Island. It is like the young man's last night with the boys before enlisting.
"Broad and Chestnut" is a Philadelphia phrase of great sanctity. It is uttered with even greater
