New York.—Subway trains hurtling through holes in the ground at sixty miles an hour. Airplanes winging through the blue at twice that speed with mail for Boston and Chicago. Four lines of motor cars skimming up and down Fifth Avenue as green lights flash on at crossings and reluctantly stopping to allow four similar lines to catapult across their bows as the green flares switch to red. Pedestrians risking their lives to scamper between the hustling automobiles and thus save a precious minute. More pedestrians elbowing their various ways past each other at rapid pace on clogged sidewalks. Tired, tense, worried faces. Rouged, sparkling, merry faces. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
New York. In a residential section near Columbus Circle a white figure spinning swiftly down the street on a bicycle.
As he sped closer, you saw that he was a darkhaired youth of some twenty-odd years, eyes merry behind a pair of tortoise-shelled glasses. He was dressed in white. White trousers, shoes and visorless cap, tilted jauntily on his brown hair. A large wire tray-like container hooked in front of his handle bars. This was heaped as high as possible
