Tramping the city tired and weary of looking for friendly Jewish faces I found myself near the City Hall. I approached a milk station and bought a cent’s worth of the most delicious milk I have ever tasted. A rough-looking fellow next to me said, as he smacked his lips:
“Pretty good stuff, that,” and perhaps noting that I was a stranger, he added: “The guy who is doing this milk thing is saving the babies all right—he’s some rich Jew—God bless him—I’ve got three babies of my own.”
Hungering to hear a Jew praised I talked with this man for an hour, listening with keen enjoyment to the story of one of my race who had caused his millions to do good for the people irrespective of creed, and had kept himself suppressed. I learned of this Jew’s efforts for the dying babies at home and for his starving co-religionists in Palestine and felt proud. Proud and happy for the first time, I sat in the little park watching the passing procession till I dozed off into a sound sleep. My happiness continued in my sleep, for I had a most beautiful dream.
Before me in my dream passed a grand parade; it was a series of “For the good of the race” tableaux. All the prominent professional Jews headed the procession with their real names and the name of their race emblazoned upon silk banners in letters of gold. Then came all the Hebrew gambling house keepers bearing aloft broken roulette wheels and other emblems of a discarded and disgraced “business.”
Next in order was a large army of Hebrews who were professional bondsmen for arrested street walkers headed by two crooked ward politicians carrying a huge streamer with the words: “Henceforth we will go to work.” These men looked a little sad as they marched along