that way myself at your age, but try to get over it."

"Over what?" Peter shouted back, but the next number commenced, and he never got an answer.

"She probably thinks I'm bashful," he said to himself.

When the ship docked at H the next day, Peter found himself the recipient of all sorts of attentions. One of the ever-watchful stewards personally conducted him to a customs official, and his luggage was among the first to be examined.

"They must think I'm some grandee traveling incognito," chuckled Peter. "My tips should have abused their minds of any such idea. What are you looking for?" he asked. "What are the dutiable goods?"

Instead of replying, the official drew a large black cigar from his pocket; then said something in German to another man, who produced a piece of chocolate.

"Say, can't any of them speak English?" Peter inquired of the steward. "I'll be in a fine fix if everybody speaks German."

But the steward only walked away, saying in German, as he passed the customs officials:

"The poor fellow wouldn't know whether you were speaking German, English, or Chinese. Take care of him." And they did.

He was personally conducted to his train and handed over to a guard, who found a place for him in a carriage with two other people. Now he began to think he was suspected of being some notorious criminal and would be handed over to the police on his arrival in B—————. It wasn't quite so bad, yet he felt like a prisoner, nevertheless, for the guard gave him into the custody of a special porter whom he insisted upon finding, although many others stood near disengaged.

Peter followed him to a taxi, and before getting in said in his most German English, "Hotel B."

The man gave him a queer look, but said nothing.

"I don't believe he understood," thought Peter, as the cab started; but he was so interested in the sights and full

of the commission he'd been sent to execute, that he followed his porter into the hotel at which they alighted without noticing the name over the door. He had no difficulty in getting a room, and, left alone, surveyed his surroundings. Much to his surprise, he read "The Surdus Hotel" on all the linen.

"I knew that man didn't understand me," he said aloud, looking for a telephone. To his disgust, there was none; so, picking up his bags, he descended to the office.

"This isn't the hotel I want. I asked to be taken to the Hotel B

The clerk smiled and Peter scowled. "Can't anybody here understand English? I'm going where they can." Just then blue lights flashed all over the lobby.

"What's the idea?" asked Peter, pointing to the lights.

For answer the clerk put his hand to his mouth and made a motion as if he were chewing.

"Well," said Peter, "I'm starved, so I guess I'll lunch here, for no telling when I'll find the hotel I want." He pointed toward the dining-room and the clerk nodded, so Peter went in.

He was the first to arrive, and a waiter immediately thrust a immediately thrust a menu in German and English before him. Peter pointed to what he wanted, and the waiter departed to fill the order. Soon other guests began to come in. A man and a woman seated themselves at a table next to Peter's. The woman drew a small ear-trumpet, shaped like a teapot, from her bag, and the man took a long tin horn out of his pocket. They commenced an animated conversation in German, to which Peter listened for a few moments; but, as he understood nothing, his attention wandered to the people at other tables. To his astonishment everybody had a hearing device. There were more teapots and tin horns; there were long tubes and celluloid fans, while a few of the more up-to-date guests were using electrical instruments. One large party had something that looked like an octopus; from a central sounding-box stretched innumerable tubes, one for each guest.

Instantly there flashed through Peter's

now?" said Peter half aloud. "Everybody in Germany must be either deaf or dumb."

Before he had recovered from his surprise, a man seated himself across the table. He bowed slightly, then suddenly a broad grin spread over his face, and he stretched his arm across the table and shook Peter's hand like an old friend, at the same time pointing to the pin on Peter's lapel, and to a similar one on his

own coat.

Peter stared for a moment, speechless; then the whole thing dawned on him. At first he scowled, then burst into a loud laugh, which shook him from head to foot. The man opposite looked hurt, the people at the next table looked scared, and Peter left the room without waiting for his luncheon.

Going out to the office, he looked for his bags, but they were not where he had left them. When he indicated what he wanted the clerk pointed upward.

"What's the matter with you, anyway?" bawled Peter, not caring whether or not he was understood, as long as he

could vent his

rage on some one. "I don't want to stay here. I'm not deaf. Get somebody who can speak English and you'll see."

The clerk pointed to Peter's pin. "That's not mine," he shouted, snatching the pin off and thrusting it into his pocket. "It belongs to a deaf friend. I tell you I can hear perfectly. my bags at once." At last they were produced and Peter left the hotel, refusing the aid of porters and pages who gazed after

Get

him sorrowfully, as if he were a lost soul. He hailed a taxi, said "Hotel Bwhich the chauffeur repeated. and jumped in.

"That was a mean trick for Nancy to play on me," he reflected as he drove along. "She's spoiled half the pleasure of my trip and made me no end of trouble. Why didn't she explain that Philip Greene belonged to the same society?" Then he remembered how he had reproached her. "Of course, I acted like a boor, and accused her without asking for an explanation. After all, I guess I jolly well deserved it. The little minx!" He chuckled, as he recalled Nancy's words when she put the pin on his lapel, and he was still thinking of her when his cab drew up before rather a palatial-looking hotel.

"Some inn the firm puts one up at," thought Peter, as he strode into the lobby and up to the desk. "Thank heaven, nobody here will think I'm deaf."

But he reckoned without his pin. As he passed two men seated in the lobby smoking, one remarked to the other:

skill at reading lips? If you had been on my ship without it, you would have so charmed everybody before they found out you couldn't hear that it wouldn't have made any difference whether you could or not, whereas if you'd worn it they wouldn't have given you a chance to show whether you had any charm or humor or sense either, for that matter. I was hardly permitted to think for myself. Everything was done for me, but nobody talked.

Where did the idea originate? Right here, I'll wager. It sounds like German efficiency. Why, there's not a porter, conductor, hotel clerk, newsboy, or anybody who doesn't know what that badge stands for. They mean to be kind, but it's just the everlasting machine-no chance to stand on your own feet-which I've heard you say is what deafened people need to learn most of all.

You can't wear that pin when you're my wife!

I miss you, so please write often to your devoted PETER.

P. S.-I expect to be home by the end of April. If you want to make me perfectly happy, cable the date of our wedding.

And she did.

[EDITORIAL NOTE.-A year ago, when the matter of wearing a pin (to enable oneself to be recognized by other lipreaders, not by the public at large) was being discussed in THE VOLTA Review, we advocated it. We hasten to remark that we have nothing more to say!]

ODAY we may say that nothing worth TODAY while is standing still. Educational methods are changing. In the elementary school we are done with pouring in; we are not drawing out as we did. In fact, we are doing less, the child more.

Today we center on his development, not in a straight line, but in a wellrounded way, which fits him to take his place in society. No child can adjust No child can adjust himself for his best good in the world's doings unless he has been trained to be active as he has come along. He must learn to be self-reliant, and we must seek the method that will best give him strength to become so. Then that strength must be used. It reminds me of the teacher who was returning in June with her trunk heavy laden with the vear's accumulation. The expressman seemed unable to handle it alone, but the mother, who was standing near, spoke up: "Julia, help him; if you don't use your strength, you won't have it."

We hear much of the socialized recita

tion, that form of recitation in which the child takes the center of the stage and the teacher remains in the background. We have all, no doubt, visited the modern upper-grade class-room and listened to the children conducting their own les

* Presented at the Wisconsin State Teachers' Association, Milwaukee, November, 1920.

son.

We found them greatly interested and getting fine results, while the teacher, though controlling the events of the hour, kept herself more as a judge than a leader. We hear from many sides that the socialized recitation is proving practical, especially in such subjects as history, geography, and reading.

But what of its application to the deaf? How are children who do not naturally take the initiative going to conduct a recitation with benefit to themselves? How are we to teach them to ask the significant question? Is the socialized recitation practical for children who do not hear?

Any subject that falls naturally into topical form readily adapts itself to socialized recitation. Take geography, for instance. In the upper grades I do not use the question-and-answer method in developing a new region. We take it up under these heads: location, climate, surface, industries, products, cities, etc. Each becomes a unit by itself, though all are interdependent. As new topics are developed, the ones previously studied are reviewed, until the whole is covered. The work is then taken home for further study, and the children are told to bring back good questions.

With a class just beginning, I get "How is the climate?" "How is the surface?" "What are the industries?" and I

and so on.

Heide, being a review, it begins to be 4 game, from the time they go home to work out their questions. The game

pirit is even more in evidence when they learn the questions, which are the results of then own work (though I must admit much guided by another), and look forward to being chosen as the leader, of whom the questions are to be asked.

I am often given some surprise in the form that the children's initiative takes. For example: If the class does not put questions fast enough, the leader sometimes turns upon them with one of her own. One day we were having a lesson of this kind with a visitor present. A chuld was writing at the board and our guest let her gaze wander to the written work, but only for a moment, for she was commanded, "Please look at me!" before the child speaking would go on.

With the hearing, the questions are quick and spontaneous; with the deaf, basic questions must be given and learned as part of language-teaching. The socialized recitation then furnishes the opportunity for their application. In history and reading, an even better chance is given for applying the questions that belong to the deaf language forms. Not always must they ask "Why?" but "For what reason?" "What was his motive?" "With what aim did he do so and so?" "What was his purpose in doing that?" and so on. The leader is taught to reject a "baby" question, as it is called. The Standards are high when the responsiility is in their own hands. No question must be repeated by another; the lip

reading must be done by all-not by the leader alone.

I believe, however, that this form of class-work must not be overdone. We want the child active, but not to suit our fancy or to take away from him any of the advantages of a teacher's instruction. And so it seems to me this form of work must largely be the summary of any whole taught, combining drill and game. that his interest may not be lost. I feel that the socialized recitation then has a real value with the deaf child, inasmuch as it makes him forget himself, as he becomes a part of the game in which he must do well to hold his place, and which unconsciously is helping him to express himself more freely and naturally, as he uses the forms he has acquired? Is not this one of the great aims in our work?

A REVIEW OF DR. R. O. JOHNSON'S REPORT

Standardization-Efficiency-Heredity: Schools for the Deaf. By Richard Otto Johnson, A. M., formerly Superintendent of the Indiana State School for the Deaf, Indianapolis. 262 pages, 6 x 9. Illustrations and graphs.

This is a report of the special committee on standardization and efficiency of schools for the deaf, Mr. Johnson being the chairman of said committee. It embodies not only the work of five years of research on the part of the chairman, but also valuable excerpts from allied literature. It is an important contribution to the literature of the education of the deaf.

Some opinions expressed by well-known superintendents of schools for the deaf are as follows:

"It marks an epoch in the education of the deaf with far-reaching effect."

"If Dr. Johnson never has anything more to do with the teaching of the deaf, he has already left an imperishable monument.”

HOW TO IDENTIFY HIM

An agitated woman burst into a police station in Chicago not long ago with this an

nouncement:

"My husband has been threatening to drown himself for some time, and he's been missing for two days. I want to have the river dragged."

"Is there anything peculiar about him by which he could be recognized if we should find the body?" asked the inspector.

For a moment the woman hesitated and seemed at a loss. Then a look of relief came to her face, and she replied:

"Why, yes; he's deaf!"-Harpers Magazine.