Give us play, play, real play! is the cry that is everlastingly rising from the underworld youth.

But the overworld gives them parks and gardens, which are closed at a respectable hour.

But the lads do not go to bed at respectable hours, for their mothers are still at work and their fathers have not arrived home.

So they play in the streets; then we call them "hooligans," and of course they must be "put down." There is a good deal of "putting down" for the underworld, but it is all of the wrong sort.

For there is no putting down of public playgrounds for lads of fifteen and upwards open in the evening, lighted by electricity, and under proper control.