I am walking south on the east side of 17th St., N.W., just south of "H" St. about where Roberts photo store was formerly located. I notice an old man (who seemed to have certain characteristics of our "7th St. philosopher" and others of the man I saw preceding afternoon in People's drugstore), bare-headed and rather shabby, standing on one side of a tall wooden box next to the curb. The old man answered in a voice having a nasal twang "I ain't a going to sing today." Standing on other side of box (which is 6 or 7 feet tall) is George Bernard Shaw who answers "Oh, ain't you?" It now became evident that certain celebrities were to gather here and with the purpose of seeing them I slipped into a narrow passage way between 2 buildings, intending to sleep there till morning. This passage way was just about wide enough for a man to walk through. It extended back only 5 or 6 feet where it opened on to the street on opposite side of buildings. Soon after entering this cubby hole I notice McAtle on the curb on 17th St., but do not call out, as I seem to wish to avoid him. Soon a lady, middle-aged, comes in to my sanctum from 17th St., and she is followed by another lady; while a policeman comes in from opposite end of passageway. The policeman continues to stand, but rest of us sit down, and try to get into comfortable positions -- stretch out legs, twist and turn, etc. The quarters are so cramped that the lady who came in first is pressed closely against me, and it is necessary for both of us to adjust our arms so that our elbows do not prove mutually painful.