IN San Francisco the city officials provided work for hundreds of unemployed men on the streets and in the public park. People subscribed money to keep up the work, but of course the men work for small wages, and none of them have work all the time, but it helps to keep them from starving. One thing in this connection has created quite a sensation, and that is the project of some of the public schools to carry lunch to the $1.00-a-day laborers. The story of how this plan originated is quite interesting, and is told as follows by the Examiner:— "In the Meyer family, on Golden Gate Avenue, there is a small boy with a craving for cookies that is all absorbing, and he is accustomed to bridge over the gaps between meals with these edibles, as many as he can lay his hands on. One day last week his elder sister took him for a drive up through the Park. With his customary forethought, and fearing that he might be a few minutes late for his dinner, he cached a few dozen of cookies in his various pockets before starting. "He had barely begun on his second cooky when the buggy, his sister, and he came in sight of the unemployed at present employed on the Park roadways. It was lunch time for the men, but in name only, for lunch becomes an unattainable luxury when you are earning the first dollar you have seen in months, shoveling sand out by the ocean beach. "The poor fellows were gathered in little groups, wistfully tightening their belts and striving to forget their hunger in the rapt234contemplation of the much-needed dollar at the end of their dinnerless day. "Miss Meyer looked at the pinched faces of the men and then at her small brother's bulging pockets. Without a word he emptied his hidden store into her lap. She beckoned to one of the men. "'Would you care for some cookies, sir?'" "The man was so astonished he couldn't say a word. There are times when a cooky is bigger than a thirteen-course French dinner, and this was one of them. His eyes, however, spoke plainer than any words, and the next minute cookies were disappearing down his throat with a rapidity that made even the experienced small Master Meyer blink with surprise. "Other hungry men gathered around the buggy, and those cookies were placed where they would do the most good, in the twinkling of an eye. It was but a mouthful apiece, but compared with nothing at all it was a good deal. "'When we drove off,' said Miss Meyer in describing the scene, 'it was "God bless you, ma'am," and "Thank you a thousand times," until I could hardly see to drive for the tears in my eyes. "'Next day I baked a big cake and took it out and about one hundred cookies, but it didn't seem to go any further than the little I had the day before. The men gathered around the carriage and held out their hands—never said a word, but just held out their hands—hundreds of them. It almost broke my heart to see the disappointed faces when I had to tell them that I had no more. I couldn't sleep that night for thinking of it. "'I told them all about it at home, and Lillie, that's my little sister, jumped up and said: "I'll speak to Miss Strauss, our teacher, and ask her to speak to all the scholars, and we'll each one of us bring a lunch and send it out to the poor men in the Park." She did the very next day, and that's the way the idea was started in the Hamilton School.'" "And that's the way a bright girl solved a question that has puzzled a lot of older heads."