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diff --git a/old/140-0.txt b/old/140-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8ad1704..0000000 --- a/old/140-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14408 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Jungle - -Author: Upton Sinclair - -Release Date: June, 1994 [eBook #140] -[Most recently updated: January 17, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: David Meltzer, Christy Phillips, Scott Coulter, Leroy Smith and David Widger - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE *** - -[Illustration] - - - - -The Jungle - -by Upton Sinclair - -(1906) - -TO THE WORKINGMEN OF AMERICA - - -Contents - - CHAPTER I - CHAPTER II - CHAPTER III - CHAPTER IV - CHAPTER V - CHAPTER VI - CHAPTER VII - CHAPTER VIII - CHAPTER IX - CHAPTER X - CHAPTER XI - CHAPTER XII - CHAPTER XIII - CHAPTER XIV - CHAPTER XV - CHAPTER XVI - CHAPTER XVII - CHAPTER XVIII - CHAPTER XIX - CHAPTER XX - CHAPTER XXI - CHAPTER XXII - CHAPTER XXIII - CHAPTER XXIV - CHAPTER XXV - CHAPTER XXVI - CHAPTER XXVII - CHAPTER XXVIII - CHAPTER XXIX - CHAPTER XXX - CHAPTER XXXI - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -It was four o’clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began -to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the -exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon -Marija’s broad shoulders—it was her task to see that all things went in -due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither -and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and -exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to -see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. -She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at -the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that -personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had -flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, proceeded to -tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not -understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of -her in altitude, the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to -attempt to speak; and the result had been a furious altercation, which, -continuing all the way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of -urchins to the cortege at each side street for half a mile. - -This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door. -The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull -“broom, broom” of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied -with each other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics. Seeing the -throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the -ancestors of her coachman, and, springing from the moving carriage, -plunged in and proceeded to clear a way to the hall. Once within, she -turned and began to push the other way, roaring, meantime, “_Eik! Eik! -Uzdaryk-duris!_” in tones which made the orchestral uproar sound like -fairy music. - -“Z. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and -Liquors. Union Headquarters”—that was the way the signs ran. The -reader, who perhaps has never held much converse in the language of -far-off Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the place was -the rear room of a saloon in that part of Chicago known as “back of the -yards.” This information is definite and suited to the matter of fact; -but how pitifully inadequate it would have seemed to one who understood -that it was also the supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of -God’s gentlest creatures, the scene of the wedding feast and the -joy-transfiguration of little Ona Lukoszaite! - -She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from -pushing through the crowd, and in her happiness painful to look upon. -There was a light of wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and her -otherwise wan little face was flushed. She wore a muslin dress, -conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders. -There were five pink paper roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright -green rose leaves. There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, -and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together -feverishly. It was almost too much for her—you could see the pain of -too great emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was -so young—not quite sixteen—and small for her age, a mere child; and she -had just been married—and married to Jurgis,[1] of all men, to Jurgis -Rudkus, he with the white flower in the buttonhole of his new black -suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands. - - [1] Pronounced _Yoorghis_ - - -Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with -beetling brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his -ears—in short, they were one of those incongruous and impossible -married couples with which Mother Nature so often wills to confound all -prophets, before and after. Jurgis could take up a -two-hundred-and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and carry it into a car -without a stagger, or even a thought; and now he stood in a far corner, -frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his lips with his -tongue each time before he could answer the congratulations of his -friends. - -Gradually there was effected a separation between the spectators and -the guests—a separation at least sufficiently complete for working -purposes. There was no time during the festivities which ensued when -there were not groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners; and -if any one of these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked -sufficiently hungry, a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the -feast. It was one of the laws of the _veselija_ that no one goes -hungry; and, while a rule made in the forests of Lithuania is hard to -apply in the stockyards district of Chicago, with its quarter of a -million inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children who -ran in from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A -charming informality was one of the characteristics of this -celebration. The men wore their hats, or, if they wished, they took -them off, and their coats with them; they ate when and where they -pleased, and moved as often as they pleased. There were to be speeches -and singing, but no one had to listen who did not care to; if he -wished, meantime, to speak or sing himself, he was perfectly free. The -resulting medley of sound distracted no one, save possibly alone the -babies, of which there were present a number equal to the total -possessed by all the guests invited. There was no other place for the -babies to be, and so part of the preparations for the evening consisted -of a collection of cribs and carriages in one corner. In these the -babies slept, three or four together, or wakened together, as the case -might be. Those who were still older, and could reach the tables, -marched about munching contentedly at meat bones and bologna sausages. - -The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save -for a calendar, a picture of a race horse, and a family tree in a -gilded frame. To the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few -loafers in the doorway, and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a -presiding genius clad in soiled white, with waxed black mustaches and a -carefully oiled curl plastered against one side of his forehead. In the -opposite corner are two tables, filling a third of the room and laden -with dishes and cold viands, which a few of the hungrier guests are -already munching. At the head, where sits the bride, is a snow-white -cake, with an Eiffel tower of constructed decoration, with sugar roses -and two angels upon it, and a generous sprinkling of pink and green and -yellow candies. Beyond opens a door into the kitchen, where there is a -glimpse to be had of a range with much steam ascending from it, and -many women, old and young, rushing hither and thither. In the corner to -the left are the three musicians, upon a little platform, toiling -heroically to make some impression upon the hubbub; also the babies, -similarly occupied, and an open window whence the populace imbibes the -sights and sounds and odors. - -Suddenly some of the steam begins to advance, and, peering through it, -you discern Aunt Elizabeth, Ona’s stepmother—Teta Elzbieta, as they -call her—bearing aloft a great platter of stewed duck. Behind her is -Kotrina, making her way cautiously, staggering beneath a similar -burden; and half a minute later there appears old Grandmother -Majauszkiene, with a big yellow bowl of smoking potatoes, nearly as big -as herself. So, bit by bit, the feast takes form—there is a ham and a -dish of sauerkraut, boiled rice, macaroni, bologna sausages, great -piles of penny buns, bowls of milk, and foaming pitchers of beer. There -is also, not six feet from your back, the bar, where you may order all -you please and do not have to pay for it. “_Eiksz! Graicziau!_” screams -Marija Berczynskas, and falls to work herself—for there is more upon -the stove inside that will be spoiled if it be not eaten. - -So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the -guests take their places. The young men, who for the most part have -been huddled near the door, summon their resolution and advance; and -the shrinking Jurgis is poked and scolded by the old folks until he -consents to seat himself at the right hand of the bride. The two -bridesmaids, whose insignia of office are paper wreaths, come next, and -after them the rest of the guests, old and young, boys and girls. The -spirit of the occasion takes hold of the stately bartender, who -condescends to a plate of stewed duck; even the fat policeman—whose -duty it will be, later in the evening, to break up the fights—draws up -a chair to the foot of the table. And the children shout and the babies -yell, and every one laughs and sings and chatters—while above all the -deafening clamor Cousin Marija shouts orders to the musicians. - -The musicians—how shall one begin to describe them? All this time they -have been there, playing in a mad frenzy—all of this scene must be -read, or said, or sung, to music. It is the music which makes it what -it is; it is the music which changes the place from the rear room of a -saloon in back of the yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little -corner of the high mansions of the sky. - -The little person who leads this trio is an inspired man. His fiddle is -out of tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an -inspired man—the hands of the muses have been laid upon him. He plays -like one possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can feel -them in the air round about him, capering frenetically; with their -invisible feet they set the pace, and the hair of the leader of the -orchestra rises on end, and his eyeballs start from their sockets, as -he toils to keep up with them. - -Tamoszius Kuszleika is his name, and he has taught himself to play the -violin by practicing all night, after working all day on the “killing -beds.” He is in his shirt sleeves, with a vest figured with faded gold -horseshoes, and a pink-striped shirt, suggestive of peppermint candy. A -pair of military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to -give that suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band. He is -only about five feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight -inches short of the ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or -rather you would wonder, if the excitement of being in his presence -left you time to think of such things. - -For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is inspired—you might -almost say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his -head, he sways and swings to and fro; he has a wizened-up little face, -irresistibly comical; and, when he executes a turn or a flourish, his -brows knit and his lips work and his eyelids wink—the very ends of his -necktie bristle out. And every now and then he turns upon his -companions, nodding, signaling, beckoning frantically—with every inch -of him appealing, imploring, in behalf of the muses and their call. - -For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of the -orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with -black-rimmed spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven -mule; he responds to the whip but feebly, and then always falls back -into his old rut. The third man is very fat, with a round, red, -sentimental nose, and he plays with his eyes turned up to the sky and a -look of infinite yearning. He is playing a bass part upon his cello, -and so the excitement is nothing to him; no matter what happens in the -treble, it is his task to saw out one long-drawn and lugubrious note -after another, from four o’clock in the afternoon until nearly the same -hour next morning, for his third of the total income of one dollar per -hour. - -Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika -has risen in his excitement; a minute or two more and you see that he -is beginning to edge over toward the tables. His nostrils are dilated -and his breath comes fast—his demons are driving him. He nods and -shakes his head at his companions, jerking at them with his violin, -until at last the long form of the second violinist also rises up. In -the end all three of them begin advancing, step by step, upon the -banqueters, Valentinavyczia, the cellist, bumping along with his -instrument between notes. Finally all three are gathered at the foot of -the tables, and there Tamoszius mounts upon a stool. - -Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are -eating, some are laughing and talking—but you will make a great mistake -if you think there is one of them who does not hear him. His notes are -never true, and his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and -scratches on the high; but these things they heed no more than they -heed the dirt and noise and squalor about them—it is out of this -material that they have to build their lives, with it that they have to -utter their souls. And this is their utterance; merry and boisterous, -or mournful and wailing, or passionate and rebellious, this music is -their music, music of home. It stretches out its arms to them, they -have only to give themselves up. Chicago and its saloons and its slums -fade away—there are green meadows and sunlit rivers, mighty forests and -snow-clad hills. They behold home landscapes and childhood scenes -returning; old loves and friendships begin to waken, old joys and -griefs to laugh and weep. Some fall back and close their eyes, some -beat upon the table. Now and then one leaps up with a cry and calls for -this song or that; and then the fire leaps brighter in Tamoszius’ eyes, -and he flings up his fiddle and shouts to his companions, and away they -go in mad career. The company takes up the choruses, and men and women -cry out like all possessed; some leap to their feet and stamp upon the -floor, lifting their glasses and pledging each other. Before long it -occurs to some one to demand an old wedding song, which celebrates the -beauty of the bride and the joys of love. In the excitement of this -masterpiece Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, -making his way toward the head, where sits the bride. There is not a -foot of space between the chairs of the guests, and Tamoszius is so -short that he pokes them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the -low notes; but still he presses in, and insists relentlessly that his -companions must follow. During their progress, needless to say, the -sounds of the cello are pretty well extinguished; but at last the three -are at the head, and Tamoszius takes his station at the right hand of -the bride and begins to pour out his soul in melting strains. - -Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little -something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her; but, -for the most part, she sits gazing with the same fearful eyes of -wonder. Teta Elzbieta is all in a flutter, like a hummingbird; her -sisters, too, keep running up behind her, whispering, breathless. But -Ona seems scarcely to hear them—the music keeps calling, and the -far-off look comes back, and she sits with her hands pressed together -over her heart. Then the tears begin to come into her eyes; and as she -is ashamed to wipe them away, and ashamed to let them run down her -cheeks, she turns and shakes her head a little, and then flushes red -when she sees that Jurgis is watching her. When in the end Tamoszius -Kuszleika has reached her side, and is waving his magic wand above her, -Ona’s cheeks are scarlet, and she looks as if she would have to get up -and run away. - -In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Berczynskas, whom the -muses suddenly visit. Marija is fond of a song, a song of lovers’ -parting; she wishes to hear it, and, as the musicians do not know it, -she has risen, and is proceeding to teach them. Marija is short, but -powerful in build. She works in a canning factory, and all day long she -handles cans of beef that weigh fourteen pounds. She has a broad Slavic -face, with prominent red cheeks. When she opens her mouth, it is -tragical, but you cannot help thinking of a horse. She wears a blue -flannel shirt-waist, which is now rolled up at the sleeves, disclosing -her brawny arms; she has a carving fork in her hand, with which she -pounds on the table to mark the time. As she roars her song, in a voice -of which it is enough to say that it leaves no portion of the room -vacant, the three musicians follow her, laboriously and note by note, -but averaging one note behind; thus they toil through stanza after -stanza of a lovesick swain’s lamentation:— - -“Sudiev’ kvietkeli, tu brangiausis; -Sudiev’ ir laime, man biednam, -Matau—paskyre teip Aukszcziausis, -Jog vargt ant svieto reik vienam!” - - -When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas -rises to his feet. Grandfather Anthony, Jurgis’ father, is not more -than sixty years of age, but you would think that he was eighty. He has -been only six months in America, and the change has not done him good. -In his manhood he worked in a cotton mill, but then a coughing fell -upon him, and he had to leave; out in the country the trouble -disappeared, but he has been working in the pickle rooms at Durham’s, -and the breathing of the cold, damp air all day has brought it back. -Now as he rises he is seized with a coughing fit, and holds himself by -his chair and turns away his wan and battered face until it passes. - -Generally it is the custom for the speech at a _veselija_ to be taken -out of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days -Dede Antanas used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love -letters of his friends. Now it is understood that he has composed an -original speech of congratulation and benediction, and this is one of -the events of the day. Even the boys, who are romping about the room, -draw near and listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons -in their eyes. It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become -possessed of the idea that he has not much longer to stay with his -children. His speech leaves them all so tearful that one of the guests, -Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, -and is fat and hearty, is moved to rise and say that things may not be -as bad as that, and then to go on and make a little speech of his own, -in which he showers congratulations and prophecies of happiness upon -the bride and groom, proceeding to particulars which greatly delight -the young men, but which cause Ona to blush more furiously than ever. -Jokubas possesses what his wife complacently describes as “poetiszka -vaidintuve”—a poetical imagination. - -Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no -pretense of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men -gather about the bar; some wander about, laughing and singing; here and -there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime -indifference to the others and to the orchestra as well. Everybody is -more or less restless—one would guess that something is on their minds. -And so it proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to -finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, -and the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real -celebration of the evening begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after -replenishing himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, -standing up, reviews the scene; he taps authoritatively upon the side -of his violin, then tucks it carefully under his chin, then waves his -bow in an elaborate flourish, and finally smites the sounding strings -and closes his eyes, and floats away in spirit upon the wings of a -dreamy waltz. His companion follows, but with his eyes open, watching -where he treads, so to speak; and finally Valentinavyczia, after -waiting for a little and beating with his foot to get the time, casts -up his eyes to the ceiling and begins to saw—“Broom! broom! broom!” - -The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. -Apparently nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any -consequence—there is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just as -before they sang. Most of them prefer the “two-step,” especially the -young, with whom it is the fashion. The older people have dances from -home, strange and complicated steps which they execute with grave -solemnity. Some do not dance anything at all, but simply hold each -other’s hands and allow the undisciplined joy of motion to express -itself with their feet. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas and his wife, -Lucija, who together keep the delicatessen store, and consume nearly as -much as they sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the -middle of the floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking -slowly from side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of -toothless and perspiring ecstasy. - -Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail of -home—an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored -handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons. All these -things are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to -speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing. The girls -wear ready-made dresses or shirt waists, and some of them look quite -pretty. Some of the young men you would take to be Americans, of the -type of clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats in the room. -Each of these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing. -Some hold each other tightly, some at a cautious distance. Some hold -their hands out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some -dance springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity. There -are boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every -one out of their way. There are nervous couples, whom these frighten, -and who cry, “Nusfok! Kas yra?” at them as they pass. Each couple is -paired for the evening—you will never see them change about. There is -Alena Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with -Juozas Raczius, to whom she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the -evening, and she would be really beautiful if she were not so proud. -She wears a white shirtwaist, which represents, perhaps, half a week’s -labor painting cans. She holds her skirt with her hand as she dances, -with stately precision, after the manner of the _grandes dames_. Juozas -is driving one of Durham’s wagons, and is making big wages. He affects -a “tough” aspect, wearing his hat on one side and keeping a cigarette -in his mouth all the evening. Then there is Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is -also beautiful, but humble. Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then she -has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and so -she does not spend her wages for shirtwaists. Jadvyga is small and -delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a -little knot and tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white -dress which she has made herself and worn to parties for the past five -years; it is high-waisted—almost under her arms, and not very -becoming,—but that does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her -Mikolas. She is small, while he is big and powerful; she nestles in his -arms as if she would hide herself from view, and leans her head upon -his shoulder. He in turn has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if -he would carry her away; and so she dances, and will dance the entire -evening, and would dance forever, in ecstasy of bliss. You would smile, -perhaps, to see them—but you would not smile if you knew all the story. -This is the fifth year, now, that Jadvyga has been engaged to Mikolas, -and her heart is sick. They would have been married in the beginning, -only Mikolas has a father who is drunk all day, and he is the only -other man in a large family. Even so they might have managed it (for -Mikolas is a skilled man) but for cruel accidents which have almost -taken the heart out of them. He is a beef-boner, and that is a -dangerous trade, especially when you are on piecework and trying to -earn a bride. Your hands are slippery, and your knife is slippery, and -you are toiling like mad, when somebody happens to speak to you, or you -strike a bone. Then your hand slips up on the blade, and there is a -fearful gash. And that would not be so bad, only for the deadly -contagion. The cut may heal, but you never can tell. Twice now; within -the last three years, Mikolas has been lying at home with blood -poisoning—once for three months and once for nearly seven. The last -time, too, he lost his job, and that meant six weeks more of standing -at the doors of the packing houses, at six o’clock on bitter winter -mornings, with a foot of snow on the ground and more in the air. There -are learned people who can tell you out of the statistics that -beef-boners make forty cents an hour, but, perhaps, these people have -never looked into a beef-boner’s hands. - -When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they -must, now and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently. -They never seem to tire; and there is no place for them to sit down if -they did. It is only for a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up -again, in spite of all the protests of the other two. This time it is -another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. Those who prefer to, go on -with the two-step, but the majority go through an intricate series of -motions, resembling more fancy skating than a dance. The climax of it -is a furious _prestissimo_, at which the couples seize hands and begin -a mad whirling. This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room -joins in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies -quite dazzling to look upon. But the sight of sights at this moment is -Tamoszius Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, but -Tamoszius has no mercy. The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he -bends over like a cyclist on the last lap of a race. His body shakes -and throbs like a runaway steam engine, and the ear cannot follow the -flying showers of notes—there is a pale blue mist where you look to see -his bowing arm. With a most wonderful rush he comes to the end of the -tune, and flings up his hands and staggers back exhausted; and with a -final shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling here and there, -bringing up against the walls of the room. - -After this there is beer for every one, the musicians included, and the -revelers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the -evening, which is the _acziavimas_. The _acziavimas_ is a ceremony -which, once begun, will continue for three or four hours, and it -involves one uninterrupted dance. The guests form a great ring, locking -hands, and, when the music starts up, begin to move around in a circle. -In the center stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the -enclosure and dance with her. Each dances for several minutes—as long -as he pleases; it is a very merry proceeding, with laughter and -singing, and when the guest has finished, he finds himself face to face -with Teta Elzbieta, who holds the hat. Into it he drops a sum of -money—a dollar, or perhaps five dollars, according to his power, and -his estimate of the value of the privilege. The guests are expected to -pay for this entertainment; if they be proper guests, they will see -that there is a neat sum left over for the bride and bridegroom to -start life upon. - -Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of this -entertainment. They will certainly be over two hundred dollars and -maybe three hundred; and three hundred dollars is more than the year’s -income of many a person in this room. There are able-bodied men here -who work from early morning until late at night, in ice-cold cellars -with a quarter of an inch of water on the floor—men who for six or -seven months in the year never see the sunlight from Sunday afternoon -till the next Sunday morning—and who cannot earn three hundred dollars -in a year. There are little children here, scarce in their teens, who -can hardly see the top of the work benches—whose parents have lied to -get them their places—and who do not make the half of three hundred -dollars a year, and perhaps not even the third of it. And then to spend -such a sum, all in a single day of your life, at a wedding feast! (For -obviously it is the same thing, whether you spend it at once for your -own wedding, or in a long time, at the weddings of all your friends.) - -It is very imprudent, it is tragic—but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by -bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this they -cling with all the power of their souls—they cannot give up the -_veselija!_ To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to -acknowledge defeat—and the difference between these two things is what -keeps the world going. The _veselija_ has come down to them from a -far-off time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the -cave and gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he -could break his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; -provided that once in his lifetime he might testify to the fact that -life, with all its cares and its terrors, is no such great thing after -all, but merely a bubble upon the surface of a river, a thing that one -may toss about and play with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a -thing that one may quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine. Thus having -known himself for the master of things, a man could go back to his toil -and live upon the memory all his days. - -Endlessly the dancers swung round and round—when they were dizzy they -swung the other way. Hour after hour this had continued—the darkness -had fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. -The musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and played only -one tune, wearily, ploddingly. There were twenty bars or so of it, and -when they came to the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or -so they would fail to begin again, but instead would sink back -exhausted; a circumstance which invariably brought on a painful and -terrifying scene, that made the fat policeman stir uneasily in his -sleeping place behind the door. - -It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those hungry souls who -cling with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse. All day -long she had been in a state of wonderful exaltation; and now it was -leaving—and she would not let it go. Her soul cried out in the words of -Faust, “Stay, thou art fair!” Whether it was by beer, or by shouting, -or by music, or by motion, she meant that it should not go. And she -would go back to the chase of it—and no sooner be fairly started than -her chariot would be thrown off the track, so to speak, by the -stupidity of those thrice accursed musicians. Each time, Marija would -emit a howl and fly at them, shaking her fists in their faces, stamping -upon the floor, purple and incoherent with rage. In vain the frightened -Tamoszius would attempt to speak, to plead the limitations of the -flesh; in vain would the puffing and breathless ponas Jokubas insist, -in vain would Teta Elzbieta implore. “Szalin!” Marija would scream. -“Palauk! isz kelio! What are you paid for, children of hell?” And so, -in sheer terror, the orchestra would strike up again, and Marija would -return to her place and take up her task. - -She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her -excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired—the -soul of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers—what had -once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the -stem, pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, -singing, a very volcano of energy. Now and then some one coming in or -out would leave the door open, and the night air was chill; Marija as -she passed would stretch out her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam -would go the door! Once this procedure was the cause of a calamity of -which Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. Little -Sebastijonas, aged three, had been wandering about oblivious to all -things, holding turned up over his mouth a bottle of liquid known as -“pop,” pink-colored, ice-cold, and delicious. Passing through the -doorway the door smote him full, and the shriek which followed brought -the dancing to a halt. Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred -times a day, and would weep over the injury of a fly, seized little -Sebastijonas in her arms and bid fair to smother him with kisses. There -was a long rest for the orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while -Marija was making her peace with her victim, seating him upon the bar, -and standing beside him and holding to his lips a foaming schooner of -beer. - -In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an -anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of -the more intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them. -The _veselija_ is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore -only the more binding upon all. Every one’s share was different—and yet -every one knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a -little more. Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all -this was changing; it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in -the air that one breathed here—it was affecting all the young men at -once. They would come in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner, -and then sneak off. One would throw another’s hat out of the window, -and both would go out to get it, and neither could be seen again. Or -now and then half a dozen of them would get together and march out -openly, staring at you, and making fun of you to your face. Still -others, worse yet, would crowd about the bar, and at the expense of the -host drink themselves sodden, paying not the least attention to any -one, and leaving it to be thought that either they had danced with the -bride already, or meant to later on. - -All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with -dismay. So long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! Ona -stood by, her eyes wide with terror. Those frightful bills—how they had -haunted her, each item gnawing at her soul all day and spoiling her -rest at night. How often she had named them over one by one and figured -on them as she went to work—fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two -dollars and a quarter for the ducks, twelve dollars for the musicians, -five dollars at the church, and a blessing of the Virgin besides—and so -on without an end! Worst of all was the frightful bill that was still -to come from Graiczunas for the beer and liquor that might be consumed. -One could never get in advance more than a guess as to this from a -saloon-keeper—and then, when the time came he always came to you -scratching his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but that he -had done his best—your guests had gotten so very drunk. By him you were -sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even though you thought -yourself the dearest of the hundreds of friends he had. He would begin -to serve your guests out of a keg that was half full, and finish with -one that was half empty, and then you would be charged for two kegs of -beer. He would agree to serve a certain quality at a certain price, and -when the time came you and your friends would be drinking some horrible -poison that could not be described. You might complain, but you would -get nothing for your pains but a ruined evening; while, as for going to -law about it, you might as well go to heaven at once. The saloon-keeper -stood in with all the big politics men in the district; and when you -had once found out what it meant to get into trouble with such people, -you would know enough to pay what you were told to pay and shut up. - -What made all this the more painful was that it was so hard on the few -that had really done their best. There was poor old ponas Jokubas, for -instance—he had already given five dollars, and did not every one know -that Jokubas Szedvilas had just mortgaged his delicatessen store for -two hundred dollars to meet several months’ overdue rent? And then -there was withered old poni Aniele—who was a widow, and had three -children, and the rheumatism besides, and did washing for the -tradespeople on Halsted Street at prices it would break your heart to -hear named. Aniele had given the entire profit of her chickens for -several months. Eight of them she owned, and she kept them in a little -place fenced around on her backstairs. All day long the children of -Aniele were raking in the dump for food for these chickens; and -sometimes, when the competition there was too fierce, you might see -them on Halsted Street walking close to the gutters, and with their -mother following to see that no one robbed them of their finds. Money -could not tell the value of these chickens to old Mrs. Jukniene—she -valued them differently, for she had a feeling that she was getting -something for nothing by means of them—that with them she was getting -the better of a world that was getting the better of her in so many -other ways. So she watched them every hour of the day, and had learned -to see like an owl at night to watch them then. One of them had been -stolen long ago, and not a month passed that some one did not try to -steal another. As the frustrating of this one attempt involved a score -of false alarms, it will be understood what a tribute old Mrs. Jukniene -brought, just because Teta Elzbieta had once loaned her some money for -a few days and saved her from being turned out of her house. - -More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about these -things was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the -conversation, who were themselves among the guilty—and surely that was -a thing to try the patience of a saint. Finally there came Jurgis, -urged by some one, and the story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in -silence, with his great black eyebrows knitted. Now and then there -would come a gleam underneath them and he would glance about the room. -Perhaps he would have liked to go at some of those fellows with his big -clenched fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how little good it -would do him. No bill would be any less for turning out any one at this -time; and then there would be the scandal—and Jurgis wanted nothing -except to get away with Ona and to let the world go its own way. So his -hands relaxed and he merely said quietly: “It is done, and there is no -use in weeping, Teta Elzbieta.” Then his look turned toward Ona, who -stood close to his side, and he saw the wide look of terror in her -eyes. “Little one,” he said, in a low voice, “do not worry—it will not -matter to us. We will pay them all somehow. I will work harder.” That -was always what Jurgis said. Ona had grown used to it as the solution -of all difficulties—“I will work harder!” He had said that in Lithuania -when one official had taken his passport from him, and another had -arrested him for being without it, and the two had divided a third of -his belongings. He had said it again in New York, when the -smooth-spoken agent had taken them in hand and made them pay such high -prices, and almost prevented their leaving his place, in spite of their -paying. Now he said it a third time, and Ona drew a deep breath; it was -so wonderful to have a husband, just like a grown woman—and a husband -who could solve all problems, and who was so big and strong! - -The last sob of little Sebastijonas has been stifled, and the orchestra -has once more been reminded of its duty. The ceremony begins again—but -there are few now left to dance with, and so very soon the collection -is over and promiscuous dances once more begin. It is now after -midnight, however, and things are not as they were before. The dancers -are dull and heavy—most of them have been drinking hard, and have long -ago passed the stage of exhilaration. They dance in monotonous measure, -round after round, hour after hour, with eyes fixed upon vacancy, as if -they were only half conscious, in a constantly growing stupor. The men -grasp the women very tightly, but there will be half an hour together -when neither will see the other’s face. Some couples do not care to -dance, and have retired to the corners, where they sit with their arms -enlaced. Others, who have been drinking still more, wander about the -room, bumping into everything; some are in groups of two or three, -singing, each group its own song. As time goes on there is a variety of -drunkenness, among the younger men especially. Some stagger about in -each other’s arms, whispering maudlin words—others start quarrels upon -the slightest pretext, and come to blows and have to be pulled apart. -Now the fat policeman wakens definitely, and feels of his club to see -that it is ready for business. He has to be prompt—for these -two-o’clock-in-the-morning fights, if they once get out of hand, are -like a forest fire, and may mean the whole reserves at the station. The -thing to do is to crack every fighting head that you see, before there -are so many fighting heads that you cannot crack any of them. There is -but scant account kept of cracked heads in back of the yards, for men -who have to crack the heads of animals all day seem to get into the -habit, and to practice on their friends, and even on their families, -between times. This makes it a cause for congratulation that by modern -methods a very few men can do the painfully necessary work of -head-cracking for the whole of the cultured world. - -There is no fight that night—perhaps because Jurgis, too, is -watchful—even more so than the policeman. Jurgis has drunk a great -deal, as any one naturally would on an occasion when it all has to be -paid for, whether it is drunk or not; but he is a very steady man, and -does not easily lose his temper. Only once there is a tight shave—and -that is the fault of Marija Berczynskas. Marija has apparently -concluded about two hours ago that if the altar in the corner, with the -deity in soiled white, be not the true home of the muses, it is, at any -rate, the nearest substitute on earth attainable. And Marija is just -fighting drunk when there come to her ears the facts about the villains -who have not paid that night. Marija goes on the warpath straight off, -without even the preliminary of a good cursing, and when she is pulled -off it is with the coat collars of two villains in her hands. -Fortunately, the policeman is disposed to be reasonable, and so it is -not Marija who is flung out of the place. - -All this interrupts the music for not more than a minute or two. Then -again the merciless tune begins—the tune that has been played for the -last half-hour without one single change. It is an American tune this -time, one which they have picked up on the streets; all seem to know -the words of it—or, at any rate, the first line of it, which they hum -to themselves, over and over again without rest: “In the good old -summertime—in the good old summertime! In the good old summertime—in -the good old summertime!” There seems to be something hypnotic about -this, with its endlessly recurring dominant. It has put a stupor upon -every one who hears it, as well as upon the men who are playing it. No -one can get away from it, or even think of getting away from it; it is -three o’clock in the morning, and they have danced out all their joy, -and danced out all their strength, and all the strength that unlimited -drink can lend them—and still there is no one among them who has the -power to think of stopping. Promptly at seven o’clock this same Monday -morning they will every one of them have to be in their places at -Durham’s or Brown’s or Jones’s, each in his working clothes. If one of -them be a minute late, he will be docked an hour’s pay, and if he be -many minutes late, he will be apt to find his brass check turned to the -wall, which will send him out to join the hungry mob that waits every -morning at the gates of the packing houses, from six o’clock until -nearly half-past eight. There is no exception to this rule, not even -little Ona—who has asked for a holiday the day after her wedding day, a -holiday without pay, and been refused. While there are so many who are -anxious to work as you wish, there is no occasion for incommoding -yourself with those who must work otherwise. - -Little Ona is nearly ready to faint—and half in a stupor herself, -because of the heavy scent in the room. She has not taken a drop, but -every one else there is literally burning alcohol, as the lamps are -burning oil; some of the men who are sound asleep in their chairs or on -the floor are reeking of it so that you cannot go near them. Now and -then Jurgis gazes at her hungrily—he has long since forgotten his -shyness; but then the crowd is there, and he still waits and watches -the door, where a carriage is supposed to come. It does not, and -finally he will wait no longer, but comes up to Ona, who turns white -and trembles. He puts her shawl about her and then his own coat. They -live only two blocks away, and Jurgis does not care about the carriage. - -There is almost no farewell—the dancers do not notice them, and all of -the children and many of the old folks have fallen asleep of sheer -exhaustion. Dede Antanas is asleep, and so are the Szedvilases, husband -and wife, the former snoring in octaves. There is Teta Elzbieta, and -Marija, sobbing loudly; and then there is only the silent night, with -the stars beginning to pale a little in the east. Jurgis, without a -word, lifts Ona in his arms, and strides out with her, and she sinks -her head upon his shoulder with a moan. When he reaches home he is not -sure whether she has fainted or is asleep, but when he has to hold her -with one hand while he unlocks the door, he sees that she has opened -her eyes. - -“You shall not go to Brown’s today, little one,” he whispers, as he -climbs the stairs; and she catches his arm in terror, gasping: “No! No! -I dare not! It will ruin us!” - -But he answers her again: “Leave it to me; leave it to me. I will earn -more money—I will work harder.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Jurgis talked lightly about work, because he was young. They told him -stories about the breaking down of men, there in the stockyards of -Chicago, and of what had happened to them afterward—stories to make -your flesh creep, but Jurgis would only laugh. He had only been there -four months, and he was young, and a giant besides. There was too much -health in him. He could not even imagine how it would feel to be -beaten. “That is well enough for men like you,” he would say, -“_silpnas_, puny fellows—but my back is broad.” - -Jurgis was like a boy, a boy from the country. He was the sort of man -the bosses like to get hold of, the sort they make it a grievance they -cannot get hold of. When he was told to go to a certain place, he would -go there on the run. When he had nothing to do for the moment, he would -stand round fidgeting, dancing, with the overflow of energy that was in -him. If he were working in a line of men, the line always moved too -slowly for him, and you could pick him out by his impatience and -restlessness. That was why he had been picked out on one important -occasion; for Jurgis had stood outside of Brown and Company’s “Central -Time Station” not more than half an hour, the second day of his arrival -in Chicago, before he had been beckoned by one of the bosses. Of this -he was very proud, and it made him more disposed than ever to laugh at -the pessimists. In vain would they all tell him that there were men in -that crowd from which he had been chosen who had stood there a -month—yes, many months—and not been chosen yet. “Yes,” he would say, -“but what sort of men? Broken-down tramps and good-for-nothings, -fellows who have spent all their money drinking, and want to get more -for it. Do you want me to believe that with these arms”—and he would -clench his fists and hold them up in the air, so that you might see the -rolling muscles—“that with these arms people will ever let me starve?” - -“It is plain,” they would answer to this, “that you have come from the -country, and from very far in the country.” And this was the fact, for -Jurgis had never seen a city, and scarcely even a fair-sized town, -until he had set out to make his fortune in the world and earn his -right to Ona. His father, and his father’s father before him, and as -many ancestors back as legend could go, had lived in that part of -Lithuania known as _Brelovicz_, the Imperial Forest. This is a great -tract of a hundred thousand acres, which from time immemorial has been -a hunting preserve of the nobility. There are a very few peasants -settled in it, holding title from ancient times; and one of these was -Antanas Rudkus, who had been reared himself, and had reared his -children in turn, upon half a dozen acres of cleared land in the midst -of a wilderness. There had been one son besides Jurgis, and one sister. -The former had been drafted into the army; that had been over ten years -ago, but since that day nothing had ever been heard of him. The sister -was married, and her husband had bought the place when old Antanas had -decided to go with his son. - -It was nearly a year and a half ago that Jurgis had met Ona, at a horse -fair a hundred miles from home. Jurgis had never expected to get -married—he had laughed at it as a foolish trap for a man to walk into; -but here, without ever having spoken a word to her, with no more than -the exchange of half a dozen smiles, he found himself, purple in the -face with embarrassment and terror, asking her parents to sell her to -him for his wife—and offering his father’s two horses he had been sent -to the fair to sell. But Ona’s father proved as a rock—the girl was yet -a child, and he was a rich man, and his daughter was not to be had in -that way. So Jurgis went home with a heavy heart, and that spring and -summer toiled and tried hard to forget. In the fall, after the harvest -was over, he saw that it would not do, and tramped the full fortnight’s -journey that lay between him and Ona. - -He found an unexpected state of affairs—for the girl’s father had died, -and his estate was tied up with creditors; Jurgis’ heart leaped as he -realized that now the prize was within his reach. There was Elzbieta -Lukoszaite, Teta, or Aunt, as they called her, Ona’s stepmother, and -there were her six children, of all ages. There was also her brother -Jonas, a dried-up little man who had worked upon the farm. They were -people of great consequence, as it seemed to Jurgis, fresh out of the -woods; Ona knew how to read, and knew many other things that he did not -know, and now the farm had been sold, and the whole family was -adrift—all they owned in the world being about seven hundred rubles -which is half as many dollars. They would have had three times that, -but it had gone to court, and the judge had decided against them, and -it had cost the balance to get him to change his decision. - -Ona might have married and left them, but she would not, for she loved -Teta Elzbieta. It was Jonas who suggested that they all go to America, -where a friend of his had gotten rich. He would work, for his part, and -the women would work, and some of the children, doubtless—they would -live somehow. Jurgis, too, had heard of America. That was a country -where, they said, a man might earn three rubles a day; and Jurgis -figured what three rubles a day would mean, with prices as they were -where he lived, and decided forthwith that he would go to America and -marry, and be a rich man in the bargain. In that country, rich or poor, -a man was free, it was said; he did not have to go into the army, he -did not have to pay out his money to rascally officials—he might do as -he pleased, and count himself as good as any other man. So America was -a place of which lovers and young people dreamed. If one could only -manage to get the price of a passage, he could count his troubles at an -end. - -It was arranged that they should leave the following spring, and -meantime Jurgis sold himself to a contractor for a certain time, and -tramped nearly four hundred miles from home with a gang of men to work -upon a railroad in Smolensk. This was a fearful experience, with filth -and bad food and cruelty and overwork; but Jurgis stood it and came out -in fine trim, and with eighty rubles sewed up in his coat. He did not -drink or fight, because he was thinking all the time of Ona; and for -the rest, he was a quiet, steady man, who did what he was told to, did -not lose his temper often, and when he did lose it made the offender -anxious that he should not lose it again. When they paid him off he -dodged the company gamblers and dramshops, and so they tried to kill -him; but he escaped, and tramped it home, working at odd jobs, and -sleeping always with one eye open. - -So in the summer time they had all set out for America. At the last -moment there joined them Marija Berczynskas, who was a cousin of Ona’s. -Marija was an orphan, and had worked since childhood for a rich farmer -of Vilna, who beat her regularly. It was only at the age of twenty that -it had occurred to Marija to try her strength, when she had risen up -and nearly murdered the man, and then come away. - -There were twelve in all in the party, five adults and six children—and -Ona, who was a little of both. They had a hard time on the passage; -there was an agent who helped them, but he proved a scoundrel, and got -them into a trap with some officials, and cost them a good deal of -their precious money, which they clung to with such horrible fear. This -happened to them again in New York—for, of course, they knew nothing -about the country, and had no one to tell them, and it was easy for a -man in a blue uniform to lead them away, and to take them to a hotel -and keep them there, and make them pay enormous charges to get away. -The law says that the rate card shall be on the door of a hotel, but it -does not say that it shall be in Lithuanian. - -It was in the stockyards that Jonas’ friend had gotten rich, and so to -Chicago the party was bound. They knew that one word, Chicago and that -was all they needed to know, at least, until they reached the city. -Then, tumbled out of the cars without ceremony, they were no better off -than before; they stood staring down the vista of Dearborn Street, with -its big black buildings towering in the distance, unable to realize -that they had arrived, and why, when they said “Chicago,” people no -longer pointed in some direction, but instead looked perplexed, or -laughed, or went on without paying any attention. They were pitiable in -their helplessness; above all things they stood in deadly terror of any -sort of person in official uniform, and so whenever they saw a -policeman they would cross the street and hurry by. For the whole of -the first day they wandered about in the midst of deafening confusion, -utterly lost; and it was only at night that, cowering in the doorway of -a house, they were finally discovered and taken by a policeman to the -station. In the morning an interpreter was found, and they were taken -and put upon a car, and taught a new word—“stockyards.” Their delight -at discovering that they were to get out of this adventure without -losing another share of their possessions it would not be possible to -describe. - -They sat and stared out of the window. They were on a street which -seemed to run on forever, mile after mile—thirty-four of them, if they -had known it—and each side of it one uninterrupted row of wretched -little two-story frame buildings. Down every side street they could -see, it was the same—never a hill and never a hollow, but always the -same endless vista of ugly and dirty little wooden buildings. Here and -there would be a bridge crossing a filthy creek, with hard-baked mud -shores and dingy sheds and docks along it; here and there would be a -railroad crossing, with a tangle of switches, and locomotives puffing, -and rattling freight cars filing by; here and there would be a great -factory, a dingy building with innumerable windows in it, and immense -volumes of smoke pouring from the chimneys, darkening the air above and -making filthy the earth beneath. But after each of these interruptions, -the desolate procession would begin again—the procession of dreary -little buildings. - -A full hour before the party reached the city they had begun to note -the perplexing changes in the atmosphere. It grew darker all the time, -and upon the earth the grass seemed to grow less green. Every minute, -as the train sped on, the colors of things became dingier; the fields -were grown parched and yellow, the landscape hideous and bare. And -along with the thickening smoke they began to notice another -circumstance, a strange, pungent odor. They were not sure that it was -unpleasant, this odor; some might have called it sickening, but their -taste in odors was not developed, and they were only sure that it was -curious. Now, sitting in the trolley car, they realized that they were -on their way to the home of it—that they had traveled all the way from -Lithuania to it. It was now no longer something far off and faint, that -you caught in whiffs; you could literally taste it, as well as smell -it—you could take hold of it, almost, and examine it at your leisure. -They were divided in their opinions about it. It was an elemental odor, -raw and crude; it was rich, almost rancid, sensual, and strong. There -were some who drank it in as if it were an intoxicant; there were -others who put their handkerchiefs to their faces. The new emigrants -were still tasting it, lost in wonder, when suddenly the car came to a -halt, and the door was flung open, and a voice shouted—“Stockyards!” - -They were left standing upon the corner, staring; down a side street -there were two rows of brick houses, and between them a vista: half a -dozen chimneys, tall as the tallest of buildings, touching the very -sky—and leaping from them half a dozen columns of smoke, thick, oily, -and black as night. It might have come from the center of the world, -this smoke, where the fires of the ages still smolder. It came as if -self-impelled, driving all before it, a perpetual explosion. It was -inexhaustible; one stared, waiting to see it stop, but still the great -streams rolled out. They spread in vast clouds overhead, writhing, -curling; then, uniting in one giant river, they streamed away down the -sky, stretching a black pall as far as the eye could reach. - -Then the party became aware of another strange thing. This, too, like -the color, was a thing elemental; it was a sound, a sound made up of -ten thousand little sounds. You scarcely noticed it at first—it sunk -into your consciousness, a vague disturbance, a trouble. It was like -the murmuring of the bees in the spring, the whisperings of the forest; -it suggested endless activity, the rumblings of a world in motion. It -was only by an effort that one could realize that it was made by -animals, that it was the distant lowing of ten thousand cattle, the -distant grunting of ten thousand swine. - -They would have liked to follow it up, but, alas, they had no time for -adventures just then. The policeman on the corner was beginning to -watch them; and so, as usual, they started up the street. Scarcely had -they gone a block, however, before Jonas was heard to give a cry, and -began pointing excitedly across the street. Before they could gather -the meaning of his breathless ejaculations he had bounded away, and -they saw him enter a shop, over which was a sign: “J. Szedvilas, -Delicatessen.” When he came out again it was in company with a very -stout gentleman in shirt sleeves and an apron, clasping Jonas by both -hands and laughing hilariously. Then Teta Elzbieta recollected suddenly -that Szedvilas had been the name of the mythical friend who had made -his fortune in America. To find that he had been making it in the -delicatessen business was an extraordinary piece of good fortune at -this juncture; though it was well on in the morning, they had not -breakfasted, and the children were beginning to whimper. - -Thus was the happy ending to a woeful voyage. The two families -literally fell upon each other’s necks—for it had been years since -Jokubas Szedvilas had met a man from his part of Lithuania. Before half -the day they were lifelong friends. Jokubas understood all the pitfalls -of this new world, and could explain all of its mysteries; he could -tell them the things they ought to have done in the different -emergencies—and what was still more to the point, he could tell them -what to do now. He would take them to poni Aniele, who kept a -boardinghouse the other side of the yards; old Mrs. Jukniene, he -explained, had not what one would call choice accommodations, but they -might do for the moment. To this Teta Elzbieta hastened to respond that -nothing could be too cheap to suit them just then; for they were quite -terrified over the sums they had had to expend. A very few days of -practical experience in this land of high wages had been sufficient to -make clear to them the cruel fact that it was also a land of high -prices, and that in it the poor man was almost as poor as in any other -corner of the earth; and so there vanished in a night all the wonderful -dreams of wealth that had been haunting Jurgis. What had made the -discovery all the more painful was that they were spending, at American -prices, money which they had earned at home rates of wages—and so were -really being cheated by the world! The last two days they had all but -starved themselves—it made them quite sick to pay the prices that the -railroad people asked them for food. - -Yet, when they saw the home of the Widow Jukniene they could not but -recoil, even so, in all their journey they had seen nothing so bad as -this. Poni Aniele had a four-room flat in one of that wilderness of -two-story frame tenements that lie “back of the yards.” There were four -such flats in each building, and each of the four was a “boardinghouse” -for the occupancy of foreigners—Lithuanians, Poles, Slovaks, or -Bohemians. Some of these places were kept by private persons, some were -cooperative. There would be an average of half a dozen boarders to each -room—sometimes there were thirteen or fourteen to one room, fifty or -sixty to a flat. Each one of the occupants furnished his own -accommodations—that is, a mattress and some bedding. The mattresses -would be spread upon the floor in rows—and there would be nothing else -in the place except a stove. It was by no means unusual for two men to -own the same mattress in common, one working by day and using it by -night, and the other working at night and using it in the daytime. Very -frequently a lodging house keeper would rent the same beds to double -shifts of men. - -Mrs. Jukniene was a wizened-up little woman, with a wrinkled face. Her -home was unthinkably filthy; you could not enter by the front door at -all, owing to the mattresses, and when you tried to go up the -backstairs you found that she had walled up most of the porch with old -boards to make a place to keep her chickens. It was a standing jest of -the boarders that Aniele cleaned house by letting the chickens loose in -the rooms. Undoubtedly this did keep down the vermin, but it seemed -probable, in view of all the circumstances, that the old lady regarded -it rather as feeding the chickens than as cleaning the rooms. The truth -was that she had definitely given up the idea of cleaning anything, -under pressure of an attack of rheumatism, which had kept her doubled -up in one corner of her room for over a week; during which time eleven -of her boarders, heavily in her debt, had concluded to try their -chances of employment in Kansas City. This was July, and the fields -were green. One never saw the fields, nor any green thing whatever, in -Packingtown; but one could go out on the road and “hobo it,” as the men -phrased it, and see the country, and have a long rest, and an easy time -riding on the freight cars. - -Such was the home to which the new arrivals were welcomed. There was -nothing better to be had—they might not do so well by looking further, -for Mrs. Jukniene had at least kept one room for herself and her three -little children, and now offered to share this with the women and the -girls of the party. They could get bedding at a secondhand store, she -explained; and they would not need any, while the weather was so -hot—doubtless they would all sleep on the sidewalk such nights as this, -as did nearly all of her guests. “Tomorrow,” Jurgis said, when they -were left alone, “tomorrow I will get a job, and perhaps Jonas will get -one also; and then we can get a place of our own.” - -Later that afternoon he and Ona went out to take a walk and look about -them, to see more of this district which was to be their home. In back -of the yards the dreary two-story frame houses were scattered farther -apart, and there were great spaces bare—that seemingly had been -overlooked by the great sore of a city as it spread itself over the -surface of the prairie. These bare places were grown up with dingy, -yellow weeds, hiding innumerable tomato cans; innumerable children -played upon them, chasing one another here and there, screaming and -fighting. The most uncanny thing about this neighborhood was the number -of the children; you thought there must be a school just out, and it -was only after long acquaintance that you were able to realize that -there was no school, but that these were the children of the -neighborhood—that there were so many children to the block in -Packingtown that nowhere on its streets could a horse and buggy move -faster than a walk! - -It could not move faster anyhow, on account of the state of the -streets. Those through which Jurgis and Ona were walking resembled -streets less than they did a miniature topographical map. The roadway -was commonly several feet lower than the level of the houses, which -were sometimes joined by high board walks; there were no -pavements—there were mountains and valleys and rivers, gullies and -ditches, and great hollows full of stinking green water. In these pools -the children played, and rolled about in the mud of the streets; here -and there one noticed them digging in it, after trophies which they had -stumbled on. One wondered about this, as also about the swarms of flies -which hung about the scene, literally blackening the air, and the -strange, fetid odor which assailed one’s nostrils, a ghastly odor, of -all the dead things of the universe. It impelled the visitor to -questions and then the residents would explain, quietly, that all this -was “made” land, and that it had been “made” by using it as a dumping -ground for the city garbage. After a few years the unpleasant effect of -this would pass away, it was said; but meantime, in hot weather—and -especially when it rained—the flies were apt to be annoying. Was it not -unhealthful? the stranger would ask, and the residents would answer, -“Perhaps; but there is no telling.” - -A little way farther on, and Jurgis and Ona, staring open-eyed and -wondering, came to the place where this “made” ground was in process of -making. Here was a great hole, perhaps two city blocks square, and with -long files of garbage wagons creeping into it. The place had an odor -for which there are no polite words; and it was sprinkled over with -children, who raked in it from dawn till dark. Sometimes visitors from -the packing houses would wander out to see this “dump,” and they would -stand by and debate as to whether the children were eating the food -they got, or merely collecting it for the chickens at home. Apparently -none of them ever went down to find out. - -Beyond this dump there stood a great brickyard, with smoking chimneys. -First they took out the soil to make bricks, and then they filled it up -again with garbage, which seemed to Jurgis and Ona a felicitous -arrangement, characteristic of an enterprising country like America. A -little way beyond was another great hole, which they had emptied and -not yet filled up. This held water, and all summer it stood there, with -the near-by soil draining into it, festering and stewing in the sun; -and then, when winter came, somebody cut the ice on it, and sold it to -the people of the city. This, too, seemed to the newcomers an -economical arrangement; for they did not read the newspapers, and their -heads were not full of troublesome thoughts about “germs.” - -They stood there while the sun went down upon this scene, and the sky -in the west turned blood-red, and the tops of the houses shone like -fire. Jurgis and Ona were not thinking of the sunset, however—their -backs were turned to it, and all their thoughts were of Packingtown, -which they could see so plainly in the distance. The line of the -buildings stood clear-cut and black against the sky; here and there out -of the mass rose the great chimneys, with the river of smoke streaming -away to the end of the world. It was a study in colors now, this smoke; -in the sunset light it was black and brown and gray and purple. All the -sordid suggestions of the place were gone—in the twilight it was a -vision of power. To the two who stood watching while the darkness -swallowed it up, it seemed a dream of wonder, with its talc of human -energy, of things being done, of employment for thousands upon -thousands of men, of opportunity and freedom, of life and love and joy. -When they came away, arm in arm, Jurgis was saying, “Tomorrow I shall -go there and get a job!” - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -In his capacity as delicatessen vender, Jokubas Szedvilas had many -acquaintances. Among these was one of the special policemen employed by -Durham, whose duty it frequently was to pick out men for employment. -Jokubas had never tried it, but he expressed a certainty that he could -get some of his friends a job through this man. It was agreed, after -consultation, that he should make the effort with old Antanas and with -Jonas. Jurgis was confident of his ability to get work for himself, -unassisted by any one. As we have said before, he was not mistaken in -this. He had gone to Brown’s and stood there not more than half an hour -before one of the bosses noticed his form towering above the rest, and -signaled to him. The colloquy which followed was brief and to the -point: - -“Speak English?” - -“No; Lit-uanian.” (Jurgis had studied this word carefully.) - -“Job?” - -“Je.” (A nod.) - -“Worked here before?” - -“No ’stand.” - -(Signals and gesticulations on the part of the boss. Vigorous shakes of -the head by Jurgis.) - -“Shovel guts?” - -“No ’stand.” (More shakes of the head.) - -“Zarnos. Pagaiksztis. Szluofa!” (Imitative motions.) - -“Je.” - -“See door. Durys?” (Pointing.) - -“Je.” - -“To-morrow, seven o’clock. Understand? Rytoj! Prieszpietys! Septyni!” - -“Dekui, tamistai!” (Thank you, sir.) And that was all. Jurgis turned -away, and then in a sudden rush the full realization of his triumph -swept over him, and he gave a yell and a jump, and started off on a -run. He had a job! He had a job! And he went all the way home as if -upon wings, and burst into the house like a cyclone, to the rage of the -numerous lodgers who had just turned in for their daily sleep. - -Meantime Jokubas had been to see his friend the policeman, and received -encouragement, so it was a happy party. There being no more to be done -that day, the shop was left under the care of Lucija, and her husband -sallied forth to show his friends the sights of Packingtown. Jokubas -did this with the air of a country gentleman escorting a party of -visitors over his estate; he was an old-time resident, and all these -wonders had grown up under his eyes, and he had a personal pride in -them. The packers might own the land, but he claimed the landscape, and -there was no one to say nay to this. - -They passed down the busy street that led to the yards. It was still -early morning, and everything was at its high tide of activity. A -steady stream of employees was pouring through the gate—employees of -the higher sort, at this hour, clerks and stenographers and such. For -the women there were waiting big two-horse wagons, which set off at a -gallop as fast as they were filled. In the distance there was heard -again the lowing of the cattle, a sound as of a far-off ocean calling. -They followed it, this time, as eager as children in sight of a circus -menagerie—which, indeed, the scene a good deal resembled. They crossed -the railroad tracks, and then on each side of the street were the pens -full of cattle; they would have stopped to look, but Jokubas hurried -them on, to where there was a stairway and a raised gallery, from which -everything could be seen. Here they stood, staring, breathless with -wonder. - -There is over a square mile of space in the yards, and more than half -of it is occupied by cattle pens; north and south as far as the eye can -reach there stretches a sea of pens. And they were all filled—so many -cattle no one had ever dreamed existed in the world. Red cattle, black, -white, and yellow cattle; old cattle and young cattle; great bellowing -bulls and little calves not an hour born; meek-eyed milch cows and -fierce, long-horned Texas steers. The sound of them here was as of all -the barnyards of the universe; and as for counting them—it would have -taken all day simply to count the pens. Here and there ran long alleys, -blocked at intervals by gates; and Jokubas told them that the number of -these gates was twenty-five thousand. Jokubas had recently been reading -a newspaper article which was full of statistics such as that, and he -was very proud as he repeated them and made his guests cry out with -wonder. Jurgis too had a little of this sense of pride. Had he not just -gotten a job, and become a sharer in all this activity, a cog in this -marvelous machine? Here and there about the alleys galloped men upon -horseback, booted, and carrying long whips; they were very busy, -calling to each other, and to those who were driving the cattle. They -were drovers and stock raisers, who had come from far states, and -brokers and commission merchants, and buyers for all the big packing -houses. - -Here and there they would stop to inspect a bunch of cattle, and there -would be a parley, brief and businesslike. The buyer would nod or drop -his whip, and that would mean a bargain; and he would note it in his -little book, along with hundreds of others he had made that morning. -Then Jokubas pointed out the place where the cattle were driven to be -weighed, upon a great scale that would weigh a hundred thousand pounds -at once and record it automatically. It was near to the east entrance -that they stood, and all along this east side of the yards ran the -railroad tracks, into which the cars were run, loaded with cattle. All -night long this had been going on, and now the pens were full; by -tonight they would all be empty, and the same thing would be done -again. - -“And what will become of all these creatures?” cried Teta Elzbieta. - -“By tonight,” Jokubas answered, “they will all be killed and cut up; -and over there on the other side of the packing houses are more -railroad tracks, where the cars come to take them away.” - -There were two hundred and fifty miles of track within the yards, their -guide went on to tell them. They brought about ten thousand head of -cattle every day, and as many hogs, and half as many sheep—which meant -some eight or ten million live creatures turned into food every year. -One stood and watched, and little by little caught the drift of the -tide, as it set in the direction of the packing houses. There were -groups of cattle being driven to the chutes, which were roadways about -fifteen feet wide, raised high above the pens. In these chutes the -stream of animals was continuous; it was quite uncanny to watch them, -pressing on to their fate, all unsuspicious a very river of death. Our -friends were not poetical, and the sight suggested to them no metaphors -of human destiny; they thought only of the wonderful efficiency of it -all. The chutes into which the hogs went climbed high up—to the very -top of the distant buildings; and Jokubas explained that the hogs went -up by the power of their own legs, and then their weight carried them -back through all the processes necessary to make them into pork. - -“They don’t waste anything here,” said the guide, and then he laughed -and added a witticism, which he was pleased that his unsophisticated -friends should take to be his own: “They use everything about the hog -except the squeal.” In front of Brown’s General Office building there -grows a tiny plot of grass, and this, you may learn, is the only bit of -green thing in Packingtown; likewise this jest about the hog and his -squeal, the stock in trade of all the guides, is the one gleam of humor -that you will find there. - -After they had seen enough of the pens, the party went up the street, -to the mass of buildings which occupy the center of the yards. These -buildings, made of brick and stained with innumerable layers of -Packingtown smoke, were painted all over with advertising signs, from -which the visitor realized suddenly that he had come to the home of -many of the torments of his life. It was here that they made those -products with the wonders of which they pestered him so—by placards -that defaced the landscape when he traveled, and by staring -advertisements in the newspapers and magazines—by silly little jingles -that he could not get out of his mind, and gaudy pictures that lurked -for him around every street corner. Here was where they made Brown’s -Imperial Hams and Bacon, Brown’s Dressed Beef, Brown’s Excelsior -Sausages! Here was the headquarters of Durham’s Pure Leaf Lard, of -Durham’s Breakfast Bacon, Durham’s Canned Beef, Potted Ham, Deviled -Chicken, Peerless Fertilizer! - -Entering one of the Durham buildings, they found a number of other -visitors waiting; and before long there came a guide, to escort them -through the place. They make a great feature of showing strangers -through the packing plants, for it is a good advertisement. But Ponas -Jokubas whispered maliciously that the visitors did not see any more -than the packers wanted them to. They climbed a long series of -stairways outside of the building, to the top of its five or six -stories. Here was the chute, with its river of hogs, all patiently -toiling upward; there was a place for them to rest to cool off, and -then through another passageway they went into a room from which there -is no returning for hogs. - -It was a long, narrow room, with a gallery along it for visitors. At -the head there was a great iron wheel, about twenty feet in -circumference, with rings here and there along its edge. Upon both -sides of this wheel there was a narrow space, into which came the hogs -at the end of their journey; in the midst of them stood a great burly -Negro, bare-armed and bare-chested. He was resting for the moment, for -the wheel had stopped while men were cleaning up. In a minute or two, -however, it began slowly to revolve, and then the men upon each side of -it sprang to work. They had chains which they fastened about the leg of -the nearest hog, and the other end of the chain they hooked into one of -the rings upon the wheel. So, as the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly -jerked off his feet and borne aloft. - -At the same instant the car was assailed by a most terrifying shriek; -the visitors started in alarm, the women turned pale and shrank back. -The shriek was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing—for -once started upon that journey, the hog never came back; at the top of -the wheel he was shunted off upon a trolley, and went sailing down the -room. And meantime another was swung up, and then another, and another, -until there was a double line of them, each dangling by a foot and -kicking in frenzy—and squealing. The uproar was appalling, perilous to -the eardrums; one feared there was too much sound for the room to -hold—that the walls must give way or the ceiling crack. There were high -squeals and low squeals, grunts, and wails of agony; there would come a -momentary lull, and then a fresh outburst, louder than ever, surging up -to a deafening climax. It was too much for some of the visitors—the men -would look at each other, laughing nervously, and the women would stand -with hands clenched, and the blood rushing to their faces, and the -tears starting in their eyes. - -Meantime, heedless of all these things, the men upon the floor were -going about their work. Neither squeals of hogs nor tears of visitors -made any difference to them; one by one they hooked up the hogs, and -one by one with a swift stroke they slit their throats. There was a -long line of hogs, with squeals and lifeblood ebbing away together; -until at last each started again, and vanished with a splash into a -huge vat of boiling water. - -It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was -porkmaking by machinery, porkmaking by applied mathematics. And yet -somehow the most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the -hogs; they were so innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they -were so very human in their protests—and so perfectly within their -rights! They had done nothing to deserve it; and it was adding insult -to injury, as the thing was done here, swinging them up in this -cold-blooded, impersonal way, without a pretense of apology, without -the homage of a tear. Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; but this -slaughtering machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some -horrible crime committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried -out of sight and of memory. - -One could not stand and watch very long without becoming philosophical, -without beginning to deal in symbols and similes, and to hear the hog -squeal of the universe. Was it permitted to believe that there was -nowhere upon the earth, or above the earth, a heaven for hogs, where -they were requited for all this suffering? Each one of these hogs was a -separate creature. Some were white hogs, some were black; some were -brown, some were spotted; some were old, some young; some were long and -lean, some were monstrous. And each of them had an individuality of his -own, a will of his own, a hope and a heart’s desire; each was full of -self-confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. And -trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while -a black shadow hung over him and a horrid Fate waited in his pathway. -Now suddenly it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. -Relentless, remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were -nothing to it—it did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his -feelings, had simply no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched -him gasp out his life. And now was one to believe that there was -nowhere a god of hogs, to whom this hog personality was precious, to -whom these hog squeals and agonies had a meaning? Who would take this -hog into his arms and comfort him, reward him for his work well done, -and show him the meaning of his sacrifice? Perhaps some glimpse of all -this was in the thoughts of our humble-minded Jurgis, as he turned to -go on with the rest of the party, and muttered: “Dieve—but I’m glad I’m -not a hog!” - -The carcass hog was scooped out of the vat by machinery, and then it -fell to the second floor, passing on the way through a wonderful -machine with numerous scrapers, which adjusted themselves to the size -and shape of the animal, and sent it out at the other end with nearly -all of its bristles removed. It was then again strung up by machinery, -and sent upon another trolley ride; this time passing between two lines -of men, who sat upon a raised platform, each doing a certain single -thing to the carcass as it came to him. One scraped the outside of a -leg; another scraped the inside of the same leg. One with a swift -stroke cut the throat; another with two swift strokes severed the head, -which fell to the floor and vanished through a hole. Another made a -slit down the body; a second opened the body wider; a third with a saw -cut the breastbone; a fourth loosened the entrails; a fifth pulled them -out—and they also slid through a hole in the floor. There were men to -scrape each side and men to scrape the back; there were men to clean -the carcass inside, to trim it and wash it. Looking down this room, one -saw, creeping slowly, a line of dangling hogs a hundred yards in -length; and for every yard there was a man, working as if a demon were -after him. At the end of this hog’s progress every inch of the carcass -had been gone over several times; and then it was rolled into the -chilling room, where it stayed for twenty-four hours, and where a -stranger might lose himself in a forest of freezing hogs. - -Before the carcass was admitted here, however, it had to pass a -government inspector, who sat in the doorway and felt of the glands in -the neck for tuberculosis. This government inspector did not have the -manner of a man who was worked to death; he was apparently not haunted -by a fear that the hog might get by him before he had finished his -testing. If you were a sociable person, he was quite willing to enter -into conversation with you, and to explain to you the deadly nature of -the ptomaines which are found in tubercular pork; and while he was -talking with you you could hardly be so ungrateful as to notice that a -dozen carcasses were passing him untouched. This inspector wore a blue -uniform, with brass buttons, and he gave an atmosphere of authority to -the scene, and, as it were, put the stamp of official approval upon the -things which were done in Durham’s. - -Jurgis went down the line with the rest of the visitors, staring -open-mouthed, lost in wonder. He had dressed hogs himself in the forest -of Lithuania; but he had never expected to live to see one hog dressed -by several hundred men. It was like a wonderful poem to him, and he -took it all in guilelessly—even to the conspicuous signs demanding -immaculate cleanliness of the employees. Jurgis was vexed when the -cynical Jokubas translated these signs with sarcastic comments, -offering to take them to the secret rooms where the spoiled meats went -to be doctored. - -The party descended to the next floor, where the various waste -materials were treated. Here came the entrails, to be scraped and -washed clean for sausage casings; men and women worked here in the -midst of a sickening stench, which caused the visitors to hasten by, -gasping. To another room came all the scraps to be “tanked,” which -meant boiling and pumping off the grease to make soap and lard; below -they took out the refuse, and this, too, was a region in which the -visitors did not linger. In still other places men were engaged in -cutting up the carcasses that had been through the chilling rooms. -First there were the “splitters,” the most expert workmen in the plant, -who earned as high as fifty cents an hour, and did not a thing all day -except chop hogs down the middle. Then there were “cleaver men,” great -giants with muscles of iron; each had two men to attend him—to slide -the half carcass in front of him on the table, and hold it while he -chopped it, and then turn each piece so that he might chop it once -more. His cleaver had a blade about two feet long, and he never made -but one cut; he made it so neatly, too, that his implement did not -smite through and dull itself—there was just enough force for a perfect -cut, and no more. So through various yawning holes there slipped to the -floor below—to one room hams, to another forequarters, to another sides -of pork. One might go down to this floor and see the pickling rooms, -where the hams were put into vats, and the great smoke rooms, with -their airtight iron doors. In other rooms they prepared salt pork—there -were whole cellars full of it, built up in great towers to the ceiling. -In yet other rooms they were putting up meats in boxes and barrels, and -wrapping hams and bacon in oiled paper, sealing and labeling and sewing -them. From the doors of these rooms went men with loaded trucks, to the -platform where freight cars were waiting to be filled; and one went out -there and realized with a start that he had come at last to the ground -floor of this enormous building. - -Then the party went across the street to where they did the killing of -beef—where every hour they turned four or five hundred cattle into -meat. Unlike the place they had left, all this work was done on one -floor; and instead of there being one line of carcasses which moved to -the workmen, there were fifteen or twenty lines, and the men moved from -one to another of these. This made a scene of intense activity, a -picture of human power wonderful to watch. It was all in one great -room, like a circus amphitheater, with a gallery for visitors running -over the center. - -Along one side of the room ran a narrow gallery, a few feet from the -floor; into which gallery the cattle were driven by men with goads -which gave them electric shocks. Once crowded in here, the creatures -were prisoned, each in a separate pen, by gates that shut, leaving them -no room to turn around; and while they stood bellowing and plunging, -over the top of the pen there leaned one of the “knockers,” armed with -a sledge hammer, and watching for a chance to deal a blow. The room -echoed with the thuds in quick succession, and the stamping and kicking -of the steers. The instant the animal had fallen, the “knocker” passed -on to another; while a second man raised a lever, and the side of the -pen was raised, and the animal, still kicking and struggling, slid out -to the “killing bed.” Here a man put shackles about one leg, and -pressed another lever, and the body was jerked up into the air. There -were fifteen or twenty such pens, and it was a matter of only a couple -of minutes to knock fifteen or twenty cattle and roll them out. Then -once more the gates were opened, and another lot rushed in; and so out -of each pen there rolled a steady stream of carcasses, which the men -upon the killing beds had to get out of the way. - -The manner in which they did this was something to be seen and never -forgotten. They worked with furious intensity, literally upon the -run—at a pace with which there is nothing to be compared except a -football game. It was all highly specialized labor, each man having his -task to do; generally this would consist of only two or three specific -cuts, and he would pass down the line of fifteen or twenty carcasses, -making these cuts upon each. First there came the “butcher,” to bleed -them; this meant one swift stroke, so swift that you could not see -it—only the flash of the knife; and before you could realize it, the -man had darted on to the next line, and a stream of bright red was -pouring out upon the floor. This floor was half an inch deep with -blood, in spite of the best efforts of men who kept shoveling it -through holes; it must have made the floor slippery, but no one could -have guessed this by watching the men at work. - -The carcass hung for a few minutes to bleed; there was no time lost, -however, for there were several hanging in each line, and one was -always ready. It was let down to the ground, and there came the -“headsman,” whose task it was to sever the head, with two or three -swift strokes. Then came the “floorsman,” to make the first cut in the -skin; and then another to finish ripping the skin down the center; and -then half a dozen more in swift succession, to finish the skinning. -After they were through, the carcass was again swung up; and while a -man with a stick examined the skin, to make sure that it had not been -cut, and another rolled it up and tumbled it through one of the -inevitable holes in the floor, the beef proceeded on its journey. There -were men to cut it, and men to split it, and men to gut it and scrape -it clean inside. There were some with hose which threw jets of boiling -water upon it, and others who removed the feet and added the final -touches. In the end, as with the hogs, the finished beef was run into -the chilling room, to hang its appointed time. - -The visitors were taken there and shown them, all neatly hung in rows, -labeled conspicuously with the tags of the government inspectors—and -some, which had been killed by a special process, marked with the sign -of the kosher rabbi, certifying that it was fit for sale to the -orthodox. And then the visitors were taken to the other parts of the -building, to see what became of each particle of the waste material -that had vanished through the floor; and to the pickling rooms, and the -salting rooms, the canning rooms, and the packing rooms, where choice -meat was prepared for shipping in refrigerator cars, destined to be -eaten in all the four corners of civilization. Afterward they went -outside, wandering about among the mazes of buildings in which was done -the work auxiliary to this great industry. There was scarcely a thing -needed in the business that Durham and Company did not make for -themselves. There was a great steam power plant and an electricity -plant. There was a barrel factory, and a boiler-repair shop. There was -a building to which the grease was piped, and made into soap and lard; -and then there was a factory for making lard cans, and another for -making soap boxes. There was a building in which the bristles were -cleaned and dried, for the making of hair cushions and such things; -there was a building where the skins were dried and tanned, there was -another where heads and feet were made into glue, and another where -bones were made into fertilizer. No tiniest particle of organic matter -was wasted in Durham’s. Out of the horns of the cattle they made combs, -buttons, hairpins, and imitation ivory; out of the shinbones and other -big bones they cut knife and toothbrush handles, and mouthpieces for -pipes; out of the hoofs they cut hairpins and buttons, before they made -the rest into glue. From such things as feet, knuckles, hide clippings, -and sinews came such strange and unlikely products as gelatin, -isinglass, and phosphorus, bone black, shoe blacking, and bone oil. -They had curled-hair works for the cattle tails, and a “wool pullery” -for the sheepskins; they made pepsin from the stomachs of the pigs, and -albumen from the blood, and violin strings from the ill-smelling -entrails. When there was nothing else to be done with a thing, they -first put it into a tank and got out of it all the tallow and grease, -and then they made it into fertilizer. All these industries were -gathered into buildings near by, connected by galleries and railroads -with the main establishment; and it was estimated that they had handled -nearly a quarter of a billion of animals since the founding of the -plant by the elder Durham a generation and more ago. If you counted -with it the other big plants—and they were now really all one—it was, -so Jokubas informed them, the greatest aggregation of labor and capital -ever gathered in one place. It employed thirty thousand men; it -supported directly two hundred and fifty thousand people in its -neighborhood, and indirectly it supported half a million. It sent its -products to every country in the civilized world, and it furnished the -food for no less than thirty million people! - -To all of these things our friends would listen open-mouthed—it seemed -to them impossible of belief that anything so stupendous could have -been devised by mortal man. That was why to Jurgis it seemed almost -profanity to speak about the place as did Jokubas, skeptically; it was -a thing as tremendous as the universe—the laws and ways of its working -no more than the universe to be questioned or understood. All that a -mere man could do, it seemed to Jurgis, was to take a thing like this -as he found it, and do as he was told; to be given a place in it and a -share in its wonderful activities was a blessing to be grateful for, as -one was grateful for the sunshine and the rain. Jurgis was even glad -that he had not seen the place before meeting with his triumph, for he -felt that the size of it would have overwhelmed him. But now he had -been admitted—he was a part of it all! He had the feeling that this -whole huge establishment had taken him under its protection, and had -become responsible for his welfare. So guileless was he, and ignorant -of the nature of business, that he did not even realize that he had -become an employee of Brown’s, and that Brown and Durham were supposed -by all the world to be deadly rivals—were even required to be deadly -rivals by the law of the land, and ordered to try to ruin each other -under penalty of fine and imprisonment! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Promptly at seven the next morning Jurgis reported for work. He came to -the door that had been pointed out to him, and there he waited for -nearly two hours. The boss had meant for him to enter, but had not said -this, and so it was only when on his way out to hire another man that -he came upon Jurgis. He gave him a good cursing, but as Jurgis did not -understand a word of it he did not object. He followed the boss, who -showed him where to put his street clothes, and waited while he donned -the working clothes he had bought in a secondhand shop and brought with -him in a bundle; then he led him to the “killing beds.” The work which -Jurgis was to do here was very simple, and it took him but a few -minutes to learn it. He was provided with a stiff besom, such as is -used by street sweepers, and it was his place to follow down the line -the man who drew out the smoking entrails from the carcass of the -steer; this mass was to be swept into a trap, which was then closed, so -that no one might slip into it. As Jurgis came in, the first cattle of -the morning were just making their appearance; and so, with scarcely -time to look about him, and none to speak to any one, he fell to work. -It was a sweltering day in July, and the place ran with steaming hot -blood—one waded in it on the floor. The stench was almost overpowering, -but to Jurgis it was nothing. His whole soul was dancing with joy—he -was at work at last! He was at work and earning money! All day long he -was figuring to himself. He was paid the fabulous sum of seventeen and -a half cents an hour; and as it proved a rush day and he worked until -nearly seven o’clock in the evening, he went home to the family with -the tidings that he had earned more than a dollar and a half in a -single day! - -At home, also, there was more good news; so much of it at once that -there was quite a celebration in Aniele’s hall bedroom. Jonas had been -to have an interview with the special policeman to whom Szedvilas had -introduced him, and had been taken to see several of the bosses, with -the result that one had promised him a job the beginning of the next -week. And then there was Marija Berczynskas, who, fired with jealousy -by the success of Jurgis, had set out upon her own responsibility to -get a place. Marija had nothing to take with her save her two brawny -arms and the word “job,” laboriously learned; but with these she had -marched about Packingtown all day, entering every door where there were -signs of activity. Out of some she had been ordered with curses; but -Marija was not afraid of man or devil, and asked every one she -saw—visitors and strangers, or work-people like herself, and once or -twice even high and lofty office personages, who stared at her as if -they thought she was crazy. In the end, however, she had reaped her -reward. In one of the smaller plants she had stumbled upon a room where -scores of women and girls were sitting at long tables preparing smoked -beef in cans; and wandering through room after room, Marija came at -last to the place where the sealed cans were being painted and labeled, -and here she had the good fortune to encounter the “forelady.” Marija -did not understand then, as she was destined to understand later, what -there was attractive to a “forelady” about the combination of a face -full of boundless good nature and the muscles of a dray horse; but the -woman had told her to come the next day and she would perhaps give her -a chance to learn the trade of painting cans. The painting of cans -being skilled piecework, and paying as much as two dollars a day, -Marija burst in upon the family with the yell of a Comanche Indian, and -fell to capering about the room so as to frighten the baby almost into -convulsions. - -Better luck than all this could hardly have been hoped for; there was -only one of them left to seek a place. Jurgis was determined that Teta -Elzbieta should stay at home to keep house, and that Ona should help -her. He would not have Ona working—he was not that sort of a man, he -said, and she was not that sort of a woman. It would be a strange thing -if a man like him could not support the family, with the help of the -board of Jonas and Marija. He would not even hear of letting the -children go to work—there were schools here in America for children, -Jurgis had heard, to which they could go for nothing. That the priest -would object to these schools was something of which he had as yet no -idea, and for the present his mind was made up that the children of -Teta Elzbieta should have as fair a chance as any other children. The -oldest of them, little Stanislovas, was but thirteen, and small for his -age at that; and while the oldest son of Szedvilas was only twelve, and -had worked for over a year at Jones’s, Jurgis would have it that -Stanislovas should learn to speak English, and grow up to be a skilled -man. - -So there was only old Dede Antanas; Jurgis would have had him rest too, -but he was forced to acknowledge that this was not possible, and, -besides, the old man would not hear it spoken of—it was his whim to -insist that he was as lively as any boy. He had come to America as full -of hope as the best of them; and now he was the chief problem that -worried his son. For every one that Jurgis spoke to assured him that it -was a waste of time to seek employment for the old man in Packingtown. -Szedvilas told him that the packers did not even keep the men who had -grown old in their own service—to say nothing of taking on new ones. -And not only was it the rule here, it was the rule everywhere in -America, so far as he knew. To satisfy Jurgis he had asked the -policeman, and brought back the message that the thing was not to be -thought of. They had not told this to old Anthony, who had consequently -spent the two days wandering about from one part of the yards to -another, and had now come home to hear about the triumph of the others, -smiling bravely and saying that it would be his turn another day. - -Their good luck, they felt, had given them the right to think about a -home; and sitting out on the doorstep that summer evening, they held -consultation about it, and Jurgis took occasion to broach a weighty -subject. Passing down the avenue to work that morning he had seen two -boys leaving an advertisement from house to house; and seeing that -there were pictures upon it, Jurgis had asked for one, and had rolled -it up and tucked it into his shirt. At noontime a man with whom he had -been talking had read it to him and told him a little about it, with -the result that Jurgis had conceived a wild idea. - -He brought out the placard, which was quite a work of art. It was -nearly two feet long, printed on calendered paper, with a selection of -colors so bright that they shone even in the moonlight. The center of -the placard was occupied by a house, brilliantly painted, new, and -dazzling. The roof of it was of a purple hue, and trimmed with gold; -the house itself was silvery, and the doors and windows red. It was a -two-story building, with a porch in front, and a very fancy scrollwork -around the edges; it was complete in every tiniest detail, even the -doorknob, and there was a hammock on the porch and white lace curtains -in the windows. Underneath this, in one corner, was a picture of a -husband and wife in loving embrace; in the opposite corner was a -cradle, with fluffy curtains drawn over it, and a smiling cherub -hovering upon silver-colored wings. For fear that the significance of -all this should be lost, there was a label, in Polish, Lithuanian, and -German—“_Dom. Namai. Heim._” “Why pay rent?” the linguistic circular -went on to demand. “Why not own your own home? Do you know that you can -buy one for less than your rent? We have built thousands of homes which -are now occupied by happy families.”—So it became eloquent, picturing -the blissfulness of married life in a house with nothing to pay. It -even quoted “Home, Sweet Home,” and made bold to translate it into -Polish—though for some reason it omitted the Lithuanian of this. -Perhaps the translator found it a difficult matter to be sentimental in -a language in which a sob is known as a gukcziojimas and a smile as a -nusiszypsojimas. - -Over this document the family pored long, while Ona spelled out its -contents. It appeared that this house contained four rooms, besides a -basement, and that it might be bought for fifteen hundred dollars, the -lot and all. Of this, only three hundred dollars had to be paid down, -the balance being paid at the rate of twelve dollars a month. These -were frightful sums, but then they were in America, where people talked -about such without fear. They had learned that they would have to pay a -rent of nine dollars a month for a flat, and there was no way of doing -better, unless the family of twelve was to exist in one or two rooms, -as at present. If they paid rent, of course, they might pay forever, -and be no better off; whereas, if they could only meet the extra -expense in the beginning, there would at last come a time when they -would not have any rent to pay for the rest of their lives. - -They figured it up. There was a little left of the money belonging to -Teta Elzbieta, and there was a little left to Jurgis. Marija had about -fifty dollars pinned up somewhere in her stockings, and Grandfather -Anthony had part of the money he had gotten for his farm. If they all -combined, they would have enough to make the first payment; and if they -had employment, so that they could be sure of the future, it might -really prove the best plan. It was, of course, not a thing even to be -talked of lightly; it was a thing they would have to sift to the -bottom. And yet, on the other hand, if they were going to make the -venture, the sooner they did it the better, for were they not paying -rent all the time, and living in a most horrible way besides? Jurgis -was used to dirt—there was nothing could scare a man who had been with -a railroad gang, where one could gather up the fleas off the floor of -the sleeping room by the handful. But that sort of thing would not do -for Ona. They must have a better place of some sort soon—Jurgis said it -with all the assurance of a man who had just made a dollar and -fifty-seven cents in a single day. Jurgis was at a loss to understand -why, with wages as they were, so many of the people of this district -should live the way they did. - -The next day Marija went to see her “forelady,” and was told to report -the first of the week, and learn the business of can-painter. Marija -went home, singing out loud all the way, and was just in time to join -Ona and her stepmother as they were setting out to go and make inquiry -concerning the house. That evening the three made their report to the -men—the thing was altogether as represented in the circular, or at any -rate so the agent had said. The houses lay to the south, about a mile -and a half from the yards; they were wonderful bargains, the gentleman -had assured them—personally, and for their own good. He could do this, -so he explained to them, for the reason that he had himself no interest -in their sale—he was merely the agent for a company that had built -them. These were the last, and the company was going out of business, -so if any one wished to take advantage of this wonderful no-rent plan, -he would have to be very quick. As a matter of fact there was just a -little uncertainty as to whether there was a single house left; for the -agent had taken so many people to see them, and for all he knew the -company might have parted with the last. Seeing Teta Elzbieta’s evident -grief at this news, he added, after some hesitation, that if they -really intended to make a purchase, he would send a telephone message -at his own expense, and have one of the houses kept. So it had finally -been arranged—and they were to go and make an inspection the following -Sunday morning. - -That was Thursday; and all the rest of the week the killing gang at -Brown’s worked at full pressure, and Jurgis cleared a dollar -seventy-five every day. That was at the rate of ten and one-half -dollars a week, or forty-five a month. Jurgis was not able to figure, -except it was a very simple sum, but Ona was like lightning at such -things, and she worked out the problem for the family. Marija and Jonas -were each to pay sixteen dollars a month board, and the old man -insisted that he could do the same as soon as he got a place—which -might be any day now. That would make ninety-three dollars. Then Marija -and Jonas were between them to take a third share in the house, which -would leave only eight dollars a month for Jurgis to contribute to the -payment. So they would have eighty-five dollars a month—or, supposing -that Dede Antanas did not get work at once, seventy dollars a -month—which ought surely to be sufficient for the support of a family -of twelve. - -An hour before the time on Sunday morning the entire party set out. -They had the address written on a piece of paper, which they showed to -some one now and then. It proved to be a long mile and a half, but they -walked it, and half an hour or so later the agent put in an appearance. -He was a smooth and florid personage, elegantly dressed, and he spoke -their language freely, which gave him a great advantage in dealing with -them. He escorted them to the house, which was one of a long row of the -typical frame dwellings of the neighborhood, where architecture is a -luxury that is dispensed with. Ona’s heart sank, for the house was not -as it was shown in the picture; the color scheme was different, for one -thing, and then it did not seem quite so big. Still, it was freshly -painted, and made a considerable show. It was all brand-new, so the -agent told them, but he talked so incessantly that they were quite -confused, and did not have time to ask many questions. There were all -sorts of things they had made up their minds to inquire about, but when -the time came, they either forgot them or lacked the courage. The other -houses in the row did not seem to be new, and few of them seemed to be -occupied. When they ventured to hint at this, the agent’s reply was -that the purchasers would be moving in shortly. To press the matter -would have seemed to be doubting his word, and never in their lives had -any one of them ever spoken to a person of the class called “gentleman” -except with deference and humility. - -The house had a basement, about two feet below the street line, and a -single story, about six feet above it, reached by a flight of steps. In -addition there was an attic, made by the peak of the roof, and having -one small window in each end. The street in front of the house was -unpaved and unlighted, and the view from it consisted of a few exactly -similar houses, scattered here and there upon lots grown up with dingy -brown weeds. The house inside contained four rooms, plastered white; -the basement was but a frame, the walls being unplastered and the floor -not laid. The agent explained that the houses were built that way, as -the purchasers generally preferred to finish the basements to suit -their own taste. The attic was also unfinished—the family had been -figuring that in case of an emergency they could rent this attic, but -they found that there was not even a floor, nothing but joists, and -beneath them the lath and plaster of the ceiling below. All of this, -however, did not chill their ardor as much as might have been expected, -because of the volubility of the agent. There was no end to the -advantages of the house, as he set them forth, and he was not silent -for an instant; he showed them everything, down to the locks on the -doors and the catches on the windows, and how to work them. He showed -them the sink in the kitchen, with running water and a faucet, -something which Teta Elzbieta had never in her wildest dreams hoped to -possess. After a discovery such as that it would have seemed ungrateful -to find any fault, and so they tried to shut their eyes to other -defects. - -Still, they were peasant people, and they hung on to their money by -instinct; it was quite in vain that the agent hinted at promptness—they -would see, they would see, they told him, they could not decide until -they had had more time. And so they went home again, and all day and -evening there was figuring and debating. It was an agony to them to -have to make up their minds in a matter such as this. They never could -agree all together; there were so many arguments upon each side, and -one would be obstinate, and no sooner would the rest have convinced him -than it would transpire that his arguments had caused another to waver. -Once, in the evening, when they were all in harmony, and the house was -as good as bought, Szedvilas came in and upset them again. Szedvilas -had no use for property owning. He told them cruel stories of people -who had been done to death in this “buying a home” swindle. They would -be almost sure to get into a tight place and lose all their money; and -there was no end of expense that one could never foresee; and the house -might be good-for-nothing from top to bottom—how was a poor man to -know? Then, too, they would swindle you with the contract—and how was a -poor man to understand anything about a contract? It was all nothing -but robbery, and there was no safety but in keeping out of it. And pay -rent? asked Jurgis. Ah, yes, to be sure, the other answered, that too -was robbery. It was all robbery, for a poor man. After half an hour of -such depressing conversation, they had their minds quite made up that -they had been saved at the brink of a precipice; but then Szedvilas -went away, and Jonas, who was a sharp little man, reminded them that -the delicatessen business was a failure, according to its proprietor, -and that this might account for his pessimistic views. Which, of -course, reopened the subject! - -The controlling factor was that they could not stay where they -were—they had to go somewhere. And when they gave up the house plan and -decided to rent, the prospect of paying out nine dollars a month -forever they found just as hard to face. All day and all night for -nearly a whole week they wrestled with the problem, and then in the end -Jurgis took the responsibility. Brother Jonas had gotten his job, and -was pushing a truck in Durham’s; and the killing gang at Brown’s -continued to work early and late, so that Jurgis grew more confident -every hour, more certain of his mastership. It was the kind of thing -the man of the family had to decide and carry through, he told himself. -Others might have failed at it, but he was not the failing kind—he -would show them how to do it. He would work all day, and all night, -too, if need be; he would never rest until the house was paid for and -his people had a home. So he told them, and so in the end the decision -was made. - -They had talked about looking at more houses before they made the -purchase; but then they did not know where any more were, and they did -not know any way of finding out. The one they had seen held the sway in -their thoughts; whenever they thought of themselves in a house, it was -this house that they thought of. And so they went and told the agent -that they were ready to make the agreement. They knew, as an abstract -proposition, that in matters of business all men are to be accounted -liars; but they could not but have been influenced by all they had -heard from the eloquent agent, and were quite persuaded that the house -was something they had run a risk of losing by their delay. They drew a -deep breath when he told them that they were still in time. - -They were to come on the morrow, and he would have the papers all drawn -up. This matter of papers was one in which Jurgis understood to the -full the need of caution; yet he could not go himself—every one told -him that he could not get a holiday, and that he might lose his job by -asking. So there was nothing to be done but to trust it to the women, -with Szedvilas, who promised to go with them. Jurgis spent a whole -evening impressing upon them the seriousness of the occasion—and then -finally, out of innumerable hiding places about their persons and in -their baggage, came forth the precious wads of money, to be done up -tightly in a little bag and sewed fast in the lining of Teta Elzbieta’s -dress. - -Early in the morning they sallied forth. Jurgis had given them so many -instructions and warned them against so many perils, that the women -were quite pale with fright, and even the imperturbable delicatessen -vender, who prided himself upon being a businessman, was ill at ease. -The agent had the deed all ready, and invited them to sit down and read -it; this Szedvilas proceeded to do—a painful and laborious process, -during which the agent drummed upon the desk. Teta Elzbieta was so -embarrassed that the perspiration came out upon her forehead in beads; -for was not this reading as much as to say plainly to the gentleman’s -face that they doubted his honesty? Yet Jokubas Szedvilas read on and -on; and presently there developed that he had good reason for doing so. -For a horrible suspicion had begun dawning in his mind; he knitted his -brows more and more as he read. This was not a deed of sale at all, so -far as he could see—it provided only for the renting of the property! -It was hard to tell, with all this strange legal jargon, words he had -never heard before; but was not this plain—“the party of the first part -hereby covenants and agrees to rent to the said party of the second -part!” And then again—“a monthly _rental_ of twelve dollars, for a -period of eight years and four months!” Then Szedvilas took off his -spectacles, and looked at the agent, and stammered a question. - -The agent was most polite, and explained that that was the usual -formula; that it was always arranged that the property should be merely -rented. He kept trying to show them something in the next paragraph; -but Szedvilas could not get by the word “rental”—and when he translated -it to Teta Elzbieta, she too was thrown into a fright. They would not -own the home at all, then, for nearly nine years! The agent, with -infinite patience, began to explain again; but no explanation would do -now. Elzbieta had firmly fixed in her mind the last solemn warning of -Jurgis: “If there is anything wrong, do not give him the money, but go -out and get a lawyer.” It was an agonizing moment, but she sat in the -chair, her hands clenched like death, and made a fearful effort, -summoning all her powers, and gasped out her purpose. - -Jokubas translated her words. She expected the agent to fly into a -passion, but he was, to her bewilderment, as ever imperturbable; he -even offered to go and get a lawyer for her, but she declined this. -They went a long way, on purpose to find a man who would not be a -confederate. Then let any one imagine their dismay, when, after half an -hour, they came in with a lawyer, and heard him greet the agent by his -first name! They felt that all was lost; they sat like prisoners -summoned to hear the reading of their death warrant. There was nothing -more that they could do—they were trapped! The lawyer read over the -deed, and when he had read it he informed Szedvilas that it was all -perfectly regular, that the deed was a blank deed such as was often -used in these sales. And was the price as agreed? the old man -asked—three hundred dollars down, and the balance at twelve dollars a -month, till the total of fifteen hundred dollars had been paid? Yes, -that was correct. And it was for the sale of such and such a house—the -house and lot and everything? Yes,—and the lawyer showed him where that -was all written. And it was all perfectly regular—there were no tricks -about it of any sort? They were poor people, and this was all they had -in the world, and if there was anything wrong they would be ruined. And -so Szedvilas went on, asking one trembling question after another, -while the eyes of the women folks were fixed upon him in mute agony. -They could not understand what he was saying, but they knew that upon -it their fate depended. And when at last he had questioned until there -was no more questioning to be done, and the time came for them to make -up their minds, and either close the bargain or reject it, it was all -that poor Teta Elzbieta could do to keep from bursting into tears. -Jokubas had asked her if she wished to sign; he had asked her twice—and -what could she say? How did she know if this lawyer were telling the -truth—that he was not in the conspiracy? And yet, how could she say -so—what excuse could she give? The eyes of every one in the room were -upon her, awaiting her decision; and at last, half blind with her -tears, she began fumbling in her jacket, where she had pinned the -precious money. And she brought it out and unwrapped it before the men. -All of this Ona sat watching, from a corner of the room, twisting her -hands together, meantime, in a fever of fright. Ona longed to cry out -and tell her stepmother to stop, that it was all a trap; but there -seemed to be something clutching her by the throat, and she could not -make a sound. And so Teta Elzbieta laid the money on the table, and the -agent picked it up and counted it, and then wrote them a receipt for it -and passed them the deed. Then he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and rose -and shook hands with them all, still as smooth and polite as at the -beginning. Ona had a dim recollection of the lawyer telling Szedvilas -that his charge was a dollar, which occasioned some debate, and more -agony; and then, after they had paid that, too, they went out into the -street, her stepmother clutching the deed in her hand. They were so -weak from fright that they could not walk, but had to sit down on the -way. - -So they went home, with a deadly terror gnawing at their souls; and -that evening Jurgis came home and heard their story, and that was the -end. Jurgis was sure that they had been swindled, and were ruined; and -he tore his hair and cursed like a madman, swearing that he would kill -the agent that very night. In the end he seized the paper and rushed -out of the house, and all the way across the yards to Halsted Street. -He dragged Szedvilas out from his supper, and together they rushed to -consult another lawyer. When they entered his office the lawyer sprang -up, for Jurgis looked like a crazy person, with flying hair and -bloodshot eyes. His companion explained the situation, and the lawyer -took the paper and began to read it, while Jurgis stood clutching the -desk with knotted hands, trembling in every nerve. - -Once or twice the lawyer looked up and asked a question of Szedvilas; -the other did not know a word that he was saying, but his eyes were -fixed upon the lawyer’s face, striving in an agony of dread to read his -mind. He saw the lawyer look up and laugh, and he gave a gasp; the man -said something to Szedvilas, and Jurgis turned upon his friend, his -heart almost stopping. - -“Well?” he panted. - -“He says it is all right,” said Szedvilas. - -“All right!” - -“Yes, he says it is just as it should be.” And Jurgis, in his relief, -sank down into a chair. - -“Are you sure of it?” he gasped, and made Szedvilas translate question -after question. He could not hear it often enough; he could not ask -with enough variations. Yes, they had bought the house, they had really -bought it. It belonged to them, they had only to pay the money and it -would be all right. Then Jurgis covered his face with his hands, for -there were tears in his eyes, and he felt like a fool. But he had had -such a horrible fright; strong man as he was, it left him almost too -weak to stand up. - -The lawyer explained that the rental was a form—the property was said -to be merely rented until the last payment had been made, the purpose -being to make it easier to turn the party out if he did not make the -payments. So long as they paid, however, they had nothing to fear, the -house was all theirs. - -Jurgis was so grateful that he paid the half dollar the lawyer asked -without winking an eyelash, and then rushed home to tell the news to -the family. He found Ona in a faint and the babies screaming, and the -whole house in an uproar—for it had been believed by all that he had -gone to murder the agent. It was hours before the excitement could be -calmed; and all through that cruel night Jurgis would wake up now and -then and hear Ona and her stepmother in the next room, sobbing softly -to themselves. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -They had bought their home. It was hard for them to realize that the -wonderful house was theirs to move into whenever they chose. They spent -all their time thinking about it, and what they were going to put into -it. As their week with Aniele was up in three days, they lost no time -in getting ready. They had to make some shift to furnish it, and every -instant of their leisure was given to discussing this. - -A person who had such a task before him would not need to look very far -in Packingtown—he had only to walk up the avenue and read the signs, or -get into a streetcar, to obtain full information as to pretty much -everything a human creature could need. It was quite touching, the zeal -of people to see that his health and happiness were provided for. Did -the person wish to smoke? There was a little discourse about cigars, -showing him exactly why the Thomas Jefferson Five-cent Perfecto was the -only cigar worthy of the name. Had he, on the other hand, smoked too -much? Here was a remedy for the smoking habit, twenty-five doses for a -quarter, and a cure absolutely guaranteed in ten doses. In innumerable -ways such as this, the traveler found that somebody had been busied to -make smooth his paths through the world, and to let him know what had -been done for him. In Packingtown the advertisements had a style all of -their own, adapted to the peculiar population. One would be tenderly -solicitous. “Is your wife pale?” it would inquire. “Is she discouraged, -does she drag herself about the house and find fault with everything? -Why do you not tell her to try Dr. Lanahan’s Life Preservers?” Another -would be jocular in tone, slapping you on the back, so to speak. “Don’t -be a chump!” it would exclaim. “Go and get the Goliath Bunion Cure.” -“Get a move on you!” would chime in another. “It’s easy, if you wear -the Eureka Two-fifty Shoe.” - -Among these importunate signs was one that had caught the attention of -the family by its pictures. It showed two very pretty little birds -building themselves a home; and Marija had asked an acquaintance to -read it to her, and told them that it related to the furnishing of a -house. “Feather your nest,” it ran—and went on to say that it could -furnish all the necessary feathers for a four-room nest for the -ludicrously small sum of seventy-five dollars. The particularly -important thing about this offer was that only a small part of the -money need be had at once—the rest one might pay a few dollars every -month. Our friends had to have some furniture, there was no getting -away from that; but their little fund of money had sunk so low that -they could hardly get to sleep at night, and so they fled to this as -their deliverance. There was more agony and another paper for Elzbieta -to sign, and then one night when Jurgis came home, he was told the -breathless tidings that the furniture had arrived and was safely stowed -in the house: a parlor set of four pieces, a bedroom set of three -pieces, a dining room table and four chairs, a toilet set with -beautiful pink roses painted all over it, an assortment of crockery, -also with pink roses—and so on. One of the plates in the set had been -found broken when they unpacked it, and Ona was going to the store the -first thing in the morning to make them change it; also they had -promised three saucepans, and there had only two come, and did Jurgis -think that they were trying to cheat them? - -The next day they went to the house; and when the men came from work -they ate a few hurried mouthfuls at Aniele’s, and then set to work at -the task of carrying their belongings to their new home. The distance -was in reality over two miles, but Jurgis made two trips that night, -each time with a huge pile of mattresses and bedding on his head, with -bundles of clothing and bags and things tied up inside. Anywhere else -in Chicago he would have stood a good chance of being arrested; but the -policemen in Packingtown were apparently used to these informal -movings, and contented themselves with a cursory examination now and -then. It was quite wonderful to see how fine the house looked, with all -the things in it, even by the dim light of a lamp: it was really home, -and almost as exciting as the placard had described it. Ona was fairly -dancing, and she and Cousin Marija took Jurgis by the arm and escorted -him from room to room, sitting in each chair by turns, and then -insisting that he should do the same. One chair squeaked with his great -weight, and they screamed with fright, and woke the baby and brought -everybody running. Altogether it was a great day; and tired as they -were, Jurgis and Ona sat up late, contented simply to hold each other -and gaze in rapture about the room. They were going to be married as -soon as they could get everything settled, and a little spare money put -by; and this was to be their home—that little room yonder would be -theirs! - -It was in truth a never-ending delight, the fixing up of this house. -They had no money to spend for the pleasure of spending, but there were -a few absolutely necessary things, and the buying of these was a -perpetual adventure for Ona. It must always be done at night, so that -Jurgis could go along; and even if it were only a pepper cruet, or half -a dozen glasses for ten cents, that was enough for an expedition. On -Saturday night they came home with a great basketful of things, and -spread them out on the table, while every one stood round, and the -children climbed up on the chairs, or howled to be lifted up to see. -There were sugar and salt and tea and crackers, and a can of lard and a -milk pail, and a scrubbing brush, and a pair of shoes for the second -oldest boy, and a can of oil, and a tack hammer, and a pound of nails. -These last were to be driven into the walls of the kitchen and the -bedrooms, to hang things on; and there was a family discussion as to -the place where each one was to be driven. Then Jurgis would try to -hammer, and hit his fingers because the hammer was too small, and get -mad because Ona had refused to let him pay fifteen cents more and get a -bigger hammer; and Ona would be invited to try it herself, and hurt her -thumb, and cry out, which necessitated the thumb’s being kissed by -Jurgis. Finally, after every one had had a try, the nails would be -driven, and something hung up. Jurgis had come home with a big packing -box on his head, and he sent Jonas to get another that he had bought. -He meant to take one side out of these tomorrow, and put shelves in -them, and make them into bureaus and places to keep things for the -bedrooms. The nest which had been advertised had not included feathers -for quite so many birds as there were in this family. - -They had, of course, put their dining table in the kitchen, and the -dining room was used as the bedroom of Teta Elzbieta and five of her -children. She and the two youngest slept in the only bed, and the other -three had a mattress on the floor. Ona and her cousin dragged a -mattress into the parlor and slept at night, and the three men and the -oldest boy slept in the other room, having nothing but the very level -floor to rest on for the present. Even so, however, they slept -soundly—it was necessary for Teta Elzbieta to pound more than once on -the door at a quarter past five every morning. She would have ready a -great pot full of steaming black coffee, and oatmeal and bread and -smoked sausages; and then she would fix them their dinner pails with -more thick slices of bread with lard between them—they could not afford -butter—and some onions and a piece of cheese, and so they would tramp -away to work. - -This was the first time in his life that he had ever really worked, it -seemed to Jurgis; it was the first time that he had ever had anything -to do which took all he had in him. Jurgis had stood with the rest up -in the gallery and watched the men on the killing beds, marveling at -their speed and power as if they had been wonderful machines; it -somehow never occurred to one to think of the flesh-and-blood side of -it—that is, not until he actually got down into the pit and took off -his coat. Then he saw things in a different light, he got at the inside -of them. The pace they set here, it was one that called for every -faculty of a man—from the instant the first steer fell till the -sounding of the noon whistle, and again from half-past twelve till -heaven only knew what hour in the late afternoon or evening, there was -never one instant’s rest for a man, for his hand or his eye or his -brain. Jurgis saw how they managed it; there were portions of the work -which determined the pace of the rest, and for these they had picked -men whom they paid high wages, and whom they changed frequently. You -might easily pick out these pacemakers, for they worked under the eye -of the bosses, and they worked like men possessed. This was called -“speeding up the gang,” and if any man could not keep up with the pace, -there were hundreds outside begging to try. - -Yet Jurgis did not mind it; he rather enjoyed it. It saved him the -necessity of flinging his arms about and fidgeting as he did in most -work. He would laugh to himself as he ran down the line, darting a -glance now and then at the man ahead of him. It was not the pleasantest -work one could think of, but it was necessary work; and what more had a -man the right to ask than a chance to do something useful, and to get -good pay for doing it? - -So Jurgis thought, and so he spoke, in his bold, free way; very much to -his surprise, he found that it had a tendency to get him into trouble. -For most of the men here took a fearfully different view of the thing. -He was quite dismayed when he first began to find it out—that most of -the men _hated_ their work. It seemed strange, it was even terrible, -when you came to find out the universality of the sentiment; but it was -certainly the fact—they hated their work. They hated the bosses and -they hated the owners; they hated the whole place, the whole -neighborhood—even the whole city, with an all-inclusive hatred, bitter -and fierce. Women and little children would fall to cursing about it; -it was rotten, rotten as hell—everything was rotten. When Jurgis would -ask them what they meant, they would begin to get suspicious, and -content themselves with saying, “Never mind, you stay here and see for -yourself.” - -One of the first problems that Jurgis ran upon was that of the unions. -He had had no experience with unions, and he had to have it explained -to him that the men were banded together for the purpose of fighting -for their rights. Jurgis asked them what they meant by their rights, a -question in which he was quite sincere, for he had not any idea of any -rights that he had, except the right to hunt for a job, and do as he -was told when he got it. Generally, however, this harmless question -would only make his fellow workingmen lose their tempers and call him a -fool. There was a delegate of the butcher-helpers’ union who came to -see Jurgis to enroll him; and when Jurgis found that this meant that he -would have to part with some of his money, he froze up directly, and -the delegate, who was an Irishman and only knew a few words of -Lithuanian, lost his temper and began to threaten him. In the end -Jurgis got into a fine rage, and made it sufficiently plain that it -would take more than one Irishman to scare him into a union. Little by -little he gathered that the main thing the men wanted was to put a stop -to the habit of “speeding-up”; they were trying their best to force a -lessening of the pace, for there were some, they said, who could not -keep up with it, whom it was killing. But Jurgis had no sympathy with -such ideas as this—he could do the work himself, and so could the rest -of them, he declared, if they were good for anything. If they couldn’t -do it, let them go somewhere else. Jurgis had not studied the books, -and he would not have known how to pronounce “laissez faire”; but he -had been round the world enough to know that a man has to shift for -himself in it, and that if he gets the worst of it, there is nobody to -listen to him holler. - -Yet there have been known to be philosophers and plain men who swore by -Malthus in the books, and would, nevertheless, subscribe to a relief -fund in time of a famine. It was the same with Jurgis, who consigned -the unfit to destruction, while going about all day sick at heart -because of his poor old father, who was wandering somewhere in the -yards begging for a chance to earn his bread. Old Antanas had been a -worker ever since he was a child; he had run away from home when he was -twelve, because his father beat him for trying to learn to read. And he -was a faithful man, too; he was a man you might leave alone for a -month, if only you had made him understand what you wanted him to do in -the meantime. And now here he was, worn out in soul and body, and with -no more place in the world than a sick dog. He had his home, as it -happened, and some one who would care for him if he never got a job; -but his son could not help thinking, suppose this had not been the -case. Antanas Rudkus had been into every building in Packingtown by -this time, and into nearly every room; he had stood mornings among the -crowd of applicants till the very policemen had come to know his face -and to tell him to go home and give it up. He had been likewise to all -the stores and saloons for a mile about, begging for some little thing -to do; and everywhere they had ordered him out, sometimes with curses, -and not once even stopping to ask him a question. - -So, after all, there was a crack in the fine structure of Jurgis’ faith -in things as they are. The crack was wide while Dede Antanas was -hunting a job—and it was yet wider when he finally got it. For one -evening the old man came home in a great state of excitement, with the -tale that he had been approached by a man in one of the corridors of -the pickle rooms of Durham’s, and asked what he would pay to get a job. -He had not known what to make of this at first; but the man had gone on -with matter-of-fact frankness to say that he could get him a job, -provided that he were willing to pay one-third of his wages for it. Was -he a boss? Antanas had asked; to which the man had replied that that -was nobody’s business, but that he could do what he said. - -Jurgis had made some friends by this time, and he sought one of them -and asked what this meant. The friend, who was named Tamoszius -Kuszleika, was a sharp little man who folded hides on the killing beds, -and he listened to what Jurgis had to say without seeming at all -surprised. They were common enough, he said, such cases of petty graft. -It was simply some boss who proposed to add a little to his income. -After Jurgis had been there awhile he would know that the plants were -simply honeycombed with rottenness of that sort—the bosses grafted off -the men, and they grafted off each other; and some day the -superintendent would find out about the boss, and then he would graft -off the boss. Warming to the subject, Tamoszius went on to explain the -situation. Here was Durham’s, for instance, owned by a man who was -trying to make as much money out of it as he could, and did not care in -the least how he did it; and underneath him, ranged in ranks and grades -like an army, were managers and superintendents and foremen, each one -driving the man next below him and trying to squeeze out of him as much -work as possible. And all the men of the same rank were pitted against -each other; the accounts of each were kept separately, and every man -lived in terror of losing his job, if another made a better record than -he. So from top to bottom the place was simply a seething caldron of -jealousies and hatreds; there was no loyalty or decency anywhere about -it, there was no place in it where a man counted for anything against a -dollar. And worse than there being no decency, there was not even any -honesty. The reason for that? Who could say? It must have been old -Durham in the beginning; it was a heritage which the self-made merchant -had left to his son, along with his millions. - -Jurgis would find out these things for himself, if he stayed there long -enough; it was the men who had to do all the dirty jobs, and so there -was no deceiving them; and they caught the spirit of the place, and did -like all the rest. Jurgis had come there, and thought he was going to -make himself useful, and rise and become a skilled man; but he would -soon find out his error—for nobody rose in Packingtown by doing good -work. You could lay that down for a rule—if you met a man who was -rising in Packingtown, you met a knave. That man who had been sent to -Jurgis’ father by the boss, _he_ would rise; the man who told tales and -spied upon his fellows would rise; but the man who minded his own -business and did his work—why, they would “speed him up” till they had -worn him out, and then they would throw him into the gutter. - -Jurgis went home with his head buzzing. Yet he could not bring himself -to believe such things—no, it could not be so. Tamoszius was simply -another of the grumblers. He was a man who spent all his time fiddling; -and he would go to parties at night and not get home till sunrise, and -so of course he did not feel like work. Then, too, he was a puny little -chap; and so he had been left behind in the race, and that was why he -was sore. And yet so many strange things kept coming to Jurgis’ notice -every day! - -He tried to persuade his father to have nothing to do with the offer. -But old Antanas had begged until he was worn out, and all his courage -was gone; he wanted a job, any sort of a job. So the next day he went -and found the man who had spoken to him, and promised to bring him a -third of all he earned; and that same day he was put to work in -Durham’s cellars. It was a “pickle room,” where there was never a dry -spot to stand upon, and so he had to take nearly the whole of his first -week’s earnings to buy him a pair of heavy-soled boots. He was a -“squeedgie” man; his job was to go about all day with a long-handled -mop, swabbing up the floor. Except that it was damp and dark, it was -not an unpleasant job, in summer. - -Now Antanas Rudkus was the meekest man that God ever put on earth; and -so Jurgis found it a striking confirmation of what the men all said, -that his father had been at work only two days before he came home as -bitter as any of them, and cursing Durham’s with all the power of his -soul. For they had set him to cleaning out the traps; and the family -sat round and listened in wonder while he told them what that meant. It -seemed that he was working in the room where the men prepared the beef -for canning, and the beef had lain in vats full of chemicals, and men -with great forks speared it out and dumped it into trucks, to be taken -to the cooking room. When they had speared out all they could reach, -they emptied the vat on the floor, and then with shovels scraped up the -balance and dumped it into the truck. This floor was filthy, yet they -set Antanas with his mop slopping the “pickle” into a hole that -connected with a sink, where it was caught and used over again forever; -and if that were not enough, there was a trap in the pipe, where all -the scraps of meat and odds and ends of refuse were caught, and every -few days it was the old man’s task to clean these out, and shovel their -contents into one of the trucks with the rest of the meat! - -This was the experience of Antanas; and then there came also Jonas and -Marija with tales to tell. Marija was working for one of the -independent packers, and was quite beside herself and outrageous with -triumph over the sums of money she was making as a painter of cans. But -one day she walked home with a pale-faced little woman who worked -opposite to her, Jadvyga Marcinkus by name, and Jadvyga told her how -she, Marija, had chanced to get her job. She had taken the place of an -Irishwoman who had been working in that factory ever since any one -could remember. For over fifteen years, so she declared. Mary Dennis -was her name, and a long time ago she had been seduced, and had a -little boy; he was a cripple, and an epileptic, but still he was all -that she had in the world to love, and they had lived in a little room -alone somewhere back of Halsted Street, where the Irish were. Mary had -had consumption, and all day long you might hear her coughing as she -worked; of late she had been going all to pieces, and when Marija came, -the “forelady” had suddenly decided to turn her off. The forelady had -to come up to a certain standard herself, and could not stop for sick -people, Jadvyga explained. The fact that Mary had been there so long -had not made any difference to her—it was doubtful if she even knew -that, for both the forelady and the superintendent were new people, -having only been there two or three years themselves. Jadvyga did not -know what had become of the poor creature; she would have gone to see -her, but had been sick herself. She had pains in her back all the time, -Jadvyga explained, and feared that she had womb trouble. It was not fit -work for a woman, handling fourteen-pound cans all day. - -It was a striking circumstance that Jonas, too, had gotten his job by -the misfortune of some other person. Jonas pushed a truck loaded with -hams from the smoke rooms on to an elevator, and thence to the packing -rooms. The trucks were all of iron, and heavy, and they put about -threescore hams on each of them, a load of more than a quarter of a -ton. On the uneven floor it was a task for a man to start one of these -trucks, unless he was a giant; and when it was once started he -naturally tried his best to keep it going. There was always the boss -prowling about, and if there was a second’s delay he would fall to -cursing; Lithuanians and Slovaks and such, who could not understand -what was said to them, the bosses were wont to kick about the place -like so many dogs. Therefore these trucks went for the most part on the -run; and the predecessor of Jonas had been jammed against the wall by -one and crushed in a horrible and nameless manner. - -All of these were sinister incidents; but they were trifles compared to -what Jurgis saw with his own eyes before long. One curious thing he had -noticed, the very first day, in his profession of shoveler of guts; -which was the sharp trick of the floor bosses whenever there chanced to -come a “slunk” calf. Any man who knows anything about butchering knows -that the flesh of a cow that is about to calve, or has just calved, is -not fit for food. A good many of these came every day to the packing -houses—and, of course, if they had chosen, it would have been an easy -matter for the packers to keep them till they were fit for food. But -for the saving of time and fodder, it was the law that cows of that -sort came along with the others, and whoever noticed it would tell the -boss, and the boss would start up a conversation with the government -inspector, and the two would stroll away. So in a trice the carcass of -the cow would be cleaned out, and entrails would have vanished; it was -Jurgis’ task to slide them into the trap, calves and all, and on the -floor below they took out these “slunk” calves, and butchered them for -meat, and used even the skins of them. - -One day a man slipped and hurt his leg; and that afternoon, when the -last of the cattle had been disposed of, and the men were leaving, -Jurgis was ordered to remain and do some special work which this -injured man had usually done. It was late, almost dark, and the -government inspectors had all gone, and there were only a dozen or two -of men on the floor. That day they had killed about four thousand -cattle, and these cattle had come in freight trains from far states, -and some of them had got hurt. There were some with broken legs, and -some with gored sides; there were some that had died, from what cause -no one could say; and they were all to be disposed of, here in darkness -and silence. “Downers,” the men called them; and the packing house had -a special elevator upon which they were raised to the killing beds, -where the gang proceeded to handle them, with an air of businesslike -nonchalance which said plainer than any words that it was a matter of -everyday routine. It took a couple of hours to get them out of the way, -and in the end Jurgis saw them go into the chilling rooms with the rest -of the meat, being carefully scattered here and there so that they -could not be identified. When he came home that night he was in a very -somber mood, having begun to see at last how those might be right who -had laughed at him for his faith in America. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Jurgis and Ona were very much in love; they had waited a long time—it -was now well into the second year, and Jurgis judged everything by the -criterion of its helping or hindering their union. All his thoughts -were there; he accepted the family because it was a part of Ona. And he -was interested in the house because it was to be Ona’s home. Even the -tricks and cruelties he saw at Durham’s had little meaning for him just -then, save as they might happen to affect his future with Ona. - -The marriage would have been at once, if they had had their way; but -this would mean that they would have to do without any wedding feast, -and when they suggested this they came into conflict with the old -people. To Teta Elzbieta especially the very suggestion was an -affliction. What! she would cry. To be married on the roadside like a -parcel of beggars! No! No!—Elzbieta had some traditions behind her; she -had been a person of importance in her girlhood—had lived on a big -estate and had servants, and might have married well and been a lady, -but for the fact that there had been nine daughters and no sons in the -family. Even so, however, she knew what was decent, and clung to her -traditions with desperation. They were not going to lose all caste, -even if they had come to be unskilled laborers in Packingtown; and that -Ona had even talked of omitting a _veselija_ was enough to keep her -stepmother lying awake all night. It was in vain for them to say that -they had so few friends; they were bound to have friends in time, and -then the friends would talk about it. They must not give up what was -right for a little money—if they did, the money would never do them any -good, they could depend upon that. And Elzbieta would call upon Dede -Antanas to support her; there was a fear in the souls of these two, -lest this journey to a new country might somehow undermine the old home -virtues of their children. The very first Sunday they had all been -taken to mass; and poor as they were, Elzbieta had felt it advisable to -invest a little of her resources in a representation of the babe of -Bethlehem, made in plaster, and painted in brilliant colors. Though it -was only a foot high, there was a shrine with four snow-white steeples, -and the Virgin standing with her child in her arms, and the kings and -shepherds and wise men bowing down before him. It had cost fifty cents; -but Elzbieta had a feeling that money spent for such things was not to -be counted too closely, it would come back in hidden ways. The piece -was beautiful on the parlor mantel, and one could not have a home -without some sort of ornament. - -The cost of the wedding feast would, of course, be returned to them; -but the problem was to raise it even temporarily. They had been in the -neighborhood so short a time that they could not get much credit, and -there was no one except Szedvilas from whom they could borrow even a -little. Evening after evening Jurgis and Ona would sit and figure the -expenses, calculating the term of their separation. They could not -possibly manage it decently for less than two hundred dollars, and even -though they were welcome to count in the whole of the earnings of -Marija and Jonas, as a loan, they could not hope to raise this sum in -less than four or five months. So Ona began thinking of seeking -employment herself, saying that if she had even ordinarily good luck, -she might be able to take two months off the time. They were just -beginning to adjust themselves to this necessity, when out of the clear -sky there fell a thunderbolt upon them—a calamity that scattered all -their hopes to the four winds. - -About a block away from them there lived another Lithuanian family, -consisting of an elderly widow and one grown son; their name was -Majauszkis, and our friends struck up an acquaintance with them before -long. One evening they came over for a visit, and naturally the first -subject upon which the conversation turned was the neighborhood and its -history; and then Grandmother Majauszkiene, as the old lady was called, -proceeded to recite to them a string of horrors that fairly froze their -blood. She was a wrinkled-up and wizened personage—she must have been -eighty—and as she mumbled the grim story through her toothless gums, -she seemed a very old witch to them. Grandmother Majauszkiene had lived -in the midst of misfortune so long that it had come to be her element, -and she talked about starvation, sickness, and death as other people -might about weddings and holidays. - -The thing came gradually. In the first place as to the house they had -bought, it was not new at all, as they had supposed; it was about -fifteen years old, and there was nothing new upon it but the paint, -which was so bad that it needed to be put on new every year or two. The -house was one of a whole row that was built by a company which existed -to make money by swindling poor people. The family had paid fifteen -hundred dollars for it, and it had not cost the builders five hundred, -when it was new. Grandmother Majauszkiene knew that because her son -belonged to a political organization with a contractor who put up -exactly such houses. They used the very flimsiest and cheapest -material; they built the houses a dozen at a time, and they cared about -nothing at all except the outside shine. The family could take her word -as to the trouble they would have, for she had been through it all—she -and her son had bought their house in exactly the same way. They had -fooled the company, however, for her son was a skilled man, who made as -high as a hundred dollars a month, and as he had had sense enough not -to marry, they had been able to pay for the house. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene saw that her friends were puzzled at this -remark; they did not quite see how paying for the house was “fooling -the company.” Evidently they were very inexperienced. Cheap as the -houses were, they were sold with the idea that the people who bought -them would not be able to pay for them. When they failed—if it were -only by a single month—they would lose the house and all that they had -paid on it, and then the company would sell it over again. And did they -often get a chance to do that? _Dieve!_ (Grandmother Majauszkiene -raised her hands.) They did it—how often no one could say, but -certainly more than half of the time. They might ask any one who knew -anything at all about Packingtown as to that; she had been living here -ever since this house was built, and she could tell them all about it. -And had it ever been sold before? _Susimilkie!_ Why, since it had been -built, no less than four families that their informant could name had -tried to buy it and failed. She would tell them a little about it. - -The first family had been Germans. The families had all been of -different nationalities—there had been a representative of several -races that had displaced each other in the stockyards. Grandmother -Majauszkiene had come to America with her son at a time when so far as -she knew there was only one other Lithuanian family in the district; -the workers had all been Germans then—skilled cattle butchers that the -packers had brought from abroad to start the business. Afterward, as -cheaper labor had come, these Germans had moved away. The next were the -Irish—there had been six or eight years when Packingtown had been a -regular Irish city. There were a few colonies of them still here, -enough to run all the unions and the police force and get all the -graft; but most of those who were working in the packing houses had -gone away at the next drop in wages—after the big strike. The Bohemians -had come then, and after them the Poles. People said that old man -Durham himself was responsible for these immigrations; he had sworn -that he would fix the people of Packingtown so that they would never -again call a strike on him, and so he had sent his agents into every -city and village in Europe to spread the tale of the chances of work -and high wages at the stockyards. The people had come in hordes; and -old Durham had squeezed them tighter and tighter, speeding them up and -grinding them to pieces and sending for new ones. The Poles, who had -come by tens of thousands, had been driven to the wall by the -Lithuanians, and now the Lithuanians were giving way to the Slovaks. -Who there was poorer and more miserable than the Slovaks, Grandmother -Majauszkiene had no idea, but the packers would find them, never fear. -It was easy to bring them, for wages were really much higher, and it -was only when it was too late that the poor people found out that -everything else was higher too. They were like rats in a trap, that was -the truth; and more of them were piling in every day. By and by they -would have their revenge, though, for the thing was getting beyond -human endurance, and the people would rise and murder the packers. -Grandmother Majauszkiene was a socialist, or some such strange thing; -another son of hers was working in the mines of Siberia, and the old -lady herself had made speeches in her time—which made her seem all the -more terrible to her present auditors. - -They called her back to the story of the house. The German family had -been a good sort. To be sure there had been a great many of them, which -was a common failing in Packingtown; but they had worked hard, and the -father had been a steady man, and they had a good deal more than half -paid for the house. But he had been killed in an elevator accident in -Durham’s. - -Then there had come the Irish, and there had been lots of them, too; -the husband drank and beat the children—the neighbors could hear them -shrieking any night. They were behind with their rent all the time, but -the company was good to them; there was some politics back of that, -Grandmother Majauszkiene could not say just what, but the Laffertys had -belonged to the “War Whoop League,” which was a sort of political club -of all the thugs and rowdies in the district; and if you belonged to -that, you could never be arrested for anything. Once upon a time old -Lafferty had been caught with a gang that had stolen cows from several -of the poor people of the neighborhood and butchered them in an old -shanty back of the yards and sold them. He had been in jail only three -days for it, and had come out laughing, and had not even lost his place -in the packing house. He had gone all to ruin with the drink, however, -and lost his power; one of his sons, who was a good man, had kept him -and the family up for a year or two, but then he had got sick with -consumption. - -That was another thing, Grandmother Majauszkiene interrupted -herself—this house was unlucky. Every family that lived in it, some one -was sure to get consumption. Nobody could tell why that was; there must -be something about the house, or the way it was built—some folks said -it was because the building had been begun in the dark of the moon. -There were dozens of houses that way in Packingtown. Sometimes there -would be a particular room that you could point out—if anybody slept in -that room he was just as good as dead. With this house it had been the -Irish first; and then a Bohemian family had lost a child of it—though, -to be sure, that was uncertain, since it was hard to tell what was the -matter with children who worked in the yards. In those days there had -been no law about the age of children—the packers had worked all but -the babies. At this remark the family looked puzzled, and Grandmother -Majauszkiene again had to make an explanation—that it was against the -law for children to work before they were sixteen. What was the sense -of that? they asked. They had been thinking of letting little -Stanislovas go to work. Well, there was no need to worry, Grandmother -Majauszkiene said—the law made no difference except that it forced -people to lie about the ages of their children. One would like to know -what the lawmakers expected them to do; there were families that had no -possible means of support except the children, and the law provided -them no other way of getting a living. Very often a man could get no -work in Packingtown for months, while a child could go and get a place -easily; there was always some new machine, by which the packers could -get as much work out of a child as they had been able to get out of a -man, and for a third of the pay. - -To come back to the house again, it was the woman of the next family -that had died. That was after they had been there nearly four years, -and this woman had had twins regularly every year—and there had been -more than you could count when they moved in. After she died the man -would go to work all day and leave them to shift for themselves—the -neighbors would help them now and then, for they would almost freeze to -death. At the end there were three days that they were alone, before it -was found out that the father was dead. He was a “floorsman” at -Jones’s, and a wounded steer had broken loose and mashed him against a -pillar. Then the children had been taken away, and the company had sold -the house that very same week to a party of emigrants. - -So this grim old woman went on with her tale of horrors. How much of it -was exaggeration—who could tell? It was only too plausible. There was -that about consumption, for instance. They knew nothing about -consumption whatever, except that it made people cough; and for two -weeks they had been worrying about a coughing-spell of Antanas. It -seemed to shake him all over, and it never stopped; you could see a red -stain wherever he had spit upon the floor. - -And yet all these things were as nothing to what came a little later. -They had begun to question the old lady as to why one family had been -unable to pay, trying to show her by figures that it ought to have been -possible; and Grandmother Majauszkiene had disputed their figures—“You -say twelve dollars a month; but that does not include the interest.” - -Then they stared at her. “Interest!” they cried. - -“Interest on the money you still owe,” she answered. - -“But we don’t have to pay any interest!” they exclaimed, three or four -at once. “We only have to pay twelve dollars each month.” - -And for this she laughed at them. “You are like all the rest,” she -said; “they trick you and eat you alive. They never sell the houses -without interest. Get your deed, and see.” - -Then, with a horrible sinking of the heart, Teta Elzbieta unlocked her -bureau and brought out the paper that had already caused them so many -agonies. Now they sat round, scarcely breathing, while the old lady, -who could read English, ran over it. “Yes,” she said, finally, “here it -is, of course: ‘With interest thereon monthly, at the rate of seven per -cent per annum.’” - -And there followed a dead silence. “What does that mean?” asked Jurgis -finally, almost in a whisper. - -“That means,” replied the other, “that you have to pay them seven -dollars next month, as well as the twelve dollars.” - -Then again there was not a sound. It was sickening, like a nightmare, -in which suddenly something gives way beneath you, and you feel -yourself sinking, sinking, down into bottomless abysses. As if in a -flash of lightning they saw themselves—victims of a relentless fate, -cornered, trapped, in the grip of destruction. All the fair structure -of their hopes came crashing about their ears.—And all the time the old -woman was going on talking. They wished that she would be still; her -voice sounded like the croaking of some dismal raven. Jurgis sat with -his hands clenched and beads of perspiration on his forehead, and there -was a great lump in Ona’s throat, choking her. Then suddenly Teta -Elzbieta broke the silence with a wail, and Marija began to wring her -hands and sob, “_Ai! Ai! Beda man!_” - -All their outcry did them no good, of course. There sat Grandmother -Majauszkiene, unrelenting, typifying fate. No, of course it was not -fair, but then fairness had nothing to do with it. And of course they -had not known it. They had not been intended to know it. But it was in -the deed, and that was all that was necessary, as they would find when -the time came. - -Somehow or other they got rid of their guest, and then they passed a -night of lamentation. The children woke up and found out that something -was wrong, and they wailed and would not be comforted. In the morning, -of course, most of them had to go to work, the packing houses would not -stop for their sorrows; but by seven o’clock Ona and her stepmother -were standing at the door of the office of the agent. Yes, he told -them, when he came, it was quite true that they would have to pay -interest. And then Teta Elzbieta broke forth into protestations and -reproaches, so that the people outside stopped and peered in at the -window. The agent was as bland as ever. He was deeply pained, he said. -He had not told them, simply because he had supposed they would -understand that they had to pay interest upon their debt, as a matter -of course. - -So they came away, and Ona went down to the yards, and at noontime saw -Jurgis and told him. Jurgis took it stolidly—he had made up his mind to -it by this time. It was part of fate; they would manage it somehow—he -made his usual answer, “I will work harder.” It would upset their plans -for a time; and it would perhaps be necessary for Ona to get work after -all. Then Ona added that Teta Elzbieta had decided that little -Stanislovas would have to work too. It was not fair to let Jurgis and -her support the family—the family would have to help as it could. -Previously Jurgis had scouted this idea, but now knit his brows and -nodded his head slowly—yes, perhaps it would be best; they would all -have to make some sacrifices now. - -So Ona set out that day to hunt for work; and at night Marija came home -saying that she had met a girl named Jasaityte who had a friend that -worked in one of the wrapping rooms in Brown’s, and might get a place -for Ona there; only the forelady was the kind that takes presents—it -was no use for any one to ask her for a place unless at the same time -they slipped a ten-dollar bill into her hand. Jurgis was not in the -least surprised at this now—he merely asked what the wages of the place -would be. So negotiations were opened, and after an interview Ona came -home and reported that the forelady seemed to like her, and had said -that, while she was not sure, she thought she might be able to put her -at work sewing covers on hams, a job at which she would earn as much as -eight or ten dollars a week. That was a bid, so Marija reported, after -consulting her friend; and then there was an anxious conference at -home. The work was done in one of the cellars, and Jurgis did not want -Ona to work in such a place; but then it was easy work, and one could -not have everything. So in the end Ona, with a ten-dollar bill burning -a hole in her palm, had another interview with the forelady. - -Meantime Teta Elzbieta had taken Stanislovas to the priest and gotten a -certificate to the effect that he was two years older than he was; and -with it the little boy now sallied forth to make his fortune in the -world. It chanced that Durham had just put in a wonderful new lard -machine, and when the special policeman in front of the time station -saw Stanislovas and his document, he smiled to himself and told him to -go—“Czia! Czia!” pointing. And so Stanislovas went down a long stone -corridor, and up a flight of stairs, which took him into a room lighted -by electricity, with the new machines for filling lard cans at work in -it. The lard was finished on the floor above, and it came in little -jets, like beautiful, wriggling, snow-white snakes of unpleasant odor. -There were several kinds and sizes of jets, and after a certain precise -quantity had come out, each stopped automatically, and the wonderful -machine made a turn, and took the can under another jet, and so on, -until it was filled neatly to the brim, and pressed tightly, and -smoothed off. To attend to all this and fill several hundred cans of -lard per hour, there were necessary two human creatures, one of whom -knew how to place an empty lard can on a certain spot every few -seconds, and the other of whom knew how to take a full lard can off a -certain spot every few seconds and set it upon a tray. - -And so, after little Stanislovas had stood gazing timidly about him for -a few minutes, a man approached him, and asked what he wanted, to which -Stanislovas said, “Job.” Then the man said “How old?” and Stanislovas -answered, “Sixtin.” Once or twice every year a state inspector would -come wandering through the packing plants, asking a child here and -there how old he was; and so the packers were very careful to comply -with the law, which cost them as much trouble as was now involved in -the boss’s taking the document from the little boy, and glancing at it, -and then sending it to the office to be filed away. Then he set some -one else at a different job, and showed the lad how to place a lard can -every time the empty arm of the remorseless machine came to him; and so -was decided the place in the universe of little Stanislovas, and his -destiny till the end of his days. Hour after hour, day after day, year -after year, it was fated that he should stand upon a certain square -foot of floor from seven in the morning until noon, and again from -half-past twelve till half-past five, making never a motion and -thinking never a thought, save for the setting of lard cans. In summer -the stench of the warm lard would be nauseating, and in winter the cans -would all but freeze to his naked little fingers in the unheated -cellar. Half the year it would be dark as night when he went in to -work, and dark as night again when he came out, and so he would never -know what the sun looked like on weekdays. And for this, at the end of -the week, he would carry home three dollars to his family, being his -pay at the rate of five cents per hour—just about his proper share of -the total earnings of the million and three-quarters of children who -are now engaged in earning their livings in the United States. - -And meantime, because they were young, and hope is not to be stifled -before its time, Jurgis and Ona were again calculating; for they had -discovered that the wages of Stanislovas would a little more than pay -the interest, which left them just about as they had been before! It -would be but fair to them to say that the little boy was delighted with -his work, and at the idea of earning a lot of money; and also that the -two were very much in love with each other. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -All summer long the family toiled, and in the fall they had money -enough for Jurgis and Ona to be married according to home traditions of -decency. In the latter part of November they hired a hall, and invited -all their new acquaintances, who came and left them over a hundred -dollars in debt. - -It was a bitter and cruel experience, and it plunged them into an agony -of despair. Such a time, of all times, for them to have it, when their -hearts were made tender! Such a pitiful beginning it was for their -married life; they loved each other so, and they could not have the -briefest respite! It was a time when everything cried out to them that -they ought to be happy; when wonder burned in their hearts, and leaped -into flame at the slightest breath. They were shaken to the depths of -them, with the awe of love realized—and was it so very weak of them -that they cried out for a little peace? They had opened their hearts, -like flowers to the springtime, and the merciless winter had fallen -upon them. They wondered if ever any love that had blossomed in the -world had been so crushed and trampled! - -Over them, relentless and savage, there cracked the lash of want; the -morning after the wedding it sought them as they slept, and drove them -out before daybreak to work. Ona was scarcely able to stand with -exhaustion; but if she were to lose her place they would be ruined, and -she would surely lose it if she were not on time that day. They all had -to go, even little Stanislovas, who was ill from overindulgence in -sausages and sarsaparilla. All that day he stood at his lard machine, -rocking unsteadily, his eyes closing in spite of him; and he all but -lost his place even so, for the foreman booted him twice to waken him. - -It was fully a week before they were all normal again, and meantime, -with whining children and cross adults, the house was not a pleasant -place to live in. Jurgis lost his temper very little, however, all -things considered. It was because of Ona; the least glance at her was -always enough to make him control himself. She was so sensitive—she was -not fitted for such a life as this; and a hundred times a day, when he -thought of her, he would clench his hands and fling himself again at -the task before him. She was too good for him, he told himself, and he -was afraid, because she was his. So long he had hungered to possess -her, but now that the time had come he knew that he had not earned the -right; that she trusted him so was all her own simple goodness, and no -virtue of his. But he was resolved that she should never find this out, -and so was always on the watch to see that he did not betray any of his -ugly self; he would take care even in little matters, such as his -manners, and his habit of swearing when things went wrong. The tears -came so easily into Ona’s eyes, and she would look at him so -appealingly—it kept Jurgis quite busy making resolutions, in addition -to all the other things he had on his mind. It was true that more -things were going on at this time in the mind of Jurgis than ever had -in all his life before. - -He had to protect her, to do battle for her against the horror he saw -about them. He was all that she had to look to, and if he failed she -would be lost; he would wrap his arms about her, and try to hide her -from the world. He had learned the ways of things about him now. It was -a war of each against all, and the devil take the hindmost. You did not -give feasts to other people, you waited for them to give feasts to you. -You went about with your soul full of suspicion and hatred; you -understood that you were environed by hostile powers that were trying -to get your money, and who used all the virtues to bait their traps -with. The store-keepers plastered up their windows with all sorts of -lies to entice you; the very fences by the wayside, the lampposts and -telegraph poles, were pasted over with lies. The great corporation -which employed you lied to you, and lied to the whole country—from top -to bottom it was nothing but one gigantic lie. - -So Jurgis said that he understood it; and yet it was really pitiful, -for the struggle was so unfair—some had so much the advantage! Here he -was, for instance, vowing upon his knees that he would save Ona from -harm, and only a week later she was suffering atrociously, and from the -blow of an enemy that he could not possibly have thwarted. There came a -day when the rain fell in torrents; and it being December, to be wet -with it and have to sit all day long in one of the cold cellars of -Brown’s was no laughing matter. Ona was a working girl, and did not own -waterproofs and such things, and so Jurgis took her and put her on the -streetcar. Now it chanced that this car line was owned by gentlemen who -were trying to make money. And the city having passed an ordinance -requiring them to give transfers, they had fallen into a rage; and -first they had made a rule that transfers could be had only when the -fare was paid; and later, growing still uglier, they had made -another—that the passenger must ask for the transfer, the conductor was -not allowed to offer it. Now Ona had been told that she was to get a -transfer; but it was not her way to speak up, and so she merely waited, -following the conductor about with her eyes, wondering when he would -think of her. When at last the time came for her to get out, she asked -for the transfer, and was refused. Not knowing what to make of this, -she began to argue with the conductor, in a language of which he did -not understand a word. After warning her several times, he pulled the -bell and the car went on—at which Ona burst into tears. At the next -corner she got out, of course; and as she had no more money, she had to -walk the rest of the way to the yards in the pouring rain. And so all -day long she sat shivering, and came home at night with her teeth -chattering and pains in her head and back. For two weeks afterward she -suffered cruelly—and yet every day she had to drag herself to her work. -The forewoman was especially severe with Ona, because she believed that -she was obstinate on account of having been refused a holiday the day -after her wedding. Ona had an idea that her “forelady” did not like to -have her girls marry—perhaps because she was old and ugly and unmarried -herself. - -There were many such dangers, in which the odds were all against them. -Their children were not as well as they had been at home; but how could -they know that there was no sewer to their house, and that the drainage -of fifteen years was in a cesspool under it? How could they know that -the pale-blue milk that they bought around the corner was watered, and -doctored with formaldehyde besides? When the children were not well at -home, Teta Elzbieta would gather herbs and cure them; now she was -obliged to go to the drugstore and buy extracts—and how was she to know -that they were all adulterated? How could they find out that their tea -and coffee, their sugar and flour, had been doctored; that their canned -peas had been colored with copper salts, and their fruit jams with -aniline dyes? And even if they had known it, what good would it have -done them, since there was no place within miles of them where any -other sort was to be had? The bitter winter was coming, and they had to -save money to get more clothing and bedding; but it would not matter in -the least how much they saved, they could not get anything to keep them -warm. All the clothing that was to be had in the stores was made of -cotton and shoddy, which is made by tearing old clothes to pieces and -weaving the fiber again. If they paid higher prices, they might get -frills and fanciness, or be cheated; but genuine quality they could not -obtain for love nor money. A young friend of Szedvilas’, recently come -from abroad, had become a clerk in a store on Ashland Avenue, and he -narrated with glee a trick that had been played upon an unsuspecting -countryman by his boss. The customer had desired to purchase an alarm -clock, and the boss had shown him two exactly similar, telling him that -the price of one was a dollar and of the other a dollar seventy-five. -Upon being asked what the difference was, the man had wound up the -first halfway and the second all the way, and showed the customer how -the latter made twice as much noise; upon which the customer remarked -that he was a sound sleeper, and had better take the more expensive -clock! - -There is a poet who sings that - - -“Deeper their heart grows and nobler their bearing, -Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.” - - -But it was not likely that he had reference to the kind of anguish that -comes with destitution, that is so endlessly bitter and cruel, and yet -so sordid and petty, so ugly, so humiliating—unredeemed by the -slightest touch of dignity or even of pathos. It is a kind of anguish -that poets have not commonly dealt with; its very words are not -admitted into the vocabulary of poets—the details of it cannot be told -in polite society at all. How, for instance, could any one expect to -excite sympathy among lovers of good literature by telling how a family -found their home alive with vermin, and of all the suffering and -inconvenience and humiliation they were put to, and the hard-earned -money they spent, in efforts to get rid of them? After long hesitation -and uncertainty they paid twenty-five cents for a big package of insect -powder—a patent preparation which chanced to be ninety-five per cent -gypsum, a harmless earth which had cost about two cents to prepare. Of -course it had not the least effect, except upon a few roaches which had -the misfortune to drink water after eating it, and so got their inwards -set in a coating of plaster of Paris. The family, having no idea of -this, and no more money to throw away, had nothing to do but give up -and submit to one more misery for the rest of their days. - -Then there was old Antanas. The winter came, and the place where he -worked was a dark, unheated cellar, where you could see your breath all -day, and where your fingers sometimes tried to freeze. So the old man’s -cough grew every day worse, until there came a time when it hardly ever -stopped, and he had become a nuisance about the place. Then, too, a -still more dreadful thing happened to him; he worked in a place where -his feet were soaked in chemicals, and it was not long before they had -eaten through his new boots. Then sores began to break out on his feet, -and grow worse and worse. Whether it was that his blood was bad, or -there had been a cut, he could not say; but he asked the men about it, -and learned that it was a regular thing—it was the saltpeter. Every one -felt it, sooner or later, and then it was all up with him, at least for -that sort of work. The sores would never heal—in the end his toes would -drop off, if he did not quit. Yet old Antanas would not quit; he saw -the suffering of his family, and he remembered what it had cost him to -get a job. So he tied up his feet, and went on limping about and -coughing, until at last he fell to pieces, all at once and in a heap, -like the One-Horse Shay. They carried him to a dry place and laid him -on the floor, and that night two of the men helped him home. The poor -old man was put to bed, and though he tried it every morning until the -end, he never could get up again. He would lie there and cough and -cough, day and night, wasting away to a mere skeleton. There came a -time when there was so little flesh on him that the bones began to poke -through—which was a horrible thing to see or even to think of. And one -night he had a choking fit, and a little river of blood came out of his -mouth. The family, wild with terror, sent for a doctor, and paid half a -dollar to be told that there was nothing to be done. Mercifully the -doctor did not say this so that the old man could hear, for he was -still clinging to the faith that tomorrow or next day he would be -better, and could go back to his job. The company had sent word to him -that they would keep it for him—or rather Jurgis had bribed one of the -men to come one Sunday afternoon and say they had. Dede Antanas -continued to believe it, while three more hemorrhages came; and then at -last one morning they found him stiff and cold. Things were not going -well with them then, and though it nearly broke Teta Elzbieta’s heart, -they were forced to dispense with nearly all the decencies of a -funeral; they had only a hearse, and one hack for the women and -children; and Jurgis, who was learning things fast, spent all Sunday -making a bargain for these, and he made it in the presence of -witnesses, so that when the man tried to charge him for all sorts of -incidentals, he did not have to pay. For twenty-five years old Antanas -Rudkus and his son had dwelt in the forest together, and it was hard to -part in this way; perhaps it was just as well that Jurgis had to give -all his attention to the task of having a funeral without being -bankrupted, and so had no time to indulge in memories and grief. - -Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forests, all summer -long, the branches of the trees do battle for light, and some of them -lose and die; and then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow -and hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches. Just so it -was in Packingtown; the whole district braced itself for the struggle -that was an agony, and those whose time was come died off in hordes. -All the year round they had been serving as cogs in the great packing -machine; and now was the time for the renovating of it, and the -replacing of damaged parts. There came pneumonia and grippe, stalking -among them, seeking for weakened constitutions; there was the annual -harvest of those whom tuberculosis had been dragging down. There came -cruel, cold, and biting winds, and blizzards of snow, all testing -relentlessly for failing muscles and impoverished blood. Sooner or -later came the day when the unfit one did not report for work; and -then, with no time lost in waiting, and no inquiries or regrets, there -was a chance for a new hand. - -The new hands were here by the thousands. All day long the gates of the -packing houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, -literally, by the thousands every single morning, fighting with each -other for a chance for life. Blizzards and cold made no difference to -them, they were always on hand; they were on hand two hours before the -sun rose, an hour before the work began. Sometimes their faces froze, -sometimes their feet and their hands; sometimes they froze all -together—but still they came, for they had no other place to go. One -day Durham advertised in the paper for two hundred men to cut ice; and -all that day the homeless and starving of the city came trudging -through the snow from all over its two hundred square miles. That night -forty score of them crowded into the station house of the stockyards -district—they filled the rooms, sleeping in each other’s laps, toboggan -fashion, and they piled on top of each other in the corridors, till the -police shut the doors and left some to freeze outside. On the morrow, -before daybreak, there were three thousand at Durham’s, and the police -reserves had to be sent for to quell the riot. Then Durham’s bosses -picked out twenty of the biggest; the “two hundred” proved to have been -a printer’s error. - -Four or five miles to the eastward lay the lake, and over this the -bitter winds came raging. Sometimes the thermometer would fall to ten -or twenty degrees below zero at night, and in the morning the streets -would be piled with snowdrifts up to the first-floor windows. The -streets through which our friends had to go to their work were all -unpaved and full of deep holes and gullies; in summer, when it rained -hard, a man might have to wade to his waist to get to his house; and -now in winter it was no joke getting through these places, before light -in the morning and after dark at night. They would wrap up in all they -owned, but they could not wrap up against exhaustion; and many a man -gave out in these battles with the snowdrifts, and lay down and fell -asleep. - -And if it was bad for the men, one may imagine how the women and -children fared. Some would ride in the cars, if the cars were running; -but when you are making only five cents an hour, as was little -Stanislovas, you do not like to spend that much to ride two miles. The -children would come to the yards with great shawls about their ears, -and so tied up that you could hardly find them—and still there would be -accidents. One bitter morning in February the little boy who worked at -the lard machine with Stanislovas came about an hour late, and -screaming with pain. They unwrapped him, and a man began vigorously -rubbing his ears; and as they were frozen stiff, it took only two or -three rubs to break them short off. As a result of this, little -Stanislovas conceived a terror of the cold that was almost a mania. -Every morning, when it came time to start for the yards, he would begin -to cry and protest. Nobody knew quite how to manage him, for threats -did no good—it seemed to be something that he could not control, and -they feared sometimes that he would go into convulsions. In the end it -had to be arranged that he always went with Jurgis, and came home with -him again; and often, when the snow was deep, the man would carry him -the whole way on his shoulders. Sometimes Jurgis would be working until -late at night, and then it was pitiful, for there was no place for the -little fellow to wait, save in the doorways or in a corner of the -killing beds, and he would all but fall asleep there, and freeze to -death. - -There was no heat upon the killing beds; the men might exactly as well -have worked out of doors all winter. For that matter, there was very -little heat anywhere in the building, except in the cooking rooms and -such places—and it was the men who worked in these who ran the most -risk of all, because whenever they had to pass to another room they had -to go through ice-cold corridors, and sometimes with nothing on above -the waist except a sleeveless undershirt. On the killing beds you were -apt to be covered with blood, and it would freeze solid; if you leaned -against a pillar, you would freeze to that, and if you put your hand -upon the blade of your knife, you would run a chance of leaving your -skin on it. The men would tie up their feet in newspapers and old -sacks, and these would be soaked in blood and frozen, and then soaked -again, and so on, until by nighttime a man would be walking on great -lumps the size of the feet of an elephant. Now and then, when the -bosses were not looking, you would see them plunging their feet and -ankles into the steaming hot carcass of the steer, or darting across -the room to the hot-water jets. The cruelest thing of all was that -nearly all of them—all of those who used knives—were unable to wear -gloves, and their arms would be white with frost and their hands would -grow numb, and then of course there would be accidents. Also the air -would be full of steam, from the hot water and the hot blood, so that -you could not see five feet before you; and then, with men rushing -about at the speed they kept up on the killing beds, and all with -butcher knives, like razors, in their hands—well, it was to be counted -as a wonder that there were not more men slaughtered than cattle. - -And yet all this inconvenience they might have put up with, if only it -had not been for one thing—if only there had been some place where they -might eat. Jurgis had either to eat his dinner amid the stench in which -he had worked, or else to rush, as did all his companions, to any one -of the hundreds of liquor stores which stretched out their arms to him. -To the west of the yards ran Ashland Avenue, and here was an unbroken -line of saloons—“Whiskey Row,” they called it; to the north was -Forty-seventh Street, where there were half a dozen to the block, and -at the angle of the two was “Whiskey Point,” a space of fifteen or -twenty acres, and containing one glue factory and about two hundred -saloons. - -One might walk among these and take his choice: “Hot pea-soup and -boiled cabbage today.” “Sauerkraut and hot frankfurters. Walk in.” -“Bean soup and stewed lamb. Welcome.” All of these things were printed -in many languages, as were also the names of the resorts, which were -infinite in their variety and appeal. There was the “Home Circle” and -the “Cosey Corner”; there were “Firesides” and “Hearthstones” and -“Pleasure Palaces” and “Wonderlands” and “Dream Castles” and “Love’s -Delights.” Whatever else they were called, they were sure to be called -“Union Headquarters,” and to hold out a welcome to workingmen; and -there was always a warm stove, and a chair near it, and some friends to -laugh and talk with. There was only one condition attached,—you must -drink. If you went in not intending to drink, you would be put out in -no time, and if you were slow about going, like as not you would get -your head split open with a beer bottle in the bargain. But all of the -men understood the convention and drank; they believed that by it they -were getting something for nothing—for they did not need to take more -than one drink, and upon the strength of it they might fill themselves -up with a good hot dinner. This did not always work out in practice, -however, for there was pretty sure to be a friend who would treat you, -and then you would have to treat him. Then some one else would come -in—and, anyhow, a few drinks were good for a man who worked hard. As he -went back he did not shiver so, he had more courage for his task; the -deadly brutalizing monotony of it did not afflict him so,—he had ideas -while he worked, and took a more cheerful view of his circumstances. On -the way home, however, the shivering was apt to come on him again; and -so he would have to stop once or twice to warm up against the cruel -cold. As there were hot things to eat in this saloon too, he might get -home late to his supper, or he might not get home at all. And then his -wife might set out to look for him, and she too would feel the cold; -and perhaps she would have some of the children with her—and so a whole -family would drift into drinking, as the current of a river drifts -downstream. As if to complete the chain, the packers all paid their men -in checks, refusing all requests to pay in coin; and where in -Packingtown could a man go to have his check cashed but to a saloon, -where he could pay for the favor by spending a part of the money? - -From all of these things Jurgis was saved because of Ona. He never -would take but the one drink at noontime; and so he got the reputation -of being a surly fellow, and was not quite welcome at the saloons, and -had to drift about from one to another. Then at night he would go -straight home, helping Ona and Stanislovas, or often putting the former -on a car. And when he got home perhaps he would have to trudge several -blocks, and come staggering back through the snowdrifts with a bag of -coal upon his shoulder. Home was not a very attractive place—at least -not this winter. They had only been able to buy one stove, and this was -a small one, and proved not big enough to warm even the kitchen in the -bitterest weather. This made it hard for Teta Elzbieta all day, and for -the children when they could not get to school. At night they would sit -huddled round this stove, while they ate their supper off their laps; -and then Jurgis and Jonas would smoke a pipe, after which they would -all crawl into their beds to get warm, after putting out the fire to -save the coal. Then they would have some frightful experiences with the -cold. They would sleep with all their clothes on, including their -overcoats, and put over them all the bedding and spare clothing they -owned; the children would sleep all crowded into one bed, and yet even -so they could not keep warm. The outside ones would be shivering and -sobbing, crawling over the others and trying to get down into the -center, and causing a fight. This old house with the leaky -weatherboards was a very different thing from their cabins at home, -with great thick walls plastered inside and outside with mud; and the -cold which came upon them was a living thing, a demon-presence in the -room. They would waken in the midnight hours, when everything was -black; perhaps they would hear it yelling outside, or perhaps there -would be deathlike stillness—and that would be worse yet. They could -feel the cold as it crept in through the cracks, reaching out for them -with its icy, death-dealing fingers; and they would crouch and cower, -and try to hide from it, all in vain. It would come, and it would come; -a grisly thing, a specter born in the black caverns of terror; a power -primeval, cosmic, shadowing the tortures of the lost souls flung out to -chaos and destruction. It was cruel iron-hard; and hour after hour they -would cringe in its grasp, alone, alone. There would be no one to hear -them if they cried out; there would be no help, no mercy. And so on -until morning—when they would go out to another day of toil, a little -weaker, a little nearer to the time when it would be their turn to be -shaken from the tree. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Yet even by this deadly winter the germ of hope was not to be kept from -sprouting in their hearts. It was just at this time that the great -adventure befell Marija. - -The victim was Tamoszius Kuszleika, who played the violin. Everybody -laughed at them, for Tamoszius was petite and frail, and Marija could -have picked him up and carried him off under one arm. But perhaps that -was why she fascinated him; the sheer volume of Marija’s energy was -overwhelming. That first night at the wedding Tamoszius had hardly -taken his eyes off her; and later on, when he came to find that she had -really the heart of a baby, her voice and her violence ceased to -terrify him, and he got the habit of coming to pay her visits on Sunday -afternoons. There was no place to entertain company except in the -kitchen, in the midst of the family, and Tamoszius would sit there with -his hat between his knees, never saying more than half a dozen words at -a time, and turning red in the face before he managed to say those; -until finally Jurgis would clap him upon the back, in his hearty way, -crying, “Come now, brother, give us a tune.” And then Tamoszius’ face -would light up and he would get out his fiddle, tuck it under his chin, -and play. And forthwith the soul of him would flame up and become -eloquent—it was almost an impropriety, for all the while his gaze would -be fixed upon Marija’s face, until she would begin to turn red and -lower her eyes. There was no resisting the music of Tamoszius, however; -even the children would sit awed and wondering, and the tears would run -down Teta Elzbieta’s cheeks. A wonderful privilege it was to be thus -admitted into the soul of a man of genius, to be allowed to share the -ecstasies and the agonies of his inmost life. - -Then there were other benefits accruing to Marija from this -friendship—benefits of a more substantial nature. People paid Tamoszius -big money to come and make music on state occasions; and also they -would invite him to parties and festivals, knowing well that he was too -good-natured to come without his fiddle, and that having brought it, he -could be made to play while others danced. Once he made bold to ask -Marija to accompany him to such a party, and Marija accepted, to his -great delight—after which he never went anywhere without her, while if -the celebration were given by friends of his, he would invite the rest -of the family also. In any case Marija would bring back a huge -pocketful of cakes and sandwiches for the children, and stories of all -the good things she herself had managed to consume. She was compelled, -at these parties, to spend most of her time at the refreshment table, -for she could not dance with anybody except other women and very old -men; Tamoszius was of an excitable temperament, and afflicted with a -frantic jealousy, and any unmarried man who ventured to put his arm -about the ample waist of Marija would be certain to throw the orchestra -out of tune. - -It was a great help to a person who had to toil all the week to be able -to look forward to some such relaxation as this on Saturday nights. The -family was too poor and too hardworked to make many acquaintances; in -Packingtown, as a rule, people know only their near neighbors and -shopmates, and so the place is like a myriad of little country -villages. But now there was a member of the family who was permitted to -travel and widen her horizon; and so each week there would be new -personalities to talk about,—how so-and-so was dressed, and where she -worked, and what she got, and whom she was in love with; and how this -man had jilted his girl, and how she had quarreled with the other girl, -and what had passed between them; and how another man beat his wife, -and spent all her earnings upon drink, and pawned her very clothes. -Some people would have scorned this talk as gossip; but then one has to -talk about what one knows. - -It was one Saturday night, as they were coming home from a wedding, -that Tamoszius found courage, and set down his violin case in the -street and spoke his heart; and then Marija clasped him in her arms. -She told them all about it the next day, and fairly cried with -happiness, for she said that Tamoszius was a lovely man. After that he -no longer made love to her with his fiddle, but they would sit for -hours in the kitchen, blissfully happy in each other’s arms; it was the -tacit convention of the family to know nothing of what was going on in -that corner. - -They were planning to be married in the spring, and have the garret of -the house fixed up, and live there. Tamoszius made good wages; and -little by little the family were paying back their debt to Marija, so -she ought soon to have enough to start life upon—only, with her -preposterous softheartedness, she would insist upon spending a good -part of her money every week for things which she saw they needed. -Marija was really the capitalist of the party, for she had become an -expert can painter by this time—she was getting fourteen cents for -every hundred and ten cans, and she could paint more than two cans -every minute. Marija felt, so to speak, that she had her hand on the -throttle, and the neighborhood was vocal with her rejoicings. - -Yet her friends would shake their heads and tell her to go slow; one -could not count upon such good fortune forever—there were accidents -that always happened. But Marija was not to be prevailed upon, and went -on planning and dreaming of all the treasures she was going to have for -her home; and so, when the crash did come, her grief was painful to -see. - -For her canning factory shut down! Marija would about as soon have -expected to see the sun shut down—the huge establishment had been to -her a thing akin to the planets and the seasons. But now it was shut! -And they had not given her any explanation, they had not even given her -a day’s warning; they had simply posted a notice one Saturday that all -hands would be paid off that afternoon, and would not resume work for -at least a month! And that was all that there was to it—her job was -gone! - -It was the holiday rush that was over, the girls said in answer to -Marija’s inquiries; after that there was always a slack. Sometimes the -factory would start up on half time after a while, but there was no -telling—it had been known to stay closed until way into the summer. The -prospects were bad at present, for truckmen who worked in the -storerooms said that these were piled up to the ceilings, so that the -firm could not have found room for another week’s output of cans. And -they had turned off three-quarters of these men, which was a still -worse sign, since it meant that there were no orders to be filled. It -was all a swindle, can-painting, said the girls—you were crazy with -delight because you were making twelve or fourteen dollars a week, and -saving half of it; but you had to spend it all keeping alive while you -were out, and so your pay was really only half what you thought. - -Marija came home, and because she was a person who could not rest -without danger of explosion, they first had a great house cleaning, and -then she set out to search Packingtown for a job to fill up the gap. As -nearly all the canning establishments were shut down, and all the girls -hunting work, it will be readily understood that Marija did not find -any. Then she took to trying the stores and saloons, and when this -failed she even traveled over into the far-distant regions near the -lake front, where lived the rich people in great palaces, and begged -there for some sort of work that could be done by a person who did not -know English. - -The men upon the killing beds felt also the effects of the slump which -had turned Marija out; but they felt it in a different way, and a way -which made Jurgis understand at last all their bitterness. The big -packers did not turn their hands off and close down, like the canning -factories; but they began to run for shorter and shorter hours. They -had always required the men to be on the killing beds and ready for -work at seven o’clock, although there was almost never any work to be -done till the buyers out in the yards had gotten to work, and some -cattle had come over the chutes. That would often be ten or eleven -o’clock, which was bad enough, in all conscience; but now, in the slack -season, they would perhaps not have a thing for their men to do till -late in the afternoon. And so they would have to loaf around, in a -place where the thermometer might be twenty degrees below zero! At -first one would see them running about, or skylarking with each other, -trying to keep warm; but before the day was over they would become -quite chilled through and exhausted, and, when the cattle finally came, -so near frozen that to move was an agony. And then suddenly the place -would spring into activity, and the merciless “speeding-up” would -begin! - -There were weeks at a time when Jurgis went home after such a day as -this with not more than two hours’ work to his credit—which meant about -thirty-five cents. There were many days when the total was less than -half an hour, and others when there was none at all. The general -average was six hours a day, which meant for Jurgis about six dollars a -week; and this six hours of work would be done after standing on the -killing bed till one o’clock, or perhaps even three or four o’clock, in -the afternoon. Like as not there would come a rush of cattle at the -very end of the day, which the men would have to dispose of before they -went home, often working by electric light till nine or ten, or even -twelve or one o’clock, and without a single instant for a bite of -supper. The men were at the mercy of the cattle. Perhaps the buyers -would be holding off for better prices—if they could scare the shippers -into thinking that they meant to buy nothing that day, they could get -their own terms. For some reason the cost of fodder for cattle in the -yards was much above the market price—and you were not allowed to bring -your own fodder! Then, too, a number of cars were apt to arrive late in -the day, now that the roads were blocked with snow, and the packers -would buy their cattle that night, to get them cheaper, and then would -come into play their ironclad rule, that all cattle must be killed the -same day they were bought. There was no use kicking about this—there -had been one delegation after another to see the packers about it, only -to be told that it was the rule, and that there was not the slightest -chance of its ever being altered. And so on Christmas Eve Jurgis worked -till nearly one o’clock in the morning, and on Christmas Day he was on -the killing bed at seven o’clock. - -All this was bad; and yet it was not the worst. For after all the hard -work a man did, he was paid for only part of it. Jurgis had once been -among those who scoffed at the idea of these huge concerns cheating; -and so now he could appreciate the bitter irony of the fact that it was -precisely their size which enabled them to do it with impunity. One of -the rules on the killing beds was that a man who was one minute late -was docked an hour; and this was economical, for he was made to work -the balance of the hour—he was not allowed to stand round and wait. And -on the other hand if he came ahead of time he got no pay for -that—though often the bosses would start up the gang ten or fifteen -minutes before the whistle. And this same custom they carried over to -the end of the day; they did not pay for any fraction of an hour—for -“broken time.” A man might work full fifty minutes, but if there was no -work to fill out the hour, there was no pay for him. Thus the end of -every day was a sort of lottery—a struggle, all but breaking into open -war between the bosses and the men, the former trying to rush a job -through and the latter trying to stretch it out. Jurgis blamed the -bosses for this, though the truth to be told it was not always their -fault; for the packers kept them frightened for their lives—and when -one was in danger of falling behind the standard, what was easier than -to catch up by making the gang work awhile “for the church”? This was a -savage witticism the men had, which Jurgis had to have explained to -him. Old man Jones was great on missions and such things, and so -whenever they were doing some particularly disreputable job, the men -would wink at each other and say, “Now we’re working for the church!” - -One of the consequences of all these things was that Jurgis was no -longer perplexed when he heard men talk of fighting for their rights. -He felt like fighting now himself; and when the Irish delegate of the -butcher-helpers’ union came to him a second time, he received him in a -far different spirit. A wonderful idea it now seemed to Jurgis, this of -the men—that by combining they might be able to make a stand and -conquer the packers! Jurgis wondered who had first thought of it; and -when he was told that it was a common thing for men to do in America, -he got the first inkling of a meaning in the phrase “a free country.” -The delegate explained to him how it depended upon their being able to -get every man to join and stand by the organization, and so Jurgis -signified that he was willing to do his share. Before another month was -by, all the working members of his family had union cards, and wore -their union buttons conspicuously and with pride. For fully a week they -were quite blissfully happy, thinking that belonging to a union meant -an end to all their troubles. - -But only ten days after she had joined, Marija’s canning factory closed -down, and that blow quite staggered them. They could not understand why -the union had not prevented it, and the very first time she attended a -meeting Marija got up and made a speech about it. It was a business -meeting, and was transacted in English, but that made no difference to -Marija; she said what was in her, and all the pounding of the -chairman’s gavel and all the uproar and confusion in the room could not -prevail. Quite apart from her own troubles she was boiling over with a -general sense of the injustice of it, and she told what she thought of -the packers, and what she thought of a world where such things were -allowed to happen; and then, while the echoes of the hall rang with the -shock of her terrible voice, she sat down again and fanned herself, and -the meeting gathered itself together and proceeded to discuss the -election of a recording secretary. - -Jurgis too had an adventure the first time he attended a union meeting, -but it was not of his own seeking. Jurgis had gone with the desire to -get into an inconspicuous corner and see what was done; but this -attitude of silent and open-eyed attention had marked him out for a -victim. Tommy Finnegan was a little Irishman, with big staring eyes and -a wild aspect, a “hoister” by trade, and badly cracked. Somewhere back -in the far-distant past Tommy Finnegan had had a strange experience, -and the burden of it rested upon him. All the balance of his life he -had done nothing but try to make it understood. When he talked he -caught his victim by the buttonhole, and his face kept coming closer -and closer—which was trying, because his teeth were so bad. Jurgis did -not mind that, only he was frightened. The method of operation of the -higher intelligences was Tom Finnegan’s theme, and he desired to find -out if Jurgis had ever considered that the representation of things in -their present similarity might be altogether unintelligible upon a more -elevated plane. There were assuredly wonderful mysteries about the -developing of these things; and then, becoming confidential, Mr. -Finnegan proceeded to tell of some discoveries of his own. “If ye have -iver had onything to do wid shperrits,” said he, and looked inquiringly -at Jurgis, who kept shaking his head. “Niver mind, niver mind,” -continued the other, “but their influences may be operatin’ upon ye; -it’s shure as I’m tellin’ ye, it’s them that has the reference to the -immejit surroundin’s that has the most of power. It was vouchsafed to -me in me youthful days to be acquainted with shperrits” and so Tommy -Finnegan went on, expounding a system of philosophy, while the -perspiration came out on Jurgis’ forehead, so great was his agitation -and embarrassment. In the end one of the men, seeing his plight, came -over and rescued him; but it was some time before he was able to find -any one to explain things to him, and meanwhile his fear lest the -strange little Irishman should get him cornered again was enough to -keep him dodging about the room the whole evening. - -He never missed a meeting, however. He had picked up a few words of -English by this time, and friends would help him to understand. They -were often very turbulent meetings, with half a dozen men declaiming at -once, in as many dialects of English; but the speakers were all -desperately in earnest, and Jurgis was in earnest too, for he -understood that a fight was on, and that it was his fight. Since the -time of his disillusionment, Jurgis had sworn to trust no man, except -in his own family; but here he discovered that he had brothers in -affliction, and allies. Their one chance for life was in union, and so -the struggle became a kind of crusade. Jurgis had always been a member -of the church, because it was the right thing to be, but the church had -never touched him, he left all that for the women. Here, however, was a -new religion—one that did touch him, that took hold of every fiber of -him; and with all the zeal and fury of a convert he went out as a -missionary. There were many nonunion men among the Lithuanians, and -with these he would labor and wrestle in prayer, trying to show them -the right. Sometimes they would be obstinate and refuse to see it, and -Jurgis, alas, was not always patient! He forgot how he himself had been -blind, a short time ago—after the fashion of all crusaders since the -original ones, who set out to spread the gospel of Brotherhood by force -of arms. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -One of the first consequences of the discovery of the union was that -Jurgis became desirous of learning English. He wanted to know what was -going on at the meetings, and to be able to take part in them, and so -he began to look about him, and to try to pick up words. The children, -who were at school, and learning fast, would teach him a few; and a -friend loaned him a little book that had some in it, and Ona would read -them to him. Then Jurgis became sorry that he could not read himself; -and later on in the winter, when some one told him that there was a -night school that was free, he went and enrolled. After that, every -evening that he got home from the yards in time, he would go to the -school; he would go even if he were in time for only half an hour. They -were teaching him both to read and to speak English—and they would have -taught him other things, if only he had had a little time. - -Also the union made another great difference with him—it made him begin -to pay attention to the country. It was the beginning of democracy with -him. It was a little state, the union, a miniature republic; its -affairs were every man’s affairs, and every man had a real say about -them. In other words, in the union Jurgis learned to talk politics. In -the place where he had come from there had not been any politics—in -Russia one thought of the government as an affliction like the -lightning and the hail. “Duck, little brother, duck,” the wise old -peasants would whisper; “everything passes away.” And when Jurgis had -first come to America he had supposed that it was the same. He had -heard people say that it was a free country—but what did that mean? He -found that here, precisely as in Russia, there were rich men who owned -everything; and if one could not find any work, was not the hunger he -began to feel the same sort of hunger? - -When Jurgis had been working about three weeks at Brown’s, there had -come to him one noontime a man who was employed as a night watchman, -and who asked him if he would not like to take out naturalization -papers and become a citizen. Jurgis did not know what that meant, but -the man explained the advantages. In the first place, it would not cost -him anything, and it would get him half a day off, with his pay just -the same; and then when election time came he would be able to vote—and -there was something in that. Jurgis was naturally glad to accept, and -so the night watchman said a few words to the boss, and he was excused -for the rest of the day. When, later on, he wanted a holiday to get -married he could not get it; and as for a holiday with pay just the -same—what power had wrought that miracle heaven only knew! However, he -went with the man, who picked up several other newly landed immigrants, -Poles, Lithuanians, and Slovaks, and took them all outside, where stood -a great four-horse tallyho coach, with fifteen or twenty men already in -it. It was a fine chance to see the sights of the city, and the party -had a merry time, with plenty of beer handed up from inside. So they -drove downtown and stopped before an imposing granite building, in -which they interviewed an official, who had the papers all ready, with -only the names to be filled in. So each man in turn took an oath of -which he did not understand a word, and then was presented with a -handsome ornamented document with a big red seal and the shield of the -United States upon it, and was told that he had become a citizen of the -Republic and the equal of the President himself. - -A month or two later Jurgis had another interview with this same man, -who told him where to go to “register.” And then finally, when election -day came, the packing houses posted a notice that men who desired to -vote might remain away until nine that morning, and the same night -watchman took Jurgis and the rest of his flock into the back room of a -saloon, and showed each of them where and how to mark a ballot, and -then gave each two dollars, and took them to the polling place, where -there was a policeman on duty especially to see that they got through -all right. Jurgis felt quite proud of this good luck till he got home -and met Jonas, who had taken the leader aside and whispered to him, -offering to vote three times for four dollars, which offer had been -accepted. - -And now in the union Jurgis met men who explained all this mystery to -him; and he learned that America differed from Russia in that its -government existed under the form of a democracy. The officials who -ruled it, and got all the graft, had to be elected first; and so there -were two rival sets of grafters, known as political parties, and the -one got the office which bought the most votes. Now and then, the -election was very close, and that was the time the poor man came in. In -the stockyards this was only in national and state elections, for in -local elections the Democratic Party always carried everything. The -ruler of the district was therefore the Democratic boss, a little -Irishman named Mike Scully. Scully held an important party office in -the state, and bossed even the mayor of the city, it was said; it was -his boast that he carried the stockyards in his pocket. He was an -enormously rich man—he had a hand in all the big graft in the -neighborhood. It was Scully, for instance, who owned that dump which -Jurgis and Ona had seen the first day of their arrival. Not only did he -own the dump, but he owned the brick factory as well, and first he took -out the clay and made it into bricks, and then he had the city bring -garbage to fill up the hole, so that he could build houses to sell to -the people. Then, too, he sold the bricks to the city, at his own -price, and the city came and got them in its own wagons. And also he -owned the other hole near by, where the stagnant water was; and it was -he who cut the ice and sold it; and what was more, if the men told -truth, he had not had to pay any taxes for the water, and he had built -the ice-house out of city lumber, and had not had to pay anything for -that. The newspapers had got hold of that story, and there had been a -scandal; but Scully had hired somebody to confess and take all the -blame, and then skip the country. It was said, too, that he had built -his brick-kiln in the same way, and that the workmen were on the city -payroll while they did it; however, one had to press closely to get -these things out of the men, for it was not their business, and Mike -Scully was a good man to stand in with. A note signed by him was equal -to a job any time at the packing houses; and also he employed a good -many men himself, and worked them only eight hours a day, and paid them -the highest wages. This gave him many friends—all of whom he had gotten -together into the “War Whoop League,” whose clubhouse you might see -just outside of the yards. It was the biggest clubhouse, and the -biggest club, in all Chicago; and they had prizefights every now and -then, and cockfights and even dogfights. The policemen in the district -all belonged to the league, and instead of suppressing the fights, they -sold tickets for them. The man that had taken Jurgis to be naturalized -was one of these “Indians,” as they were called; and on election day -there would be hundreds of them out, and all with big wads of money in -their pockets and free drinks at every saloon in the district. That was -another thing, the men said—all the saloon-keepers had to be “Indians,” -and to put up on demand, otherwise they could not do business on -Sundays, nor have any gambling at all. In the same way Scully had all -the jobs in the fire department at his disposal, and all the rest of -the city graft in the stockyards district; he was building a block of -flats somewhere up on Ashland Avenue, and the man who was overseeing it -for him was drawing pay as a city inspector of sewers. The city -inspector of water pipes had been dead and buried for over a year, but -somebody was still drawing his pay. The city inspector of sidewalks was -a barkeeper at the War Whoop Cafe—and maybe he could make it -uncomfortable for any tradesman who did not stand in with Scully! - -Even the packers were in awe of him, so the men said. It gave them -pleasure to believe this, for Scully stood as the people’s man, and -boasted of it boldly when election day came. The packers had wanted a -bridge at Ashland Avenue, but they had not been able to get it till -they had seen Scully; and it was the same with “Bubbly Creek,” which -the city had threatened to make the packers cover over, till Scully had -come to their aid. “Bubbly Creek” is an arm of the Chicago River, and -forms the southern boundary of the yards: all the drainage of the -square mile of packing houses empties into it, so that it is really a -great open sewer a hundred or two feet wide. One long arm of it is -blind, and the filth stays there forever and a day. The grease and -chemicals that are poured into it undergo all sorts of strange -transformations, which are the cause of its name; it is constantly in -motion, as if huge fish were feeding in it, or great leviathans -disporting themselves in its depths. Bubbles of carbonic acid gas will -rise to the surface and burst, and make rings two or three feet wide. -Here and there the grease and filth have caked solid, and the creek -looks like a bed of lava; chickens walk about on it, feeding, and many -times an unwary stranger has started to stroll across, and vanished -temporarily. The packers used to leave the creek that way, till every -now and then the surface would catch on fire and burn furiously, and -the fire department would have to come and put it out. Once, however, -an ingenious stranger came and started to gather this filth in scows, -to make lard out of; then the packers took the cue, and got out an -injunction to stop him, and afterward gathered it themselves. The banks -of “Bubbly Creek” are plastered thick with hairs, and this also the -packers gather and clean. - -And there were things even stranger than this, according to the gossip -of the men. The packers had secret mains, through which they stole -billions of gallons of the city’s water. The newspapers had been full -of this scandal—once there had even been an investigation, and an -actual uncovering of the pipes; but nobody had been punished, and the -thing went right on. And then there was the condemned meat industry, -with its endless horrors. The people of Chicago saw the government -inspectors in Packingtown, and they all took that to mean that they -were protected from diseased meat; they did not understand that these -hundred and sixty-three inspectors had been appointed at the request of -the packers, and that they were paid by the United States government to -certify that all the diseased meat was kept in the state. They had no -authority beyond that; for the inspection of meat to be sold in the -city and state the whole force in Packingtown consisted of three -henchmen of the local political machine![2] And shortly afterward one -of these, a physician, made the discovery that the carcasses of steers -which had been condemned as tubercular by the government inspectors, -and which therefore contained ptomaines, which are deadly poisons, were -left upon an open platform and carted away to be sold in the city; and -so he insisted that these carcasses be treated with an injection of -kerosene—and was ordered to resign the same week! So indignant were the -packers that they went farther, and compelled the mayor to abolish the -whole bureau of inspection; so that since then there has not been even -a pretense of any interference with the graft. There was said to be two -thousand dollars a week hush money from the tubercular steers alone; -and as much again from the hogs which had died of cholera on the -trains, and which you might see any day being loaded into boxcars and -hauled away to a place called Globe, in Indiana, where they made a -fancy grade of lard. - - [2] Rules and Regulations for the Inspection of Livestock and Their - Products. United States Department of Agriculture, Bureau of Animal - Industries, Order No. 125:— - Section 1. Proprietors of slaughterhouses, canning, salting, - packing, or rendering establishments engaged in the slaughtering of - cattle, sheep, or swine, or the packing of any of their products, - _the carcasses or products of which are to become subjects of - interstate or foreign commerce_, shall make application to the - Secretary of Agriculture for inspection of said animals and their - products.... - Section 15. Such rejected or condemned animals shall at once be - removed by the owners from the pens containing animals which have - been inspected and found to be free from disease and fit for human - food, and _shall be disposed of in accordance with the laws, - ordinances, and regulations of the state and municipality in which - said rejected or condemned animals are located_.... - - Section 25. A microscopic examination for trichinae shall be made - of all swine products exported to countries requiring such - examination. _No microscopic examination will be made of hogs - slaughtered for interstate trade, but this examination shall be - confined to those intended for the export trade._ - - -Jurgis heard of these things little by little, in the gossip of those -who were obliged to perpetrate them. It seemed as if every time you met -a person from a new department, you heard of new swindles and new -crimes. There was, for instance, a Lithuanian who was a cattle butcher -for the plant where Marija had worked, which killed meat for canning -only; and to hear this man describe the animals which came to his place -would have been worthwhile for a Dante or a Zola. It seemed that they -must have agencies all over the country, to hunt out old and crippled -and diseased cattle to be canned. There were cattle which had been fed -on “whisky-malt,” the refuse of the breweries, and had become what the -men called “steerly”—which means covered with boils. It was a nasty job -killing these, for when you plunged your knife into them they would -burst and splash foul-smelling stuff into your face; and when a man’s -sleeves were smeared with blood, and his hands steeped in it, how was -he ever to wipe his face, or to clear his eyes so that he could see? It -was stuff such as this that made the “embalmed beef” that had killed -several times as many United States soldiers as all the bullets of the -Spaniards; only the army beef, besides, was not fresh canned, it was -old stuff that had been lying for years in the cellars. - -Then one Sunday evening, Jurgis sat puffing his pipe by the kitchen -stove, and talking with an old fellow whom Jonas had introduced, and -who worked in the canning rooms at Durham’s; and so Jurgis learned a -few things about the great and only Durham canned goods, which had -become a national institution. They were regular alchemists at -Durham’s; they advertised a mushroom-catsup, and the men who made it -did not know what a mushroom looked like. They advertised “potted -chicken,”—and it was like the boardinghouse soup of the comic papers, -through which a chicken had walked with rubbers on. Perhaps they had a -secret process for making chickens chemically—who knows? said Jurgis’ -friend; the things that went into the mixture were tripe, and the fat -of pork, and beef suet, and hearts of beef, and finally the waste ends -of veal, when they had any. They put these up in several grades, and -sold them at several prices; but the contents of the cans all came out -of the same hopper. And then there was “potted game” and “potted -grouse,” “potted ham,” and “deviled ham”—de-vyled, as the men called -it. “De-vyled” ham was made out of the waste ends of smoked beef that -were too small to be sliced by the machines; and also tripe, dyed with -chemicals so that it would not show white; and trimmings of hams and -corned beef; and potatoes, skins and all; and finally the hard -cartilaginous gullets of beef, after the tongues had been cut out. All -this ingenious mixture was ground up and flavored with spices to make -it taste like something. Anybody who could invent a new imitation had -been sure of a fortune from old Durham, said Jurgis’ informant; but it -was hard to think of anything new in a place where so many sharp wits -had been at work for so long; where men welcomed tuberculosis in the -cattle they were feeding, because it made them fatten more quickly; and -where they bought up all the old rancid butter left over in the grocery -stores of a continent, and “oxidized” it by a forced-air process, to -take away the odor, rechurned it with skim milk, and sold it in bricks -in the cities! Up to a year or two ago it had been the custom to kill -horses in the yards—ostensibly for fertilizer; but after long agitation -the newspapers had been able to make the public realize that the horses -were being canned. Now it was against the law to kill horses in -Packingtown, and the law was really complied with—for the present, at -any rate. Any day, however, one might see sharp-horned and -shaggy-haired creatures running with the sheep and yet what a job you -would have to get the public to believe that a good part of what it -buys for lamb and mutton is really goat’s flesh! - -There was another interesting set of statistics that a person might -have gathered in Packingtown—those of the various afflictions of the -workers. When Jurgis had first inspected the packing plants with -Szedvilas, he had marveled while he listened to the tale of all the -things that were made out of the carcasses of animals, and of all the -lesser industries that were maintained there; now he found that each -one of these lesser industries was a separate little inferno, in its -way as horrible as the killing beds, the source and fountain of them -all. The workers in each of them had their own peculiar diseases. And -the wandering visitor might be skeptical about all the swindles, but he -could not be skeptical about these, for the worker bore the evidence of -them about on his own person—generally he had only to hold out his -hand. - -There were the men in the pickle rooms, for instance, where old Antanas -had gotten his death; scarce a one of these that had not some spot of -horror on his person. Let a man so much as scrape his finger pushing a -truck in the pickle rooms, and he might have a sore that would put him -out of the world; all the joints in his fingers might be eaten by the -acid, one by one. Of the butchers and floorsmen, the beef-boners and -trimmers, and all those who used knives, you could scarcely find a -person who had the use of his thumb; time and time again the base of it -had been slashed, till it was a mere lump of flesh against which the -man pressed the knife to hold it. The hands of these men would be -criss-crossed with cuts, until you could no longer pretend to count -them or to trace them. They would have no nails,—they had worn them off -pulling hides; their knuckles were swollen so that their fingers spread -out like a fan. There were men who worked in the cooking rooms, in the -midst of steam and sickening odors, by artificial light; in these rooms -the germs of tuberculosis might live for two years, but the supply was -renewed every hour. There were the beef-luggers, who carried -two-hundred-pound quarters into the refrigerator-cars; a fearful kind -of work, that began at four o’clock in the morning, and that wore out -the most powerful men in a few years. There were those who worked in -the chilling rooms, and whose special disease was rheumatism; the time -limit that a man could work in the chilling rooms was said to be five -years. There were the wool-pluckers, whose hands went to pieces even -sooner than the hands of the pickle men; for the pelts of the sheep had -to be painted with acid to loosen the wool, and then the pluckers had -to pull out this wool with their bare hands, till the acid had eaten -their fingers off. There were those who made the tins for the canned -meat; and their hands, too, were a maze of cuts, and each cut -represented a chance for blood poisoning. Some worked at the stamping -machines, and it was very seldom that one could work long there at the -pace that was set, and not give out and forget himself and have a part -of his hand chopped off. There were the “hoisters,” as they were -called, whose task it was to press the lever which lifted the dead -cattle off the floor. They ran along upon a rafter, peering down -through the damp and the steam; and as old Durham’s architects had not -built the killing room for the convenience of the hoisters, at every -few feet they would have to stoop under a beam, say four feet above the -one they ran on; which got them into the habit of stooping, so that in -a few years they would be walking like chimpanzees. Worst of any, -however, were the fertilizer men, and those who served in the cooking -rooms. These people could not be shown to the visitor,—for the odor of -a fertilizer man would scare any ordinary visitor at a hundred yards, -and as for the other men, who worked in tank rooms full of steam, and -in some of which there were open vats near the level of the floor, -their peculiar trouble was that they fell into the vats; and when they -were fished out, there was never enough of them left to be worth -exhibiting,—sometimes they would be overlooked for days, till all but -the bones of them had gone out to the world as Durham’s Pure Leaf Lard! - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -During the early part of the winter the family had had money enough to -live and a little over to pay their debts with; but when the earnings -of Jurgis fell from nine or ten dollars a week to five or six, there -was no longer anything to spare. The winter went, and the spring came, -and found them still living thus from hand to mouth, hanging on day by -day, with literally not a month’s wages between them and starvation. -Marija was in despair, for there was still no word about the reopening -of the canning factory, and her savings were almost entirely gone. She -had had to give up all idea of marrying then; the family could not get -along without her—though for that matter she was likely soon to become -a burden even upon them, for when her money was all gone, they would -have to pay back what they owed her in board. So Jurgis and Ona and -Teta Elzbieta would hold anxious conferences until late at night, -trying to figure how they could manage this too without starving. - -Such were the cruel terms upon which their life was possible, that they -might never have nor expect a single instant’s respite from worry, a -single instant in which they were not haunted by the thought of money. -They would no sooner escape, as by a miracle, from one difficulty, than -a new one would come into view. In addition to all their physical -hardships, there was thus a constant strain upon their minds; they were -harried all day and nearly all night by worry and fear. This was in -truth not living; it was scarcely even existing, and they felt that it -was too little for the price they paid. They were willing to work all -the time; and when people did their best, ought they not to be able to -keep alive? - -There seemed never to be an end to the things they had to buy and to -the unforeseen contingencies. Once their water pipes froze and burst; -and when, in their ignorance, they thawed them out, they had a -terrifying flood in their house. It happened while the men were away, -and poor Elzbieta rushed out into the street screaming for help, for -she did not even know whether the flood could be stopped, or whether -they were ruined for life. It was nearly as bad as the latter, they -found in the end, for the plumber charged them seventy-five cents an -hour, and seventy-five cents for another man who had stood and watched -him, and included all the time the two had been going and coming, and -also a charge for all sorts of material and extras. And then again, -when they went to pay their January’s installment on the house, the -agent terrified them by asking them if they had had the insurance -attended to yet. In answer to their inquiry he showed them a clause in -the deed which provided that they were to keep the house insured for -one thousand dollars, as soon as the present policy ran out, which -would happen in a few days. Poor Elzbieta, upon whom again fell the -blow, demanded how much it would cost them. Seven dollars, the man -said; and that night came Jurgis, grim and determined, requesting that -the agent would be good enough to inform him, once for all, as to all -the expenses they were liable for. The deed was signed now, he said, -with sarcasm proper to the new way of life he had learned—the deed was -signed, and so the agent had no longer anything to gain by keeping -quiet. And Jurgis looked the fellow squarely in the eye, and so the -fellow wasted no time in conventional protests, but read him the deed. -They would have to renew the insurance every year; they would have to -pay the taxes, about ten dollars a year; they would have to pay the -water tax, about six dollars a year—(Jurgis silently resolved to shut -off the hydrant). This, besides the interest and the monthly -installments, would be all—unless by chance the city should happen to -decide to put in a sewer or to lay a sidewalk. Yes, said the agent, -they would have to have these, whether they wanted them or not, if the -city said so. The sewer would cost them about twenty-two dollars, and -the sidewalk fifteen if it were wood, twenty-five if it were cement. - -So Jurgis went home again; it was a relief to know the worst, at any -rate, so that he could no more be surprised by fresh demands. He saw -now how they had been plundered; but they were in for it, there was no -turning back. They could only go on and make the fight and win—for -defeat was a thing that could not even be thought of. - -When the springtime came, they were delivered from the dreadful cold, -and that was a great deal; but in addition they had counted on the -money they would not have to pay for coal—and it was just at this time -that Marija’s board began to fail. Then, too, the warm weather brought -trials of its own; each season had its trials, as they found. In the -spring there were cold rains, that turned the streets into canals and -bogs; the mud would be so deep that wagons would sink up to the hubs, -so that half a dozen horses could not move them. Then, of course, it -was impossible for any one to get to work with dry feet; and this was -bad for men that were poorly clad and shod, and still worse for women -and children. Later came midsummer, with the stifling heat, when the -dingy killing beds of Durham’s became a very purgatory; one time, in a -single day, three men fell dead from sunstroke. All day long the rivers -of hot blood poured forth, until, with the sun beating down, and the -air motionless, the stench was enough to knock a man over; all the old -smells of a generation would be drawn out by this heat—for there was -never any washing of the walls and rafters and pillars, and they were -caked with the filth of a lifetime. The men who worked on the killing -beds would come to reek with foulness, so that you could smell one of -them fifty feet away; there was simply no such thing as keeping decent, -the most careful man gave it up in the end, and wallowed in -uncleanness. There was not even a place where a man could wash his -hands, and the men ate as much raw blood as food at dinnertime. When -they were at work they could not even wipe off their faces—they were as -helpless as newly born babes in that respect; and it may seem like a -small matter, but when the sweat began to run down their necks and -tickle them, or a fly to bother them, it was a torture like being -burned alive. Whether it was the slaughterhouses or the dumps that were -responsible, one could not say, but with the hot weather there -descended upon Packingtown a veritable Egyptian plague of flies; there -could be no describing this—the houses would be black with them. There -was no escaping; you might provide all your doors and windows with -screens, but their buzzing outside would be like the swarming of bees, -and whenever you opened the door they would rush in as if a storm of -wind were driving them. - -Perhaps the summertime suggests to you thoughts of the country, visions -of green fields and mountains and sparkling lakes. It had no such -suggestion for the people in the yards. The great packing machine -ground on remorselessly, without thinking of green fields; and the men -and women and children who were part of it never saw any green thing, -not even a flower. Four or five miles to the east of them lay the blue -waters of Lake Michigan; but for all the good it did them it might have -been as far away as the Pacific Ocean. They had only Sundays, and then -they were too tired to walk. They were tied to the great packing -machine, and tied to it for life. The managers and superintendents and -clerks of Packingtown were all recruited from another class, and never -from the workers; they scorned the workers, the very meanest of them. A -poor devil of a bookkeeper who had been working in Durham’s for twenty -years at a salary of six dollars a week, and might work there for -twenty more and do no better, would yet consider himself a gentleman, -as far removed as the poles from the most skilled worker on the killing -beds; he would dress differently, and live in another part of the town, -and come to work at a different hour of the day, and in every way make -sure that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man. Perhaps this was -due to the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people who -worked with their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it. - -In the late spring the canning factory started up again, and so once -more Marija was heard to sing, and the love-music of Tamoszius took on -a less melancholy tone. It was not for long, however; for a month or -two later a dreadful calamity fell upon Marija. Just one year and three -days after she had begun work as a can-painter, she lost her job. - -It was a long story. Marija insisted that it was because of her -activity in the union. The packers, of course, had spies in all the -unions, and in addition they made a practice of buying up a certain -number of the union officials, as many as they thought they needed. So -every week they received reports as to what was going on, and often -they knew things before the members of the union knew them. Any one who -was considered to be dangerous by them would find that he was not a -favorite with his boss; and Marija had been a great hand for going -after the foreign people and preaching to them. However that might be, -the known facts were that a few weeks before the factory closed, Marija -had been cheated out of her pay for three hundred cans. The girls -worked at a long table, and behind them walked a woman with pencil and -notebook, keeping count of the number they finished. This woman was, of -course, only human, and sometimes made mistakes; when this happened, -there was no redress—if on Saturday you got less money than you had -earned, you had to make the best of it. But Marija did not understand -this, and made a disturbance. Marija’s disturbances did not mean -anything, and while she had known only Lithuanian and Polish, they had -done no harm, for people only laughed at her and made her cry. But now -Marija was able to call names in English, and so she got the woman who -made the mistake to disliking her. Probably, as Marija claimed, she -made mistakes on purpose after that; at any rate, she made them, and -the third time it happened Marija went on the warpath and took the -matter first to the forelady, and when she got no satisfaction there, -to the superintendent. This was unheard-of presumption, but the -superintendent said he would see about it, which Marija took to mean -that she was going to get her money; after waiting three days, she went -to see the superintendent again. This time the man frowned, and said -that he had not had time to attend to it; and when Marija, against the -advice and warning of every one, tried it once more, he ordered her -back to her work in a passion. Just how things happened after that -Marija was not sure, but that afternoon the forelady told her that her -services would not be any longer required. Poor Marija could not have -been more dumfounded had the woman knocked her over the head; at first -she could not believe what she heard, and then she grew furious and -swore that she would come anyway, that her place belonged to her. In -the end she sat down in the middle of the floor and wept and wailed. - -It was a cruel lesson; but then Marija was headstrong—she should have -listened to those who had had experience. The next time she would know -her place, as the forelady expressed it; and so Marija went out, and -the family faced the problem of an existence again. - -It was especially hard this time, for Ona was to be confined before -long, and Jurgis was trying hard to save up money for this. He had -heard dreadful stories of the midwives, who grow as thick as fleas in -Packingtown; and he had made up his mind that Ona must have a -man-doctor. Jurgis could be very obstinate when he wanted to, and he -was in this case, much to the dismay of the women, who felt that a -man-doctor was an impropriety, and that the matter really belonged to -them. The cheapest doctor they could find would charge them fifteen -dollars, and perhaps more when the bill came in; and here was Jurgis, -declaring that he would pay it, even if he had to stop eating in the -meantime! - -Marija had only about twenty-five dollars left. Day after day she -wandered about the yards begging a job, but this time without hope of -finding it. Marija could do the work of an able-bodied man, when she -was cheerful, but discouragement wore her out easily, and she would -come home at night a pitiable object. She learned her lesson this time, -poor creature; she learned it ten times over. All the family learned it -along with her—that when you have once got a job in Packingtown, you -hang on to it, come what will. - -Four weeks Marija hunted, and half of a fifth week. Of course she -stopped paying her dues to the union. She lost all interest in the -union, and cursed herself for a fool that she had ever been dragged -into one. She had about made up her mind that she was a lost soul, when -somebody told her of an opening, and she went and got a place as a -“beef-trimmer.” She got this because the boss saw that she had the -muscles of a man, and so he discharged a man and put Marija to do his -work, paying her a little more than half what he had been paying -before. - -When she first came to Packingtown, Marija would have scorned such work -as this. She was in another canning factory, and her work was to trim -the meat of those diseased cattle that Jurgis had been told about not -long before. She was shut up in one of the rooms where the people -seldom saw the daylight; beneath her were the chilling rooms, where the -meat was frozen, and above her were the cooking rooms; and so she stood -on an ice-cold floor, while her head was often so hot that she could -scarcely breathe. Trimming beef off the bones by the hundred-weight, -while standing up from early morning till late at night, with heavy -boots on and the floor always damp and full of puddles, liable to be -thrown out of work indefinitely because of a slackening in the trade, -liable again to be kept overtime in rush seasons, and be worked till -she trembled in every nerve and lost her grip on her slimy knife, and -gave herself a poisoned wound—that was the new life that unfolded -itself before Marija. But because Marija was a human horse she merely -laughed and went at it; it would enable her to pay her board again, and -keep the family going. And as for Tamoszius—well, they had waited a -long time, and they could wait a little longer. They could not possibly -get along upon his wages alone, and the family could not live without -hers. He could come and visit her, and sit in the kitchen and hold her -hand, and he must manage to be content with that. But day by day the -music of Tamoszius’ violin became more passionate and heartbreaking; -and Marija would sit with her hands clasped and her cheeks wet and all -her body a-tremble, hearing in the wailing melodies the voices of the -unborn generations which cried out in her for life. - -Marija’s lesson came just in time to save Ona from a similar fate. Ona, -too, was dissatisfied with her place, and had far more reason than -Marija. She did not tell half of her story at home, because she saw it -was a torment to Jurgis, and she was afraid of what he might do. For a -long time Ona had seen that Miss Henderson, the forelady in her -department, did not like her. At first she thought it was the old-time -mistake she had made in asking for a holiday to get married. Then she -concluded it must be because she did not give the forelady a present -occasionally—she was the kind that took presents from the girls, Ona -learned, and made all sorts of discriminations in favor of those who -gave them. In the end, however, Ona discovered that it was even worse -than that. Miss Henderson was a newcomer, and it was some time before -rumor made her out; but finally it transpired that she was a kept -woman, the former mistress of the superintendent of a department in the -same building. He had put her there to keep her quiet, it seemed—and -that not altogether with success, for once or twice they had been heard -quarreling. She had the temper of a hyena, and soon the place she ran -was a witch’s caldron. There were some of the girls who were of her own -sort, who were willing to toady to her and flatter her; and these would -carry tales about the rest, and so the furies were unchained in the -place. Worse than this, the woman lived in a bawdy-house downtown, with -a coarse, red-faced Irishman named Connor, who was the boss of the -loading-gang outside, and would make free with the girls as they went -to and from their work. In the slack seasons some of them would go with -Miss Henderson to this house downtown—in fact, it would not be too much -to say that she managed her department at Brown’s in conjunction with -it. Sometimes women from the house would be given places alongside of -decent girls, and after other decent girls had been turned off to make -room for them. When you worked in this woman’s department the house -downtown was never out of your thoughts all day—there were always -whiffs of it to be caught, like the odor of the Packingtown rendering -plants at night, when the wind shifted suddenly. There would be stories -about it going the rounds; the girls opposite you would be telling them -and winking at you. In such a place Ona would not have stayed a day, -but for starvation; and, as it was, she was never sure that she could -stay the next day. She understood now that the real reason that Miss -Henderson hated her was that she was a decent married girl; and she -knew that the talebearers and the toadies hated her for the same -reason, and were doing their best to make her life miserable. - -But there was no place a girl could go in Packingtown, if she was -particular about things of this sort; there was no place in it where a -prostitute could not get along better than a decent girl. Here was a -population, low-class and mostly foreign, hanging always on the verge -of starvation, and dependent for its opportunities of life upon the -whim of men every bit as brutal and unscrupulous as the old-time slave -drivers; under such circumstances immorality was exactly as inevitable, -and as prevalent, as it was under the system of chattel slavery. Things -that were quite unspeakable went on there in the packing houses all the -time, and were taken for granted by everybody; only they did not show, -as in the old slavery times, because there was no difference in color -between master and slave. - -One morning Ona stayed home, and Jurgis had the man-doctor, according -to his whim, and she was safely delivered of a fine baby. It was an -enormous big boy, and Ona was such a tiny creature herself, that it -seemed quite incredible. Jurgis would stand and gaze at the stranger by -the hour, unable to believe that it had really happened. - -The coming of this boy was a decisive event with Jurgis. It made him -irrevocably a family man; it killed the last lingering impulse that he -might have had to go out in the evenings and sit and talk with the men -in the saloons. There was nothing he cared for now so much as to sit -and look at the baby. This was very curious, for Jurgis had never been -interested in babies before. But then, this was a very unusual sort of -a baby. He had the brightest little black eyes, and little black -ringlets all over his head; he was the living image of his father, -everybody said—and Jurgis found this a fascinating circumstance. It was -sufficiently perplexing that this tiny mite of life should have come -into the world at all in the manner that it had; that it should have -come with a comical imitation of its father’s nose was simply uncanny. - -Perhaps, Jurgis thought, this was intended to signify that it was his -baby; that it was his and Ona’s, to care for all its life. Jurgis had -never possessed anything nearly so interesting—a baby was, when you -came to think about it, assuredly a marvelous possession. It would grow -up to be a man, a human soul, with a personality all its own, a will of -its own! Such thoughts would keep haunting Jurgis, filling him with all -sorts of strange and almost painful excitements. He was wonderfully -proud of little Antanas; he was curious about all the details of -him—the washing and the dressing and the eating and the sleeping of -him, and asked all sorts of absurd questions. It took him quite a while -to get over his alarm at the incredible shortness of the little -creature’s legs. - -Jurgis had, alas, very little time to see his baby; he never felt the -chains about him more than just then. When he came home at night, the -baby would be asleep, and it would be the merest chance if he awoke -before Jurgis had to go to sleep himself. Then in the morning there was -no time to look at him, so really the only chance the father had was on -Sundays. This was more cruel yet for Ona, who ought to have stayed home -and nursed him, the doctor said, for her own health as well as the -baby’s; but Ona had to go to work, and leave him for Teta Elzbieta to -feed upon the pale blue poison that was called milk at the corner -grocery. Ona’s confinement lost her only a week’s wages—she would go to -the factory the second Monday, and the best that Jurgis could persuade -her was to ride in the car, and let him run along behind and help her -to Brown’s when she alighted. After that it would be all right, said -Ona, it was no strain sitting still sewing hams all day; and if she -waited longer she might find that her dreadful forelady had put some -one else in her place. That would be a greater calamity than ever now, -Ona continued, on account of the baby. They would all have to work -harder now on his account. It was such a responsibility—they must not -have the baby grow up to suffer as they had. And this indeed had been -the first thing that Jurgis had thought of himself—he had clenched his -hands and braced himself anew for the struggle, for the sake of that -tiny mite of human possibility. - -And so Ona went back to Brown’s and saved her place and a week’s wages; -and so she gave herself some one of the thousand ailments that women -group under the title of “womb trouble,” and was never again a well -person as long as she lived. It is difficult to convey in words all -that this meant to Ona; it seemed such a slight offense, and the -punishment was so out of all proportion, that neither she nor any one -else ever connected the two. “Womb trouble” to Ona did not mean a -specialist’s diagnosis, and a course of treatment, and perhaps an -operation or two; it meant simply headaches and pains in the back, and -depression and heartsickness, and neuralgia when she had to go to work -in the rain. The great majority of the women who worked in Packingtown -suffered in the same way, and from the same cause, so it was not deemed -a thing to see the doctor about; instead Ona would try patent -medicines, one after another, as her friends told her about them. As -these all contained alcohol, or some other stimulant, she found that -they all did her good while she took them; and so she was always -chasing the phantom of good health, and losing it because she was too -poor to continue. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -During the summer the packing houses were in full activity again, and -Jurgis made more money. He did not make so much, however, as he had the -previous summer, for the packers took on more hands. There were new men -every week, it seemed—it was a regular system; and this number they -would keep over to the next slack season, so that every one would have -less than ever. Sooner or later, by this plan, they would have all the -floating labor of Chicago trained to do their work. And how very -cunning a trick was that! The men were to teach new hands, who would -some day come and break their strike; and meantime they were kept so -poor that they could not prepare for the trial! - -But let no one suppose that this superfluity of employees meant easier -work for any one! On the contrary, the speeding-up seemed to be growing -more savage all the time; they were continually inventing new devices -to crowd the work on—it was for all the world like the thumbscrew of -the mediæval torture chamber. They would get new pacemakers and pay -them more; they would drive the men on with new machinery—it was said -that in the hog-killing rooms the speed at which the hogs moved was -determined by clockwork, and that it was increased a little every day. -In piecework they would reduce the time, requiring the same work in a -shorter time, and paying the same wages; and then, after the workers -had accustomed themselves to this new speed, they would reduce the rate -of payment to correspond with the reduction in time! They had done this -so often in the canning establishments that the girls were fairly -desperate; their wages had gone down by a full third in the past two -years, and a storm of discontent was brewing that was likely to break -any day. Only a month after Marija had become a beef-trimmer the -canning factory that she had left posted a cut that would divide the -girls’ earnings almost squarely in half; and so great was the -indignation at this that they marched out without even a parley, and -organized in the street outside. One of the girls had read somewhere -that a red flag was the proper symbol for oppressed workers, and so -they mounted one, and paraded all about the yards, yelling with rage. A -new union was the result of this outburst, but the impromptu strike -went to pieces in three days, owing to the rush of new labor. At the -end of it the girl who had carried the red flag went downtown and got a -position in a great department store, at a salary of two dollars and a -half a week. - -Jurgis and Ona heard these stories with dismay, for there was no -telling when their own time might come. Once or twice there had been -rumors that one of the big houses was going to cut its unskilled men to -fifteen cents an hour, and Jurgis knew that if this was done, his turn -would come soon. He had learned by this time that Packingtown was -really not a number of firms at all, but one great firm, the Beef -Trust. And every week the managers of it got together and compared -notes, and there was one scale for all the workers in the yards and one -standard of efficiency. Jurgis was told that they also fixed the price -they would pay for beef on the hoof and the price of all dressed meat -in the country; but that was something he did not understand or care -about. - -The only one who was not afraid of a cut was Marija, who congratulated -herself, somewhat naïvely, that there had been one in her place only a -short time before she came. Marija was getting to be a skilled -beef-trimmer, and was mounting to the heights again. During the summer -and fall Jurgis and Ona managed to pay her back the last penny they -owed her, and so she began to have a bank account. Tamoszius had a bank -account also, and they ran a race, and began to figure upon household -expenses once more. - -The possession of vast wealth entails cares and responsibilities, -however, as poor Marija found out. She had taken the advice of a friend -and invested her savings in a bank on Ashland Avenue. Of course she -knew nothing about it, except that it was big and imposing—what -possible chance has a poor foreign working girl to understand the -banking business, as it is conducted in this land of frenzied finance? -So Marija lived in a continual dread lest something should happen to -her bank, and would go out of her way mornings to make sure that it was -still there. Her principal thought was of fire, for she had deposited -her money in bills, and was afraid that if they were burned up the bank -would not give her any others. Jurgis made fun of her for this, for he -was a man and was proud of his superior knowledge, telling her that the -bank had fireproof vaults, and all its millions of dollars hidden -safely away in them. - -However, one morning Marija took her usual detour, and, to her horror -and dismay, saw a crowd of people in front of the bank, filling the -avenue solid for half a block. All the blood went out of her face for -terror. She broke into a run, shouting to the people to ask what was -the matter, but not stopping to hear what they answered, till she had -come to where the throng was so dense that she could no longer advance. -There was a “run on the bank,” they told her then, but she did not know -what that was, and turned from one person to another, trying in an -agony of fear to make out what they meant. Had something gone wrong -with the bank? Nobody was sure, but they thought so. Couldn’t she get -her money? There was no telling; the people were afraid not, and they -were all trying to get it. It was too early yet to tell anything—the -bank would not open for nearly three hours. So in a frenzy of despair -Marija began to claw her way toward the doors of this building, through -a throng of men, women, and children, all as excited as herself. It was -a scene of wild confusion, women shrieking and wringing their hands and -fainting, and men fighting and trampling down everything in their way. -In the midst of the mêlée Marija recollected that she did not have her -bankbook, and could not get her money anyway, so she fought her way out -and started on a run for home. This was fortunate for her, for a few -minutes later the police reserves arrived. - -In half an hour Marija was back, Teta Elzbieta with her, both of them -breathless with running and sick with fear. The crowd was now formed in -a line, extending for several blocks, with half a hundred policemen -keeping guard, and so there was nothing for them to do but to take -their places at the end of it. At nine o’clock the bank opened and -began to pay the waiting throng; but then, what good did that do -Marija, who saw three thousand people before her—enough to take out the -last penny of a dozen banks? - -To make matters worse a drizzling rain came up, and soaked them to the -skin; yet all the morning they stood there, creeping slowly toward the -goal—all the afternoon they stood there, heartsick, seeing that the -hour of closing was coming, and that they were going to be left out. -Marija made up her mind that, come what might, she would stay there and -keep her place; but as nearly all did the same, all through the long, -cold night, she got very little closer to the bank for that. Toward -evening Jurgis came; he had heard the story from the children, and he -brought some food and dry wraps, which made it a little easier. - -The next morning, before daybreak, came a bigger crowd than ever, and -more policemen from downtown. Marija held on like grim death, and -toward afternoon she got into the bank and got her money—all in big -silver dollars, a handkerchief full. When she had once got her hands on -them her fear vanished, and she wanted to put them back again; but the -man at the window was savage, and said that the bank would receive no -more deposits from those who had taken part in the run. So Marija was -forced to take her dollars home with her, watching to right and left, -expecting every instant that some one would try to rob her; and when -she got home she was not much better off. Until she could find another -bank there was nothing to do but sew them up in her clothes, and so -Marija went about for a week or more, loaded down with bullion, and -afraid to cross the street in front of the house, because Jurgis told -her she would sink out of sight in the mud. Weighted this way she made -her way to the yards, again in fear, this time to see if she had lost -her place; but fortunately about ten per cent of the working people of -Packingtown had been depositors in that bank, and it was not convenient -to discharge that many at once. The cause of the panic had been the -attempt of a policeman to arrest a drunken man in a saloon next door, -which had drawn a crowd at the hour the people were on their way to -work, and so started the “run.” - -About this time Jurgis and Ona also began a bank account. Besides -having paid Jonas and Marija, they had almost paid for their furniture, -and could have that little sum to count on. So long as each of them -could bring home nine or ten dollars a week, they were able to get -along finely. Also election day came round again, and Jurgis made half -a week’s wages out of that, all net profit. It was a very close -election that year, and the echoes of the battle reached even to -Packingtown. The two rival sets of grafters hired halls and set off -fireworks and made speeches, to try to get the people interested in the -matter. Although Jurgis did not understand it all, he knew enough by -this time to realize that it was not supposed to be right to sell your -vote. However, as every one did it, and his refusal to join would not -have made the slightest difference in the results, the idea of refusing -would have seemed absurd, had it ever come into his head. - -Now chill winds and shortening days began to warn them that the winter -was coming again. It seemed as if the respite had been too short—they -had not had time enough to get ready for it; but still it came, -inexorably, and the hunted look began to come back into the eyes of -little Stanislovas. The prospect struck fear to the heart of Jurgis -also, for he knew that Ona was not fit to face the cold and the -snowdrifts this year. And suppose that some day when a blizzard struck -them and the cars were not running, Ona should have to give up, and -should come the next day to find that her place had been given to some -one who lived nearer and could be depended on? - -It was the week before Christmas that the first storm came, and then -the soul of Jurgis rose up within him like a sleeping lion. There were -four days that the Ashland Avenue cars were stalled, and in those days, -for the first time in his life, Jurgis knew what it was to be really -opposed. He had faced difficulties before, but they had been child’s -play; now there was a death struggle, and all the furies were unchained -within him. The first morning they set out two hours before dawn, Ona -wrapped all in blankets and tossed upon his shoulder like a sack of -meal, and the little boy, bundled nearly out of sight, hanging by his -coat-tails. There was a raging blast beating in his face, and the -thermometer stood below zero; the snow was never short of his knees, -and in some of the drifts it was nearly up to his armpits. It would -catch his feet and try to trip him; it would build itself into a wall -before him to beat him back; and he would fling himself into it, -plunging like a wounded buffalo, puffing and snorting in rage. So foot -by foot he drove his way, and when at last he came to Durham’s he was -staggering and almost blind, and leaned against a pillar, gasping, and -thanking God that the cattle came late to the killing beds that day. In -the evening the same thing had to be done again; and because Jurgis -could not tell what hour of the night he would get off, he got a -saloon-keeper to let Ona sit and wait for him in a corner. Once it was -eleven o’clock at night, and black as the pit, but still they got home. - -That blizzard knocked many a man out, for the crowd outside begging for -work was never greater, and the packers would not wait long for any -one. When it was over, the soul of Jurgis was a song, for he had met -the enemy and conquered, and felt himself the master of his fate.—So it -might be with some monarch of the forest that has vanquished his foes -in fair fight, and then falls into some cowardly trap in the -night-time. - -A time of peril on the killing beds was when a steer broke loose. -Sometimes, in the haste of speeding-up, they would dump one of the -animals out on the floor before it was fully stunned, and it would get -upon its feet and run amuck. Then there would be a yell of warning—the -men would drop everything and dash for the nearest pillar, slipping -here and there on the floor, and tumbling over each other. This was bad -enough in the summer, when a man could see; in wintertime it was enough -to make your hair stand up, for the room would be so full of steam that -you could not make anything out five feet in front of you. To be sure, -the steer was generally blind and frantic, and not especially bent on -hurting any one; but think of the chances of running upon a knife, -while nearly every man had one in his hand! And then, to cap the -climax, the floor boss would come rushing up with a rifle and begin -blazing away! - -It was in one of these mêlées that Jurgis fell into his trap. That is -the only word to describe it; it was so cruel, and so utterly not to be -foreseen. At first he hardly noticed it, it was such a slight -accident—simply that in leaping out of the way he turned his ankle. -There was a twinge of pain, but Jurgis was used to pain, and did not -coddle himself. When he came to walk home, however, he realized that it -was hurting him a great deal; and in the morning his ankle was swollen -out nearly double its size, and he could not get his foot into his -shoe. Still, even then, he did nothing more than swear a little, and -wrapped his foot in old rags, and hobbled out to take the car. It -chanced to be a rush day at Durham’s, and all the long morning he -limped about with his aching foot; by noontime the pain was so great -that it made him faint, and after a couple of hours in the afternoon he -was fairly beaten, and had to tell the boss. They sent for the company -doctor, and he examined the foot and told Jurgis to go home to bed, -adding that he had probably laid himself up for months by his folly. -The injury was not one that Durham and Company could be held -responsible for, and so that was all there was to it, so far as the -doctor was concerned. - -Jurgis got home somehow, scarcely able to see for the pain, and with an -awful terror in his soul, Elzbieta helped him into bed and bandaged his -injured foot with cold water and tried hard not to let him see her -dismay; when the rest came home at night she met them outside and told -them, and they, too, put on a cheerful face, saying it would only be -for a week or two, and that they would pull him through. - -When they had gotten him to sleep, however, they sat by the kitchen -fire and talked it over in frightened whispers. They were in for a -siege, that was plainly to be seen. Jurgis had only about sixty dollars -in the bank, and the slack season was upon them. Both Jonas and Marija -might soon be earning no more than enough to pay their board, and -besides that there were only the wages of Ona and the pittance of the -little boy. There was the rent to pay, and still some on the furniture; -there was the insurance just due, and every month there was sack after -sack of coal. It was January, midwinter, an awful time to have to face -privation. Deep snows would come again, and who would carry Ona to her -work now? She might lose her place—she was almost certain to lose it. -And then little Stanislovas began to whimper—who would take care of -him? - -It was dreadful that an accident of this sort, that no man can help, -should have meant such suffering. The bitterness of it was the daily -food and drink of Jurgis. It was of no use for them to try to deceive -him; he knew as much about the situation as they did, and he knew that -the family might literally starve to death. The worry of it fairly ate -him up—he began to look haggard the first two or three days of it. In -truth, it was almost maddening for a strong man like him, a fighter, to -have to lie there helpless on his back. It was for all the world the -old story of Prometheus bound. As Jurgis lay on his bed, hour after -hour there came to him emotions that he had never known before. Before -this he had met life with a welcome—it had its trials, but none that a -man could not face. But now, in the nighttime, when he lay tossing -about, there would come stalking into his chamber a grisly phantom, the -sight of which made his flesh curl and his hair to bristle up. It was -like seeing the world fall away from underneath his feet; like plunging -down into a bottomless abyss into yawning caverns of despair. It might -be true, then, after all, what others had told him about life, that the -best powers of a man might not be equal to it! It might be true that, -strive as he would, toil as he would, he might fail, and go down and be -destroyed! The thought of this was like an icy hand at his heart; the -thought that here, in this ghastly home of all horror, he and all those -who were dear to him might lie and perish of starvation and cold, and -there would be no ear to hear their cry, no hand to help them! It was -true, it was true,—that here in this huge city, with its stores of -heaped-up wealth, human creatures might be hunted down and destroyed by -the wild-beast powers of nature, just as truly as ever they were in the -days of the cave men! - -Ona was now making about thirty dollars a month, and Stanislovas about -thirteen. To add to this there was the board of Jonas and Marija, about -forty-five dollars. Deducting from this the rent, interest, and -installments on the furniture, they had left sixty dollars, and -deducting the coal, they had fifty. They did without everything that -human beings could do without; they went in old and ragged clothing, -that left them at the mercy of the cold, and when the children’s shoes -wore out, they tied them up with string. Half invalid as she was, Ona -would do herself harm by walking in the rain and cold when she ought to -have ridden; they bought literally nothing but food—and still they -could not keep alive on fifty dollars a month. They might have done it, -if only they could have gotten pure food, and at fair prices; or if -only they had known what to get—if they had not been so pitifully -ignorant! But they had come to a new country, where everything was -different, including the food. They had always been accustomed to eat a -great deal of smoked sausage, and how could they know that what they -bought in America was not the same—that its color was made by -chemicals, and its smoky flavor by more chemicals, and that it was full -of “potato flour” besides? Potato flour is the waste of potato after -the starch and alcohol have been extracted; it has no more food value -than so much wood, and as its use as a food adulterant is a penal -offense in Europe, thousands of tons of it are shipped to America every -year. It was amazing what quantities of food such as this were needed -every day, by eleven hungry persons. A dollar sixty-five a day was -simply not enough to feed them, and there was no use trying; and so -each week they made an inroad upon the pitiful little bank account that -Ona had begun. Because the account was in her name, it was possible for -her to keep this a secret from her husband, and to keep the -heartsickness of it for her own. - -It would have been better if Jurgis had been really ill; if he had not -been able to think. For he had no resources such as most invalids have; -all he could do was to lie there and toss about from side to side. Now -and then he would break into cursing, regardless of everything; and now -and then his impatience would get the better of him, and he would try -to get up, and poor Teta Elzbieta would have to plead with him in a -frenzy. Elzbieta was all alone with him the greater part of the time. -She would sit and smooth his forehead by the hour, and talk to him and -try to make him forget. Sometimes it would be too cold for the children -to go to school, and they would have to play in the kitchen, where -Jurgis was, because it was the only room that was half warm. These were -dreadful times, for Jurgis would get as cross as any bear; he was -scarcely to be blamed, for he had enough to worry him, and it was hard -when he was trying to take a nap to be kept awake by noisy and peevish -children. - -Elzbieta’s only resource in those times was little Antanas; indeed, it -would be hard to say how they could have gotten along at all if it had -not been for little Antanas. It was the one consolation of Jurgis’ long -imprisonment that now he had time to look at his baby. Teta Elzbieta -would put the clothes-basket in which the baby slept alongside of his -mattress, and Jurgis would lie upon one elbow and watch him by the -hour, imagining things. Then little Antanas would open his eyes—he was -beginning to take notice of things now; and he would smile—how he would -smile! So Jurgis would begin to forget and be happy because he was in a -world where there was a thing so beautiful as the smile of little -Antanas, and because such a world could not but be good at the heart of -it. He looked more like his father every hour, Elzbieta would say, and -said it many times a day, because she saw that it pleased Jurgis; the -poor little terror-stricken woman was planning all day and all night to -soothe the prisoned giant who was intrusted to her care. Jurgis, who -knew nothing about the age-long and everlasting hypocrisy of woman, -would take the bait and grin with delight; and then he would hold his -finger in front of little Antanas’ eyes, and move it this way and that, -and laugh with glee to see the baby follow it. There is no pet quite so -fascinating as a baby; he would look into Jurgis’ face with such -uncanny seriousness, and Jurgis would start and cry: “_Palauk!_ Look, -Muma, he knows his papa! He does, he does! _Tu mano szirdele_, the -little rascal!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -For three weeks after his injury Jurgis never got up from bed. It was a -very obstinate sprain; the swelling would not go down, and the pain -still continued. At the end of that time, however, he could contain -himself no longer, and began trying to walk a little every day, -laboring to persuade himself that he was better. No arguments could -stop him, and three or four days later he declared that he was going -back to work. He limped to the cars and got to Brown’s, where he found -that the boss had kept his place—that is, was willing to turn out into -the snow the poor devil he had hired in the meantime. Every now and -then the pain would force Jurgis to stop work, but he stuck it out till -nearly an hour before closing. Then he was forced to acknowledge that -he could not go on without fainting; it almost broke his heart to do -it, and he stood leaning against a pillar and weeping like a child. Two -of the men had to help him to the car, and when he got out he had to -sit down and wait in the snow till some one came along. - -So they put him to bed again, and sent for the doctor, as they ought to -have done in the beginning. It transpired that he had twisted a tendon -out of place, and could never have gotten well without attention. Then -he gripped the sides of the bed, and shut his teeth together, and -turned white with agony, while the doctor pulled and wrenched away at -his swollen ankle. When finally the doctor left, he told him that he -would have to lie quiet for two months, and that if he went to work -before that time he might lame himself for life. - -Three days later there came another heavy snowstorm, and Jonas and -Marija and Ona and little Stanislovas all set out together, an hour -before daybreak, to try to get to the yards. About noon the last two -came back, the boy screaming with pain. His fingers were all frosted, -it seemed. They had had to give up trying to get to the yards, and had -nearly perished in a drift. All that they knew how to do was to hold -the frozen fingers near the fire, and so little Stanislovas spent most -of the day dancing about in horrible agony, till Jurgis flew into a -passion of nervous rage and swore like a madman, declaring that he -would kill him if he did not stop. All that day and night the family -was half-crazed with fear that Ona and the boy had lost their places; -and in the morning they set out earlier than ever, after the little -fellow had been beaten with a stick by Jurgis. There could be no -trifling in a case like this, it was a matter of life and death; little -Stanislovas could not be expected to realize that he might a great deal -better freeze in the snowdrift than lose his job at the lard machine. -Ona was quite certain that she would find her place gone, and was all -unnerved when she finally got to Brown’s, and found that the forelady -herself had failed to come, and was therefore compelled to be lenient. - -One of the consequences of this episode was that the first joints of -three of the little boy’s fingers were permanently disabled, and -another that thereafter he always had to be beaten before he set out to -work, whenever there was fresh snow on the ground. Jurgis was called -upon to do the beating, and as it hurt his foot he did it with a -vengeance; but it did not tend to add to the sweetness of his temper. -They say that the best dog will turn cross if he be kept chained all -the time, and it was the same with the man; he had not a thing to do -all day but lie and curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to -curse everything. - -This was never for very long, however, for when Ona began to cry, -Jurgis could not stay angry. The poor fellow looked like a homeless -ghost, with his cheeks sunken in and his long black hair straggling -into his eyes; he was too discouraged to cut it, or to think about his -appearance. His muscles were wasting away, and what were left were soft -and flabby. He had no appetite, and they could not afford to tempt him -with delicacies. It was better, he said, that he should not eat, it was -a saving. About the end of March he had got hold of Ona’s bankbook, and -learned that there was only three dollars left to them in the world. - -But perhaps the worst of the consequences of this long siege was that -they lost another member of their family; Brother Jonas disappeared. -One Saturday night he did not come home, and thereafter all their -efforts to get trace of him were futile. It was said by the boss at -Durham’s that he had gotten his week’s money and left there. That might -not be true, of course, for sometimes they would say that when a man -had been killed; it was the easiest way out of it for all concerned. -When, for instance, a man had fallen into one of the rendering tanks -and had been made into pure leaf lard and peerless fertilizer, there -was no use letting the fact out and making his family unhappy. More -probable, however, was the theory that Jonas had deserted them, and -gone on the road, seeking happiness. He had been discontented for a -long time, and not without some cause. He paid good board, and was yet -obliged to live in a family where nobody had enough to eat. And Marija -would keep giving them all her money, and of course he could not but -feel that he was called upon to do the same. Then there were crying -brats, and all sorts of misery; a man would have had to be a good deal -of a hero to stand it all without grumbling, and Jonas was not in the -least a hero—he was simply a weatherbeaten old fellow who liked to have -a good supper and sit in the corner by the fire and smoke his pipe in -peace before he went to bed. Here there was not room by the fire, and -through the winter the kitchen had seldom been warm enough for comfort. -So, with the springtime, what was more likely than that the wild idea -of escaping had come to him? Two years he had been yoked like a horse -to a half-ton truck in Durham’s dark cellars, with never a rest, save -on Sundays and four holidays in the year, and with never a word of -thanks—only kicks and blows and curses, such as no decent dog would -have stood. And now the winter was over, and the spring winds were -blowing—and with a day’s walk a man might put the smoke of Packingtown -behind him forever, and be where the grass was green and the flowers -all the colors of the rainbow! - -But now the income of the family was cut down more than one-third, and -the food demand was cut only one-eleventh, so that they were worse off -than ever. Also they were borrowing money from Marija, and eating up -her bank account, and spoiling once again her hopes of marriage and -happiness. And they were even going into debt to Tamoszius Kuszleika -and letting him impoverish himself. Poor Tamoszius was a man without -any relatives, and with a wonderful talent besides, and he ought to -have made money and prospered; but he had fallen in love, and so given -hostages to fortune, and was doomed to be dragged down too. - -So it was finally decided that two more of the children would have to -leave school. Next to Stanislovas, who was now fifteen, there was a -girl, little Kotrina, who was two years younger, and then two boys, -Vilimas, who was eleven, and Nikalojus, who was ten. Both of these last -were bright boys, and there was no reason why their family should -starve when tens of thousands of children no older were earning their -own livings. So one morning they were given a quarter apiece and a roll -with a sausage in it, and, with their minds top-heavy with good advice, -were sent out to make their way to the city and learn to sell -newspapers. They came back late at night in tears, having walked for -the five or six miles to report that a man had offered to take them to -a place where they sold newspapers, and had taken their money and gone -into a store to get them, and nevermore been seen. So they both -received a whipping, and the next morning set out again. This time they -found the newspaper place, and procured their stock; and after -wandering about till nearly noontime, saying “Paper?” to every one they -saw, they had all their stock taken away and received a thrashing -besides from a big newsman upon whose territory they had trespassed. -Fortunately, however, they had already sold some papers, and came back -with nearly as much as they started with. - -After a week of mishaps such as these, the two little fellows began to -learn the ways of the trade—the names of the different papers, and how -many of each to get, and what sort of people to offer them to, and -where to go and where to stay away from. After this, leaving home at -four o’clock in the morning, and running about the streets, first with -morning papers and then with evening, they might come home late at -night with twenty or thirty cents apiece—possibly as much as forty -cents. From this they had to deduct their carfare, since the distance -was so great; but after a while they made friends, and learned still -more, and then they would save their carfare. They would get on a car -when the conductor was not looking, and hide in the crowd; and three -times out of four he would not ask for their fares, either not seeing -them, or thinking they had already paid; or if he did ask, they would -hunt through their pockets, and then begin to cry, and either have -their fares paid by some kind old lady, or else try the trick again on -a new car. All this was fair play, they felt. Whose fault was it that -at the hours when workingmen were going to their work and back, the -cars were so crowded that the conductors could not collect all the -fares? And besides, the companies were thieves, people said—had stolen -all their franchises with the help of scoundrelly politicians! - -Now that the winter was by, and there was no more danger of snow, and -no more coal to buy, and another room warm enough to put the children -into when they cried, and enough money to get along from week to week -with, Jurgis was less terrible than he had been. A man can get used to -anything in the course of time, and Jurgis had gotten used to lying -about the house. Ona saw this, and was very careful not to destroy his -peace of mind, by letting him know how very much pain she was -suffering. It was now the time of the spring rains, and Ona had often -to ride to her work, in spite of the expense; she was getting paler -every day, and sometimes, in spite of her good resolutions, it pained -her that Jurgis did not notice it. She wondered if he cared for her as -much as ever, if all this misery was not wearing out his love. She had -to be away from him all the time, and bear her own troubles while he -was bearing his; and then, when she came home, she was so worn out; and -whenever they talked they had only their worries to talk of—truly it -was hard, in such a life, to keep any sentiment alive. The woe of this -would flame up in Ona sometimes—at night she would suddenly clasp her -big husband in her arms and break into passionate weeping, demanding to -know if he really loved her. Poor Jurgis, who had in truth grown more -matter-of-fact, under the endless pressure of penury, would not know -what to make of these things, and could only try to recollect when he -had last been cross; and so Ona would have to forgive him and sob -herself to sleep. - -The latter part of April Jurgis went to see the doctor, and was given a -bandage to lace about his ankle, and told that he might go back to -work. It needed more than the permission of the doctor, however, for -when he showed up on the killing floor of Brown’s, he was told by the -foreman that it had not been possible to keep his job for him. Jurgis -knew that this meant simply that the foreman had found some one else to -do the work as well and did not want to bother to make a change. He -stood in the doorway, looking mournfully on, seeing his friends and -companions at work, and feeling like an outcast. Then he went out and -took his place with the mob of the unemployed. - -This time, however, Jurgis did not have the same fine confidence, nor -the same reason for it. He was no longer the finest-looking man in the -throng, and the bosses no longer made for him; he was thin and haggard, -and his clothes were seedy, and he looked miserable. And there were -hundreds who looked and felt just like him, and who had been wandering -about Packingtown for months begging for work. This was a critical time -in Jurgis’ life, and if he had been a weaker man he would have gone the -way the rest did. Those out-of-work wretches would stand about the -packing houses every morning till the police drove them away, and then -they would scatter among the saloons. Very few of them had the nerve to -face the rebuffs that they would encounter by trying to get into the -buildings to interview the bosses; if they did not get a chance in the -morning, there would be nothing to do but hang about the saloons the -rest of the day and night. Jurgis was saved from all this—partly, to be -sure, because it was pleasant weather, and there was no need to be -indoors; but mainly because he carried with him always the pitiful -little face of his wife. He must get work, he told himself, fighting -the battle with despair every hour of the day. He must get work! He -must have a place again and some money saved up, before the next winter -came. - -But there was no work for him. He sought out all the members of his -union—Jurgis had stuck to the union through all this—and begged them to -speak a word for him. He went to every one he knew, asking for a -chance, there or anywhere. He wandered all day through the buildings; -and in a week or two, when he had been all over the yards, and into -every room to which he had access, and learned that there was not a job -anywhere, he persuaded himself that there might have been a change in -the places he had first visited, and began the round all over; till -finally the watchmen and the “spotters” of the companies came to know -him by sight and to order him out with threats. Then there was nothing -more for him to do but go with the crowd in the morning, and keep in -the front row and look eager, and when he failed, go back home, and -play with little Kotrina and the baby. - -The peculiar bitterness of all this was that Jurgis saw so plainly the -meaning of it. In the beginning he had been fresh and strong, and he -had gotten a job the first day; but now he was second-hand, a damaged -article, so to speak, and they did not want him. They had got the best -of him—they had worn him out, with their speeding-up and their -carelessness, and now they had thrown him away! And Jurgis would make -the acquaintance of others of these unemployed men and find that they -had all had the same experience. There were some, of course, who had -wandered in from other places, who had been ground up in other mills; -there were others who were out from their own fault—some, for instance, -who had not been able to stand the awful grind without drink. The vast -majority, however, were simply the worn-out parts of the great -merciless packing machine; they had toiled there, and kept up with the -pace, some of them for ten or twenty years, until finally the time had -come when they could not keep up with it any more. Some had been -frankly told that they were too old, that a sprier man was needed; -others had given occasion, by some act of carelessness or incompetence; -with most, however, the occasion had been the same as with Jurgis. They -had been overworked and underfed so long, and finally some disease had -laid them on their backs; or they had cut themselves, and had blood -poisoning, or met with some other accident. When a man came back after -that, he would get his place back only by the courtesy of the boss. To -this there was no exception, save when the accident was one for which -the firm was liable; in that case they would send a slippery lawyer to -see him, first to try to get him to sign away his claims, but if he was -too smart for that, to promise him that he and his should always be -provided with work. This promise they would keep, strictly and to the -letter—for two years. Two years was the “statute of limitations,” and -after that the victim could not sue. - -What happened to a man after any of these things, all depended upon the -circumstances. If he were of the highly skilled workers, he would -probably have enough saved up to tide him over. The best paid men, the -“splitters,” made fifty cents an hour, which would be five or six -dollars a day in the rush seasons, and one or two in the dullest. A man -could live and save on that; but then there were only half a dozen -splitters in each place, and one of them that Jurgis knew had a family -of twenty-two children, all hoping to grow up to be splitters like -their father. For an unskilled man, who made ten dollars a week in the -rush seasons and five in the dull, it all depended upon his age and the -number he had dependent upon him. An unmarried man could save, if he -did not drink, and if he was absolutely selfish—that is, if he paid no -heed to the demands of his old parents, or of his little brothers and -sisters, or of any other relatives he might have, as well as of the -members of his union, and his chums, and the people who might be -starving to death next door. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -During this time that Jurgis was looking for work occurred the death of -little Kristoforas, one of the children of Teta Elzbieta. Both -Kristoforas and his brother, Juozapas, were cripples, the latter having -lost one leg by having it run over, and Kristoforas having congenital -dislocation of the hip, which made it impossible for him ever to walk. -He was the last of Teta Elzbieta’s children, and perhaps he had been -intended by nature to let her know that she had had enough. At any rate -he was wretchedly sick and undersized; he had the rickets, and though -he was over three years old, he was no bigger than an ordinary child of -one. All day long he would crawl around the floor in a filthy little -dress, whining and fretting; because the floor was full of drafts he -was always catching cold, and snuffling because his nose ran. This made -him a nuisance, and a source of endless trouble in the family. For his -mother, with unnatural perversity, loved him best of all her children, -and made a perpetual fuss over him—would let him do anything -undisturbed, and would burst into tears when his fretting drove Jurgis -wild. - -And now he died. Perhaps it was the smoked sausage he had eaten that -morning—which may have been made out of some of the tubercular pork -that was condemned as unfit for export. At any rate, an hour after -eating it, the child had begun to cry with pain, and in another hour he -was rolling about on the floor in convulsions. Little Kotrina, who was -all alone with him, ran out screaming for help, and after a while a -doctor came, but not until Kristoforas had howled his last howl. No one -was really sorry about this except poor Elzbieta, who was inconsolable. -Jurgis announced that so far as he was concerned the child would have -to be buried by the city, since they had no money for a funeral; and at -this the poor woman almost went out of her senses, wringing her hands -and screaming with grief and despair. Her child to be buried in a -pauper’s grave! And her stepdaughter to stand by and hear it said -without protesting! It was enough to make Ona’s father rise up out of -his grave to rebuke her! If it had come to this, they might as well -give up at once, and be buried all of them together! . . . In the end -Marija said that she would help with ten dollars; and Jurgis being -still obdurate, Elzbieta went in tears and begged the money from the -neighbors, and so little Kristoforas had a mass and a hearse with white -plumes on it, and a tiny plot in a graveyard with a wooden cross to -mark the place. The poor mother was not the same for months after that; -the mere sight of the floor where little Kristoforas had crawled about -would make her weep. He had never had a fair chance, poor little -fellow, she would say. He had been handicapped from his birth. If only -she had heard about it in time, so that she might have had that great -doctor to cure him of his lameness! . . . Some time ago, Elzbieta was -told, a Chicago billionaire had paid a fortune to bring a great -European surgeon over to cure his little daughter of the same disease -from which Kristoforas had suffered. And because this surgeon had to -have bodies to demonstrate upon, he announced that he would treat the -children of the poor, a piece of magnanimity over which the papers -became quite eloquent. Elzbieta, alas, did not read the papers, and no -one had told her; but perhaps it was as well, for just then they would -not have had the carfare to spare to go every day to wait upon the -surgeon, nor for that matter anybody with the time to take the child. - -All this while that he was seeking for work, there was a dark shadow -hanging over Jurgis; as if a savage beast were lurking somewhere in the -pathway of his life, and he knew it, and yet could not help approaching -the place. There are all stages of being out of work in Packingtown, -and he faced in dread the prospect of reaching the lowest. There is a -place that waits for the lowest man—the fertilizer plant! - -The men would talk about it in awe-stricken whispers. Not more than one -in ten had ever really tried it; the other nine had contented -themselves with hearsay evidence and a peep through the door. There -were some things worse than even starving to death. They would ask -Jurgis if he had worked there yet, and if he meant to; and Jurgis would -debate the matter with himself. As poor as they were, and making all -the sacrifices that they were, would he dare to refuse any sort of work -that was offered to him, be it as horrible as ever it could? Would he -dare to go home and eat bread that had been earned by Ona, weak and -complaining as she was, knowing that he had been given a chance, and -had not had the nerve to take it?—And yet he might argue that way with -himself all day, and one glimpse into the fertilizer works would send -him away again shuddering. He was a man, and he would do his duty; he -went and made application—but surely he was not also required to hope -for success! - -The fertilizer works of Durham’s lay away from the rest of the plant. -Few visitors ever saw them, and the few who did would come out looking -like Dante, of whom the peasants declared that he had been into hell. -To this part of the yards came all the “tankage” and the waste products -of all sorts; here they dried out the bones,—and in suffocating cellars -where the daylight never came you might see men and women and children -bending over whirling machines and sawing bits of bone into all sorts -of shapes, breathing their lungs full of the fine dust, and doomed to -die, every one of them, within a certain definite time. Here they made -the blood into albumen, and made other foul-smelling things into things -still more foul-smelling. In the corridors and caverns where it was -done you might lose yourself as in the great caves of Kentucky. In the -dust and the steam the electric lights would shine like far-off -twinkling stars—red and blue-green and purple stars, according to the -color of the mist and the brew from which it came. For the odors of -these ghastly charnel houses there may be words in Lithuanian, but -there are none in English. The person entering would have to summon his -courage as for a cold-water plunge. He would go in like a man swimming -under water; he would put his handkerchief over his face, and begin to -cough and choke; and then, if he were still obstinate, he would find -his head beginning to ring, and the veins in his forehead to throb, -until finally he would be assailed by an overpowering blast of ammonia -fumes, and would turn and run for his life, and come out half-dazed. - -On top of this were the rooms where they dried the “tankage,” the mass -of brown stringy stuff that was left after the waste portions of the -carcasses had had the lard and tallow dried out of them. This dried -material they would then grind to a fine powder, and after they had -mixed it up well with a mysterious but inoffensive brown rock which -they brought in and ground up by the hundreds of carloads for that -purpose, the substance was ready to be put into bags and sent out to -the world as any one of a hundred different brands of standard bone -phosphate. And then the farmer in Maine or California or Texas would -buy this, at say twenty-five dollars a ton, and plant it with his corn; -and for several days after the operation the fields would have a strong -odor, and the farmer and his wagon and the very horses that had hauled -it would all have it too. In Packingtown the fertilizer is pure, -instead of being a flavoring, and instead of a ton or so spread out on -several acres under the open sky, there are hundreds and thousands of -tons of it in one building, heaped here and there in haystack piles, -covering the floor several inches deep, and filling the air with a -choking dust that becomes a blinding sandstorm when the wind stirs. - -It was to this building that Jurgis came daily, as if dragged by an -unseen hand. The month of May was an exceptionally cool one, and his -secret prayers were granted; but early in June there came a -record-breaking hot spell, and after that there were men wanted in the -fertilizer mill. - -The boss of the grinding room had come to know Jurgis by this time, and -had marked him for a likely man; and so when he came to the door about -two o’clock this breathless hot day, he felt a sudden spasm of pain -shoot through him—the boss beckoned to him! In ten minutes more Jurgis -had pulled off his coat and overshirt, and set his teeth together and -gone to work. Here was one more difficulty for him to meet and conquer! - -His labor took him about one minute to learn. Before him was one of the -vents of the mill in which the fertilizer was being ground—rushing -forth in a great brown river, with a spray of the finest dust flung -forth in clouds. Jurgis was given a shovel, and along with half a dozen -others it was his task to shovel this fertilizer into carts. That -others were at work he knew by the sound, and by the fact that he -sometimes collided with them; otherwise they might as well not have -been there, for in the blinding dust storm a man could not see six feet -in front of his face. When he had filled one cart he had to grope -around him until another came, and if there was none on hand he -continued to grope till one arrived. In five minutes he was, of course, -a mass of fertilizer from head to feet; they gave him a sponge to tie -over his mouth, so that he could breathe, but the sponge did not -prevent his lips and eyelids from caking up with it and his ears from -filling solid. He looked like a brown ghost at twilight—from hair to -shoes he became the color of the building and of everything in it, and -for that matter a hundred yards outside it. The building had to be left -open, and when the wind blew Durham and Company lost a great deal of -fertilizer. - -Working in his shirt sleeves, and with the thermometer at over a -hundred, the phosphates soaked in through every pore of Jurgis’ skin, -and in five minutes he had a headache, and in fifteen was almost dazed. -The blood was pounding in his brain like an engine’s throbbing; there -was a frightful pain in the top of his skull, and he could hardly -control his hands. Still, with the memory of his four months’ siege -behind him, he fought on, in a frenzy of determination; and half an -hour later he began to vomit—he vomited until it seemed as if his -inwards must be torn into shreds. A man could get used to the -fertilizer mill, the boss had said, if he would make up his mind to it; -but Jurgis now began to see that it was a question of making up his -stomach. - -At the end of that day of horror, he could scarcely stand. He had to -catch himself now and then, and lean against a building and get his -bearings. Most of the men, when they came out, made straight for a -saloon—they seemed to place fertilizer and rattlesnake poison in one -class. But Jurgis was too ill to think of drinking—he could only make -his way to the street and stagger on to a car. He had a sense of humor, -and later on, when he became an old hand, he used to think it fun to -board a streetcar and see what happened. Now, however, he was too ill -to notice it—how the people in the car began to gasp and sputter, to -put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and transfix him with furious -glances. Jurgis only knew that a man in front of him immediately got up -and gave him a seat; and that half a minute later the two people on -each side of him got up; and that in a full minute the crowded car was -nearly empty—those passengers who could not get room on the platform -having gotten out to walk. - -Of course Jurgis had made his home a miniature fertilizer mill a minute -after entering. The stuff was half an inch deep in his skin—his whole -system was full of it, and it would have taken a week not merely of -scrubbing, but of vigorous exercise, to get it out of him. As it was, -he could be compared with nothing known to men, save that newest -discovery of the savants, a substance which emits energy for an -unlimited time, without being itself in the least diminished in power. -He smelled so that he made all the food at the table taste, and set the -whole family to vomiting; for himself it was three days before he could -keep anything upon his stomach—he might wash his hands, and use a knife -and fork, but were not his mouth and throat filled with the poison? - -And still Jurgis stuck it out! In spite of splitting headaches he would -stagger down to the plant and take up his stand once more, and begin to -shovel in the blinding clouds of dust. And so at the end of the week he -was a fertilizer man for life—he was able to eat again, and though his -head never stopped aching, it ceased to be so bad that he could not -work. - -So there passed another summer. It was a summer of prosperity, all over -the country, and the country ate generously of packing house products, -and there was plenty of work for all the family, in spite of the -packers’ efforts to keep a superfluity of labor. They were again able -to pay their debts and to begin to save a little sum; but there were -one or two sacrifices they considered too heavy to be made for long—it -was too bad that the boys should have to sell papers at their age. It -was utterly useless to caution them and plead with them; quite without -knowing it, they were taking on the tone of their new environment. They -were learning to swear in voluble English; they were learning to pick -up cigar stumps and smoke them, to pass hours of their time gambling -with pennies and dice and cigarette cards; they were learning the -location of all the houses of prostitution on the “Lêvée,” and the -names of the “madames” who kept them, and the days when they gave their -state banquets, which the police captains and the big politicians all -attended. If a visiting “country customer” were to ask them, they could -show him which was “Hinkydink’s” famous saloon, and could even point -out to him by name the different gamblers and thugs and “hold-up men” -who made the place their headquarters. And worse yet, the boys were -getting out of the habit of coming home at night. What was the use, -they would ask, of wasting time and energy and a possible carfare -riding out to the stockyards every night when the weather was pleasant -and they could crawl under a truck or into an empty doorway and sleep -exactly as well? So long as they brought home a half dollar for each -day, what mattered it when they brought it? But Jurgis declared that -from this to ceasing to come at all would not be a very long step, and -so it was decided that Vilimas and Nikalojus should return to school in -the fall, and that instead Elzbieta should go out and get some work, -her place at home being taken by her younger daughter. - -Little Kotrina was like most children of the poor, prematurely made -old; she had to take care of her little brother, who was a cripple, and -also of the baby; she had to cook the meals and wash the dishes and -clean house, and have supper ready when the workers came home in the -evening. She was only thirteen, and small for her age, but she did all -this without a murmur; and her mother went out, and after trudging a -couple of days about the yards, settled down as a servant of a “sausage -machine.” - -Elzbieta was used to working, but she found this change a hard one, for -the reason that she had to stand motionless upon her feet from seven -o’clock in the morning till half-past twelve, and again from one till -half-past five. For the first few days it seemed to her that she could -not stand it—she suffered almost as much as Jurgis had from the -fertilizer, and would come out at sundown with her head fairly reeling. -Besides this, she was working in one of the dark holes, by electric -light, and the dampness, too, was deadly—there were always puddles of -water on the floor, and a sickening odor of moist flesh in the room. -The people who worked here followed the ancient custom of nature, -whereby the ptarmigan is the color of dead leaves in the fall and of -snow in the winter, and the chameleon, who is black when he lies upon a -stump and turns green when he moves to a leaf. The men and women who -worked in this department were precisely the color of the “fresh -country sausage” they made. - -The sausage-room was an interesting place to visit, for two or three -minutes, and provided that you did not look at the people; the machines -were perhaps the most wonderful things in the entire plant. Presumably -sausages were once chopped and stuffed by hand, and if so it would be -interesting to know how many workers had been displaced by these -inventions. On one side of the room were the hoppers, into which men -shoveled loads of meat and wheelbarrows full of spices; in these great -bowls were whirling knives that made two thousand revolutions a minute, -and when the meat was ground fine and adulterated with potato flour, -and well mixed with water, it was forced to the stuffing machines on -the other side of the room. The latter were tended by women; there was -a sort of spout, like the nozzle of a hose, and one of the women would -take a long string of “casing” and put the end over the nozzle and then -work the whole thing on, as one works on the finger of a tight glove. -This string would be twenty or thirty feet long, but the woman would -have it all on in a jiffy; and when she had several on, she would press -a lever, and a stream of sausage meat would be shot out, taking the -casing with it as it came. Thus one might stand and see appear, -miraculously born from the machine, a wriggling snake of sausage of -incredible length. In front was a big pan which caught these creatures, -and two more women who seized them as fast as they appeared and twisted -them into links. This was for the uninitiated the most perplexing work -of all; for all that the woman had to give was a single turn of the -wrist; and in some way she contrived to give it so that instead of an -endless chain of sausages, one after another, there grew under her -hands a bunch of strings, all dangling from a single center. It was -quite like the feat of a prestidigitator—for the woman worked so fast -that the eye could literally not follow her, and there was only a mist -of motion, and tangle after tangle of sausages appearing. In the midst -of the mist, however, the visitor would suddenly notice the tense set -face, with the two wrinkles graven in the forehead, and the ghastly -pallor of the cheeks; and then he would suddenly recollect that it was -time he was going on. The woman did not go on; she stayed right -there—hour after hour, day after day, year after year, twisting sausage -links and racing with death. It was piecework, and she was apt to have -a family to keep alive; and stern and ruthless economic laws had -arranged it that she could only do this by working just as she did, -with all her soul upon her work, and with never an instant for a glance -at the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who came to stare at her, as -at some wild beast in a menagerie. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -With one member trimming beef in a cannery, and another working in a -sausage factory, the family had a first-hand knowledge of the great -majority of Packingtown swindles. For it was the custom, as they found, -whenever meat was so spoiled that it could not be used for anything -else, either to can it or else to chop it up into sausage. With what -had been told them by Jonas, who had worked in the pickle rooms, they -could now study the whole of the spoiled-meat industry on the inside, -and read a new and grim meaning into that old Packingtown jest—that -they use everything of the pig except the squeal. - -Jonas had told them how the meat that was taken out of pickle would -often be found sour, and how they would rub it up with soda to take -away the smell, and sell it to be eaten on free-lunch counters; also of -all the miracles of chemistry which they performed, giving to any sort -of meat, fresh or salted, whole or chopped, any color and any flavor -and any odor they chose. In the pickling of hams they had an ingenious -apparatus, by which they saved time and increased the capacity of the -plant—a machine consisting of a hollow needle attached to a pump; by -plunging this needle into the meat and working with his foot, a man -could fill a ham with pickle in a few seconds. And yet, in spite of -this, there would be hams found spoiled, some of them with an odor so -bad that a man could hardly bear to be in the room with them. To pump -into these the packers had a second and much stronger pickle which -destroyed the odor—a process known to the workers as “giving them -thirty per cent.” Also, after the hams had been smoked, there would be -found some that had gone to the bad. Formerly these had been sold as -“Number Three Grade,” but later on some ingenious person had hit upon a -new device, and now they would extract the bone, about which the bad -part generally lay, and insert in the hole a white-hot iron. After this -invention there was no longer Number One, Two, and Three Grade—there -was only Number One Grade. The packers were always originating such -schemes—they had what they called “boneless hams,” which were all the -odds and ends of pork stuffed into casings; and “California hams,” -which were the shoulders, with big knuckle joints, and nearly all the -meat cut out; and fancy “skinned hams,” which were made of the oldest -hogs, whose skins were so heavy and coarse that no one would buy -them—that is, until they had been cooked and chopped fine and labeled -“head cheese!” - -It was only when the whole ham was spoiled that it came into the -department of Elzbieta. Cut up by the two-thousand-revolutions-a-minute -flyers, and mixed with half a ton of other meat, no odor that ever was -in a ham could make any difference. There was never the least attention -paid to what was cut up for sausage; there would come all the way back -from Europe old sausage that had been rejected, and that was moldy and -white—it would be dosed with borax and glycerine, and dumped into the -hoppers, and made over again for home consumption. There would be meat -that had tumbled out on the floor, in the dirt and sawdust, where the -workers had tramped and spit uncounted billions of consumption germs. -There would be meat stored in great piles in rooms; and the water from -leaky roofs would drip over it, and thousands of rats would race about -on it. It was too dark in these storage places to see well, but a man -could run his hand over these piles of meat and sweep off handfuls of -the dried dung of rats. These rats were nuisances, and the packers -would put poisoned bread out for them; they would die, and then rats, -bread, and meat would go into the hoppers together. This is no fairy -story and no joke; the meat would be shoveled into carts, and the man -who did the shoveling would not trouble to lift out a rat even when he -saw one—there were things that went into the sausage in comparison with -which a poisoned rat was a tidbit. There was no place for the men to -wash their hands before they ate their dinner, and so they made a -practice of washing them in the water that was to be ladled into the -sausage. There were the butt-ends of smoked meat, and the scraps of -corned beef, and all the odds and ends of the waste of the plants, that -would be dumped into old barrels in the cellar and left there. Under -the system of rigid economy which the packers enforced, there were some -jobs that it only paid to do once in a long time, and among these was -the cleaning out of the waste barrels. Every spring they did it; and in -the barrels would be dirt and rust and old nails and stale water—and -cartload after cartload of it would be taken up and dumped into the -hoppers with fresh meat, and sent out to the public’s breakfast. Some -of it they would make into “smoked” sausage—but as the smoking took -time, and was therefore expensive, they would call upon their chemistry -department, and preserve it with borax and color it with gelatine to -make it brown. All of their sausage came out of the same bowl, but when -they came to wrap it they would stamp some of it “special,” and for -this they would charge two cents more a pound. - -Such were the new surroundings in which Elzbieta was placed, and such -was the work she was compelled to do. It was stupefying, brutalizing -work; it left her no time to think, no strength for anything. She was -part of the machine she tended, and every faculty that was not needed -for the machine was doomed to be crushed out of existence. There was -only one mercy about the cruel grind—that it gave her the gift of -insensibility. Little by little she sank into a torpor—she fell silent. -She would meet Jurgis and Ona in the evening, and the three would walk -home together, often without saying a word. Ona, too, was falling into -a habit of silence—Ona, who had once gone about singing like a bird. -She was sick and miserable, and often she would barely have strength -enough to drag herself home. And there they would eat what they had to -eat, and afterward, because there was only their misery to talk of, -they would crawl into bed and fall into a stupor and never stir until -it was time to get up again, and dress by candlelight, and go back to -the machines. They were so numbed that they did not even suffer much -from hunger, now; only the children continued to fret when the food ran -short. - -Yet the soul of Ona was not dead—the souls of none of them were dead, -but only sleeping; and now and then they would waken, and these were -cruel times. The gates of memory would roll open—old joys would stretch -out their arms to them, old hopes and dreams would call to them, and -they would stir beneath the burden that lay upon them, and feel its -forever immeasurable weight. They could not even cry out beneath it; -but anguish would seize them, more dreadful than the agony of death. It -was a thing scarcely to be spoken—a thing never spoken by all the -world, that will not know its own defeat. - -They were beaten; they had lost the game, they were swept aside. It was -not less tragic because it was so sordid, because it had to do with -wages and grocery bills and rents. They had dreamed of freedom; of a -chance to look about them and learn something; to be decent and clean, -to see their child grow up to be strong. And now it was all gone—it -would never be! They had played the game and they had lost. Six years -more of toil they had to face before they could expect the least -respite, the cessation of the payments upon the house; and how cruelly -certain it was that they could never stand six years of such a life as -they were living! They were lost, they were going down—and there was no -deliverance for them, no hope; for all the help it gave them the vast -city in which they lived might have been an ocean waste, a wilderness, -a desert, a tomb. So often this mood would come to Ona, in the -nighttime, when something wakened her; she would lie, afraid of the -beating of her own heart, fronting the blood-red eyes of the old -primeval terror of life. Once she cried aloud, and woke Jurgis, who was -tired and cross. After that she learned to weep silently—their moods so -seldom came together now! It was as if their hopes were buried in -separate graves. - -Jurgis, being a man, had troubles of his own. There was another specter -following him. He had never spoken of it, nor would he allow any one -else to speak of it—he had never acknowledged its existence to himself. -Yet the battle with it took all the manhood that he had—and once or -twice, alas, a little more. Jurgis had discovered drink. - -He was working in the steaming pit of hell; day after day, week after -week—until now, there was not an organ of his body that did its work -without pain, until the sound of ocean breakers echoed in his head day -and night, and the buildings swayed and danced before him as he went -down the street. And from all the unending horror of this there was a -respite, a deliverance—he could drink! He could forget the pain, he -could slip off the burden; he would see clearly again, he would be -master of his brain, of his thoughts, of his will. His dead self would -stir in him, and he would find himself laughing and cracking jokes with -his companions—he would be a man again, and master of his life. - -It was not an easy thing for Jurgis to take more than two or three -drinks. With the first drink he could eat a meal, and he could persuade -himself that that was economy; with the second he could eat another -meal—but there would come a time when he could eat no more, and then to -pay for a drink was an unthinkable extravagance, a defiance of the -age-long instincts of his hunger-haunted class. One day, however, he -took the plunge, and drank up all that he had in his pockets, and went -home half “piped,” as the men phrase it. He was happier than he had -been in a year; and yet, because he knew that the happiness would not -last, he was savage, too with those who would wreck it, and with the -world, and with his life; and then again, beneath this, he was sick -with the shame of himself. Afterward, when he saw the despair of his -family, and reckoned up the money he had spent, the tears came into his -eyes, and he began the long battle with the specter. - -It was a battle that had no end, that never could have one. But Jurgis -did not realize that very clearly; he was not given much time for -reflection. He simply knew that he was always fighting. Steeped in -misery and despair as he was, merely to walk down the street was to be -put upon the rack. There was surely a saloon on the corner—perhaps on -all four corners, and some in the middle of the block as well; and each -one stretched out a hand to him each one had a personality of its own, -allurements unlike any other. Going and coming—before sunrise and after -dark—there was warmth and a glow of light, and the steam of hot food, -and perhaps music, or a friendly face, and a word of good cheer. Jurgis -developed a fondness for having Ona on his arm whenever he went out on -the street, and he would hold her tightly, and walk fast. It was -pitiful to have Ona know of this—it drove him wild to think of it; the -thing was not fair, for Ona had never tasted drink, and so could not -understand. Sometimes, in desperate hours, he would find himself -wishing that she might learn what it was, so that he need not be -ashamed in her presence. They might drink together, and escape from the -horror—escape for a while, come what would. - -So there came a time when nearly all the conscious life of Jurgis -consisted of a struggle with the craving for liquor. He would have ugly -moods, when he hated Ona and the whole family, because they stood in -his way. He was a fool to have married; he had tied himself down, had -made himself a slave. It was all because he was a married man that he -was compelled to stay in the yards; if it had not been for that he -might have gone off like Jonas, and to hell with the packers. There -were few single men in the fertilizer mill—and those few were working -only for a chance to escape. Meantime, too, they had something to think -about while they worked,—they had the memory of the last time they had -been drunk, and the hope of the time when they would be drunk again. As -for Jurgis, he was expected to bring home every penny; he could not -even go with the men at noontime—he was supposed to sit down and eat -his dinner on a pile of fertilizer dust. - -This was not always his mood, of course; he still loved his family. But -just now was a time of trial. Poor little Antanas, for instance—who had -never failed to win him with a smile—little Antanas was not smiling -just now, being a mass of fiery red pimples. He had had all the -diseases that babies are heir to, in quick succession, scarlet fever, -mumps, and whooping cough in the first year, and now he was down with -the measles. There was no one to attend him but Kotrina; there was no -doctor to help him, because they were too poor, and children did not -die of the measles—at least not often. Now and then Kotrina would find -time to sob over his woes, but for the greater part of the time he had -to be left alone, barricaded upon the bed. The floor was full of -drafts, and if he caught cold he would die. At night he was tied down, -lest he should kick the covers off him, while the family lay in their -stupor of exhaustion. He would lie and scream for hours, almost in -convulsions; and then, when he was worn out, he would lie whimpering -and wailing in his torment. He was burning up with fever, and his eyes -were running sores; in the daytime he was a thing uncanny and impish to -behold, a plaster of pimples and sweat, a great purple lump of misery. - -Yet all this was not really as cruel as it sounds, for, sick as he was, -little Antanas was the least unfortunate member of that family. He was -quite able to bear his sufferings—it was as if he had all these -complaints to show what a prodigy of health he was. He was the child of -his parents’ youth and joy; he grew up like the conjurer’s rosebush, -and all the world was his oyster. In general, he toddled around the -kitchen all day with a lean and hungry look—the portion of the family’s -allowance that fell to him was not enough, and he was unrestrainable in -his demand for more. Antanas was but little over a year old, and -already no one but his father could manage him. - -It seemed as if he had taken all of his mother’s strength—had left -nothing for those that might come after him. Ona was with child again -now, and it was a dreadful thing to contemplate; even Jurgis, dumb and -despairing as he was, could not but understand that yet other agonies -were on the way, and shudder at the thought of them. - -For Ona was visibly going to pieces. In the first place she was -developing a cough, like the one that had killed old Dede Antanas. She -had had a trace of it ever since that fatal morning when the greedy -streetcar corporation had turned her out into the rain; but now it was -beginning to grow serious, and to wake her up at night. Even worse than -that was the fearful nervousness from which she suffered; she would -have frightful headaches and fits of aimless weeping; and sometimes she -would come home at night shuddering and moaning, and would fling -herself down upon the bed and burst into tears. Several times she was -quite beside herself and hysterical; and then Jurgis would go half-mad -with fright. Elzbieta would explain to him that it could not be helped, -that a woman was subject to such things when she was pregnant; but he -was hardly to be persuaded, and would beg and plead to know what had -happened. She had never been like this before, he would argue—it was -monstrous and unthinkable. It was the life she had to live, the -accursed work she had to do, that was killing her by inches. She was -not fitted for it—no woman was fitted for it, no woman ought to be -allowed to do such work; if the world could not keep them alive any -other way it ought to kill them at once and be done with it. They ought -not to marry, to have children; no workingman ought to marry—if he, -Jurgis, had known what a woman was like, he would have had his eyes -torn out first. So he would carry on, becoming half hysterical himself, -which was an unbearable thing to see in a big man; Ona would pull -herself together and fling herself into his arms, begging him to stop, -to be still, that she would be better, it would be all right. So she -would lie and sob out her grief upon his shoulder, while he gazed at -her, as helpless as a wounded animal, the target of unseen enemies. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -The beginning of these perplexing things was in the summer; and each -time Ona would promise him with terror in her voice that it would not -happen again—but in vain. Each crisis would leave Jurgis more and more -frightened, more disposed to distrust Elzbieta’s consolations, and to -believe that there was some terrible thing about all this that he was -not allowed to know. Once or twice in these outbreaks he caught Ona’s -eye, and it seemed to him like the eye of a hunted animal; there were -broken phrases of anguish and despair now and then, amid her frantic -weeping. It was only because he was so numb and beaten himself that -Jurgis did not worry more about this. But he never thought of it, -except when he was dragged to it—he lived like a dumb beast of burden, -knowing only the moment in which he was. - -The winter was coming on again, more menacing and cruel than ever. It -was October, and the holiday rush had begun. It was necessary for the -packing machines to grind till late at night to provide food that would -be eaten at Christmas breakfasts; and Marija and Elzbieta and Ona, as -part of the machine, began working fifteen or sixteen hours a day. -There was no choice about this—whatever work there was to be done they -had to do, if they wished to keep their places; besides that, it added -another pittance to their incomes. So they staggered on with the awful -load. They would start work every morning at seven, and eat their -dinners at noon, and then work until ten or eleven at night without -another mouthful of food. Jurgis wanted to wait for them, to help them -home at night, but they would not think of this; the fertilizer mill -was not running overtime, and there was no place for him to wait save -in a saloon. Each would stagger out into the darkness, and make her way -to the corner, where they met; or if the others had already gone, would -get into a car, and begin a painful struggle to keep awake. When they -got home they were always too tired either to eat or to undress; they -would crawl into bed with their shoes on, and lie like logs. If they -should fail, they would certainly be lost; if they held out, they might -have enough coal for the winter. - -A day or two before Thanksgiving Day there came a snowstorm. It began -in the afternoon, and by evening two inches had fallen. Jurgis tried to -wait for the women, but went into a saloon to get warm, and took two -drinks, and came out and ran home to escape from the demon; there he -lay down to wait for them, and instantly fell asleep. When he opened -his eyes again he was in the midst of a nightmare, and found Elzbieta -shaking him and crying out. At first he could not realize what she was -saying—Ona had not come home. What time was it, he asked. It was -morning—time to be up. Ona had not been home that night! And it was -bitter cold, and a foot of snow on the ground. - -Jurgis sat up with a start. Marija was crying with fright and the -children were wailing in sympathy—little Stanislovas in addition, -because the terror of the snow was upon him. Jurgis had nothing to put -on but his shoes and his coat, and in half a minute he was out of the -door. Then, however, he realized that there was no need of haste, that -he had no idea where to go. It was still dark as midnight, and the -thick snowflakes were sifting down—everything was so silent that he -could hear the rustle of them as they fell. In the few seconds that he -stood there hesitating he was covered white. - -He set off at a run for the yards, stopping by the way to inquire in -the saloons that were open. Ona might have been overcome on the way; or -else she might have met with an accident in the machines. When he got -to the place where she worked he inquired of one of the watchmen—there -had not been any accident, so far as the man had heard. At the time -office, which he found already open, the clerk told him that Ona’s -check had been turned in the night before, showing that she had left -her work. - -After that there was nothing for him to do but wait, pacing back and -forth in the snow, meantime, to keep from freezing. Already the yards -were full of activity; cattle were being unloaded from the cars in the -distance, and across the way the “beef-luggers” were toiling in the -darkness, carrying two-hundred-pound quarters of bullocks into the -refrigerator cars. Before the first streaks of daylight there came the -crowding throngs of workingmen, shivering, and swinging their dinner -pails as they hurried by. Jurgis took up his stand by the time-office -window, where alone there was light enough for him to see; the snow -fell so quick that it was only by peering closely that he could make -sure that Ona did not pass him. - -Seven o’clock came, the hour when the great packing machine began to -move. Jurgis ought to have been at his place in the fertilizer mill; -but instead he was waiting, in an agony of fear, for Ona. It was -fifteen minutes after the hour when he saw a form emerge from the snow -mist, and sprang toward it with a cry. It was she, running swiftly; as -she saw him, she staggered forward, and half fell into his outstretched -arms. - -“What has been the matter?” he cried, anxiously. “Where have you been?” - -It was several seconds before she could get breath to answer him. “I -couldn’t get home,” she exclaimed. “The snow—the cars had stopped.” - -“But where were you then?” he demanded. - -“I had to go home with a friend,” she panted—“with Jadvyga.” - -Jurgis drew a deep breath; but then he noticed that she was sobbing and -trembling—as if in one of those nervous crises that he dreaded so. “But -what’s the matter?” he cried. “What has happened?” - -“Oh, Jurgis, I was so frightened!” she said, clinging to him wildly. “I -have been so worried!” - -They were near the time station window, and people were staring at -them. Jurgis led her away. “How do you mean?” he asked, in perplexity. - -“I was afraid—I was just afraid!” sobbed Ona. “I knew you wouldn’t know -where I was, and I didn’t know what you might do. I tried to get home, -but I was so tired. Oh, Jurgis, Jurgis!” - -He was so glad to get her back that he could not think clearly about -anything else. It did not seem strange to him that she should be so -very much upset; all her fright and incoherent protestations did not -matter since he had her back. He let her cry away her tears; and then, -because it was nearly eight o’clock, and they would lose another hour -if they delayed, he left her at the packing house door, with her -ghastly white face and her haunted eyes of terror. - -There was another brief interval. Christmas was almost come; and -because the snow still held, and the searching cold, morning after -morning Jurgis half carried his wife to her post, staggering with her -through the darkness; until at last, one night, came the end. - -It lacked but three days of the holidays. About midnight Marija and -Elzbieta came home, exclaiming in alarm when they found that Ona had -not come. The two had agreed to meet her; and, after waiting, had gone -to the room where she worked; only to find that the ham-wrapping girls -had quit work an hour before, and left. There was no snow that night, -nor was it especially cold; and still Ona had not come! Something more -serious must be wrong this time. - -They aroused Jurgis, and he sat up and listened crossly to the story. -She must have gone home again with Jadvyga, he said; Jadvyga lived only -two blocks from the yards, and perhaps she had been tired. Nothing -could have happened to her—and even if there had, there was nothing -could be done about it until morning. Jurgis turned over in his bed, -and was snoring again before the two had closed the door. - -In the morning, however, he was up and out nearly an hour before the -usual time. Jadvyga Marcinkus lived on the other side of the yards, -beyond Halsted Street, with her mother and sisters, in a single -basement room—for Mikolas had recently lost one hand from blood -poisoning, and their marriage had been put off forever. The door of the -room was in the rear, reached by a narrow court, and Jurgis saw a light -in the window and heard something frying as he passed; he knocked, half -expecting that Ona would answer. - -Instead there was one of Jadvyga’s little sisters, who gazed at him -through a crack in the door. “Where’s Ona?” he demanded; and the child -looked at him in perplexity. “Ona?” she said. - -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “isn’t she here?” - -“No,” said the child, and Jurgis gave a start. A moment later came -Jadvyga, peering over the child’s head. When she saw who it was, she -slid around out of sight, for she was not quite dressed. Jurgis must -excuse her, she began, her mother was very ill— - -“Ona isn’t here?” Jurgis demanded, too alarmed to wait for her to -finish. - -“Why, no,” said Jadvyga. “What made you think she would be here? Had -she said she was coming?” - -“No,” he answered. “But she hasn’t come home—and I thought she would be -here the same as before.” - -“As before?” echoed Jadvyga, in perplexity. - -“The time she spent the night here,” said Jurgis. - -“There must be some mistake,” she answered, quickly. “Ona has never -spent the night here.” - -He was only half able to realize the words. “Why—why—” he exclaimed. -“Two weeks ago. Jadvyga! She told me so the night it snowed, and she -could not get home.” - -“There must be some mistake,” declared the girl, again; “she didn’t -come here.” - -He steadied himself by the door-sill; and Jadvyga in her anxiety—for -she was fond of Ona—opened the door wide, holding her jacket across her -throat. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand her?” she cried. “She -must have meant somewhere else. She—” - -“She said here,” insisted Jurgis. “She told me all about you, and how -you were, and what you said. Are you sure? You haven’t forgotten? You -weren’t away?” - -“No, no!” she exclaimed—and then came a peevish voice—“Jadvyga, you are -giving the baby a cold. Shut the door!” Jurgis stood for half a minute -more, stammering his perplexity through an eighth of an inch of crack; -and then, as there was really nothing more to be said, he excused -himself and went away. - -He walked on half dazed, without knowing where he went. Ona had -deceived him! She had lied to him! And what could it mean—where had she -been? Where was she now? He could hardly grasp the thing—much less try -to solve it; but a hundred wild surmises came to him, a sense of -impending calamity overwhelmed him. - -Because there was nothing else to do, he went back to the time office -to watch again. He waited until nearly an hour after seven, and then -went to the room where Ona worked to make inquiries of Ona’s -“forelady.” The “forelady,” he found, had not yet come; all the lines -of cars that came from downtown were stalled—there had been an accident -in the powerhouse, and no cars had been running since last night. -Meantime, however, the ham-wrappers were working away, with some one -else in charge of them. The girl who answered Jurgis was busy, and as -she talked she looked to see if she were being watched. Then a man came -up, wheeling a truck; he knew Jurgis for Ona’s husband, and was curious -about the mystery. - -“Maybe the cars had something to do with it,” he suggested—“maybe she -had gone down-town.” - -“No,” said Jurgis, “she never went down-town.” - -“Perhaps not,” said the man. Jurgis thought he saw him exchange a swift -glance with the girl as he spoke, and he demanded quickly. “What do you -know about it?” - -But the man had seen that the boss was watching him; he started on -again, pushing his truck. “I don’t know anything about it,” he said, -over his shoulder. “How should I know where your wife goes?” - -Then Jurgis went out again and paced up and down before the building. -All the morning he stayed there, with no thought of his work. About -noon he went to the police station to make inquiries, and then came -back again for another anxious vigil. Finally, toward the middle of the -afternoon, he set out for home once more. - -He was walking out Ashland Avenue. The streetcars had begun running -again, and several passed him, packed to the steps with people. The -sight of them set Jurgis to thinking again of the man’s sarcastic -remark; and half involuntarily he found himself watching the cars—with -the result that he gave a sudden startled exclamation, and stopped -short in his tracks. - -Then he broke into a run. For a whole block he tore after the car, only -a little ways behind. That rusty black hat with the drooping red -flower, it might not be Ona’s, but there was very little likelihood of -it. He would know for certain very soon, for she would get out two -blocks ahead. He slowed down, and let the car go on. - -She got out: and as soon as she was out of sight on the side street -Jurgis broke into a run. Suspicion was rife in him now, and he was not -ashamed to shadow her: he saw her turn the corner near their home, and -then he ran again, and saw her as she went up the porch steps of the -house. After that he turned back, and for five minutes paced up and -down, his hands clenched tightly and his lips set, his mind in a -turmoil. Then he went home and entered. - -As he opened the door, he saw Elzbieta, who had also been looking for -Ona, and had come home again. She was now on tiptoe, and had a finger -on her lips. Jurgis waited until she was close to him. - -“Don’t make any noise,” she whispered, hurriedly. - -“What’s the matter’?” he asked. “Ona is asleep,” she panted. “She’s -been very ill. I’m afraid her mind’s been wandering, Jurgis. She was -lost on the street all night, and I’ve only just succeeded in getting -her quiet.” - -“When did she come in?” he asked. - -“Soon after you left this morning,” said Elzbieta. - -“And has she been out since?” - -“No, of course not. She’s so weak, Jurgis, she—” - -And he set his teeth hard together. “You are lying to me,” he said. - -Elzbieta started, and turned pale. “Why!” she gasped. “What do you -mean?” - -But Jurgis did not answer. He pushed her aside, and strode to the -bedroom door and opened it. - -Ona was sitting on the bed. She turned a startled look upon him as he -entered. He closed the door in Elzbieta’s face, and went toward his -wife. “Where have you been?” he demanded. - -She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he saw that her face -was as white as paper, and drawn with pain. She gasped once or twice as -she tried to answer him, and then began, speaking low, and swiftly. -“Jurgis, I—I think I have been out of my mind. I started to come last -night, and I could not find the way. I walked—I walked all night, I -think, and—and I only got home—this morning.” - -“You needed a rest,” he said, in a hard tone. “Why did you go out -again?” - -He was looking her fairly in the face, and he could read the sudden -fear and wild uncertainty that leaped into her eyes. “I—I had to go -to—to the store,” she gasped, almost in a whisper, “I had to go—” - -“You are lying to me,” said Jurgis. Then he clenched his hands and took -a step toward her. “Why do you lie to me?” he cried, fiercely. “What -are you doing that you have to lie to me?” - -“Jurgis!” she exclaimed, starting up in fright. “Oh, Jurgis, how can -you?” - -“You have lied to me, I say!” he cried. “You told me you had been to -Jadvyga’s house that other night, and you hadn’t. You had been where -you were last night—somewheres downtown, for I saw you get off the car. -Where were you?” - -It was as if he had struck a knife into her. She seemed to go all to -pieces. For half a second she stood, reeling and swaying, staring at -him with horror in her eyes; then, with a cry of anguish, she tottered -forward, stretching out her arms to him. But he stepped aside, -deliberately, and let her fall. She caught herself at the side of the -bed, and then sank down, burying her face in her hands and bursting -into frantic weeping. - -There came one of those hysterical crises that had so often dismayed -him. Ona sobbed and wept, her fear and anguish building themselves up -into long climaxes. Furious gusts of emotion would come sweeping over -her, shaking her as the tempest shakes the trees upon the hills; all -her frame would quiver and throb with them—it was as if some dreadful -thing rose up within her and took possession of her, torturing her, -tearing her. This thing had been wont to set Jurgis quite beside -himself; but now he stood with his lips set tightly and his hands -clenched—she might weep till she killed herself, but she should not -move him this time—not an inch, not an inch. Because the sounds she -made set his blood to running cold and his lips to quivering in spite -of himself, he was glad of the diversion when Teta Elzbieta, pale with -fright, opened the door and rushed in; yet he turned upon her with an -oath. “Go out!” he cried, “go out!” And then, as she stood hesitating, -about to speak, he seized her by the arm, and half flung her from the -room, slamming the door and barring it with a table. Then he turned -again and faced Ona, crying—“Now, answer me!” - -Yet she did not hear him—she was still in the grip of the fiend. Jurgis -could see her outstretched hands, shaking and twitching, roaming here -and there over the bed at will, like living things; he could see -convulsive shudderings start in her body and run through her limbs. She -was sobbing and choking—it was as if there were too many sounds for one -throat, they came chasing each other, like waves upon the sea. Then her -voice would begin to rise into screams, louder and louder until it -broke in wild, horrible peals of laughter. Jurgis bore it until he -could bear it no longer, and then he sprang at her, seizing her by the -shoulders and shaking her, shouting into her ear: “Stop it, I say! Stop -it!” - -She looked up at him, out of her agony; then she fell forward at his -feet. She caught them in her hands, in spite of his efforts to step -aside, and with her face upon the floor lay writhing. It made a choking -in Jurgis’ throat to hear her, and he cried again, more savagely than -before: “Stop it, I say!” - -This time she heeded him, and caught her breath and lay silent, save -for the gasping sobs that wrenched all her frame. For a long minute she -lay there, perfectly motionless, until a cold fear seized her husband, -thinking that she was dying. Suddenly, however, he heard her voice, -faintly: “Jurgis! Jurgis!” - -“What is it?” he said. - -He had to bend down to her, she was so weak. She was pleading with him, -in broken phrases, painfully uttered: “Have faith in me! Believe me!” - -“Believe what?” he cried. - -“Believe that I—that I know best—that I love you! And do not ask -me—what you did. Oh, Jurgis, please, please! It is for the best—it is—” - -He started to speak again, but she rushed on frantically, heading him -off. “If you will only do it! If you will only—only believe me! It -wasn’t my fault—I couldn’t help it—it will be all right—it is -nothing—it is no harm. Oh, Jurgis—please, please!” - -She had hold of him, and was trying to raise herself to look at him; he -could feel the palsied shaking of her hands and the heaving of the -bosom she pressed against him. She managed to catch one of his hands -and gripped it convulsively, drawing it to her face, and bathing it in -her tears. “Oh, believe me, believe me!” she wailed again; and he -shouted in fury, “I will not!” - -But still she clung to him, wailing aloud in her despair: “Oh, Jurgis, -think what you are doing! It will ruin us—it will ruin us! Oh, no, you -must not do it! No, don’t, don’t do it. You must not do it! It will -drive me mad—it will kill me—no, no, Jurgis, I am crazy—it is nothing. -You do not really need to know. We can be happy—we can love each other -just the same. Oh, please, please, believe me!” - -Her words fairly drove him wild. He tore his hands loose, and flung her -off. “Answer me,” he cried. “God damn it, I say—answer me!” - -She sank down upon the floor, beginning to cry again. It was like -listening to the moan of a damned soul, and Jurgis could not stand it. -He smote his fist upon the table by his side, and shouted again at her, -“Answer me!” - -She began to scream aloud, her voice like the voice of some wild beast: -“Ah! Ah! I can’t! I can’t do it!” - -“Why can’t you do it?” he shouted. - -“I don’t know how!” - -He sprang and caught her by the arm, lifting her up, and glaring into -her face. “Tell me where you were last night!” he panted. “Quick, out -with it!” - -Then she began to whisper, one word at a time: “I—was in—a -house—downtown—” - -“What house? What do you mean?” - -She tried to hide her eyes away, but he held her. “Miss Henderson’s -house,” she gasped. He did not understand at first. “Miss Henderson’s -house,” he echoed. And then suddenly, as in an explosion, the horrible -truth burst over him, and he reeled and staggered back with a scream. -He caught himself against the wall, and put his hand to his forehead, -staring about him, and whispering, “Jesus! Jesus!” - -An instant later he leaped at her, as she lay groveling at his feet. He -seized her by the throat. “Tell me!” he gasped, hoarsely. “Quick! Who -took you to that place?” - -She tried to get away, making him furious; he thought it was fear, of -the pain of his clutch—he did not understand that it was the agony of -her shame. Still she answered him, “Connor.” - -“Connor,” he gasped. “Who is Connor?” - -“The boss,” she answered. “The man—” - -He tightened his grip, in his frenzy, and only when he saw her eyes -closing did he realize that he was choking her. Then he relaxed his -fingers, and crouched, waiting, until she opened her lids again. His -breath beat hot into her face. - -“Tell me,” he whispered, at last, “tell me about it.” - -She lay perfectly motionless, and he had to hold his breath to catch -her words. “I did not want—to do it,” she said; “I tried—I tried not to -do it. I only did it—to save us. It was our only chance.” - -Again, for a space, there was no sound but his panting. Ona’s eyes -closed and when she spoke again she did not open them. “He told me—he -would have me turned off. He told me he would—we would all of us lose -our places. We could never get anything to do—here—again. He—he meant -it—he would have ruined us.” - -Jurgis’ arms were shaking so that he could scarcely hold himself up, -and lurched forward now and then as he listened. “When—when did this -begin?” he gasped. - -“At the very first,” she said. She spoke as if in a trance. “It was -all—it was their plot—Miss Henderson’s plot. She hated me. And he—he -wanted me. He used to speak to me—out on the platform. Then he began -to—to make love to me. He offered me money. He begged me—he said he -loved me. Then he threatened me. He knew all about us, he knew we would -starve. He knew your boss—he knew Marija’s. He would hound us to death, -he said—then he said if I would—if I—we would all of us be sure of -work—always. Then one day he caught hold of me—he would not let -go—he—he—” - -“Where was this?” - -“In the hallway—at night—after every one had gone. I could not help it. -I thought of you—of the baby—of mother and the children. I was afraid -of him—afraid to cry out.” - -A moment ago her face had been ashen gray, now it was scarlet. She was -beginning to breathe hard again. Jurgis made not a sound. - -“That was two months ago. Then he wanted me to come—to that house. He -wanted me to stay there. He said all of us—that we would not have to -work. He made me come there—in the evenings. I told you—you thought I -was at the factory. Then—one night it snowed, and I couldn’t get back. -And last night—the cars were stopped. It was such a little thing—to -ruin us all. I tried to walk, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want you to -know. It would have—it would have been all right. We could have gone -on—just the same—you need never have known about it. He was getting -tired of me—he would have let me alone soon. I am going to have a -baby—I am getting ugly. He told me that—twice, he told me, last night. -He kicked me—last night—too. And now you will kill him—you—you will -kill him—and we shall die.” - -All this she had said without a quiver; she lay still as death, not an -eyelid moving. And Jurgis, too, said not a word. He lifted himself by -the bed, and stood up. He did not stop for another glance at her, but -went to the door and opened it. He did not see Elzbieta, crouching -terrified in the corner. He went out, hatless, leaving the street door -open behind him. The instant his feet were on the sidewalk he broke -into a run. - -He ran like one possessed, blindly, furiously, looking neither to the -right nor left. He was on Ashland Avenue before exhaustion compelled -him to slow down, and then, noticing a car, he made a dart for it and -drew himself aboard. His eyes were wild and his hair flying, and he was -breathing hoarsely, like a wounded bull; but the people on the car did -not notice this particularly—perhaps it seemed natural to them that a -man who smelled as Jurgis smelled should exhibit an aspect to -correspond. They began to give way before him as usual. The conductor -took his nickel gingerly, with the tips of his fingers, and then left -him with the platform to himself. Jurgis did not even notice it—his -thoughts were far away. Within his soul it was like a roaring furnace; -he stood waiting, waiting, crouching as if for a spring. - -He had some of his breath back when the car came to the entrance of the -yards, and so he leaped off and started again, racing at full speed. -People turned and stared at him, but he saw no one—there was the -factory, and he bounded through the doorway and down the corridor. He -knew the room where Ona worked, and he knew Connor, the boss of the -loading-gang outside. He looked for the man as he sprang into the room. - -The truckmen were hard at work, loading the freshly packed boxes and -barrels upon the cars. Jurgis shot one swift glance up and down the -platform—the man was not on it. But then suddenly he heard a voice in -the corridor, and started for it with a bound. In an instant more he -fronted the boss. - -He was a big, red-faced Irishman, coarse-featured, and smelling of -liquor. He saw Jurgis as he crossed the threshold, and turned white. He -hesitated one second, as if meaning to run; and in the next his -assailant was upon him. He put up his hands to protect his face, but -Jurgis, lunging with all the power of his arm and body, struck him -fairly between the eyes and knocked him backward. The next moment he -was on top of him, burying his fingers in his throat. - -To Jurgis this man’s whole presence reeked of the crime he had -committed; the touch of his body was madness to him—it set every nerve -of him a-tremble, it aroused all the demon in his soul. It had worked -its will upon Ona, this great beast—and now he had it, he had it! It -was his turn now! Things swam blood before him, and he screamed aloud -in his fury, lifting his victim and smashing his head upon the floor. - -The place, of course, was in an uproar; women fainting and shrieking, -and men rushing in. Jurgis was so bent upon his task that he knew -nothing of this, and scarcely realized that people were trying to -interfere with him; it was only when half a dozen men had seized him by -the legs and shoulders and were pulling at him, that he understood that -he was losing his prey. In a flash he had bent down and sunk his teeth -into the man’s cheek; and when they tore him away he was dripping with -blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his mouth. - -They got him down upon the floor, clinging to him by his arms and legs, -and still they could hardly hold him. He fought like a tiger, writhing -and twisting, half flinging them off, and starting toward his -unconscious enemy. But yet others rushed in, until there was a little -mountain of twisted limbs and bodies, heaving and tossing, and working -its way about the room. In the end, by their sheer weight, they choked -the breath out of him, and then they carried him to the company police -station, where he lay still until they had summoned a patrol wagon to -take him away. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -When Jurgis got up again he went quietly enough. He was exhausted and -half-dazed, and besides he saw the blue uniforms of the policemen. He -drove in a patrol wagon with half a dozen of them watching him; keeping -as far away as possible, however, on account of the fertilizer. Then he -stood before the sergeant’s desk and gave his name and address, and saw -a charge of assault and battery entered against him. On his way to his -cell a burly policeman cursed him because he started down the wrong -corridor, and then added a kick when he was not quick enough; -nevertheless, Jurgis did not even lift his eyes—he had lived two years -and a half in Packingtown, and he knew what the police were. It was as -much as a man’s very life was worth to anger them, here in their inmost -lair; like as not a dozen would pile on to him at once, and pound his -face into a pulp. It would be nothing unusual if he got his skull -cracked in the mêlée—in which case they would report that he had been -drunk and had fallen down, and there would be no one to know the -difference or to care. - -So a barred door clanged upon Jurgis and he sat down upon a bench and -buried his face in his hands. He was alone; he had the afternoon and -all of the night to himself. - -At first he was like a wild beast that has glutted itself; he was in a -dull stupor of satisfaction. He had done up the scoundrel pretty -well—not as well as he would have if they had given him a minute more, -but pretty well, all the same; the ends of his fingers were still -tingling from their contact with the fellow’s throat. But then, little -by little, as his strength came back and his senses cleared, he began -to see beyond his momentary gratification; that he had nearly killed -the boss would not help Ona—not the horrors that she had borne, nor the -memory that would haunt her all her days. It would not help to feed her -and her child; she would certainly lose her place, while he—what was to -happen to him God only knew. - -Half the night he paced the floor, wrestling with this nightmare; and -when he was exhausted he lay down, trying to sleep, but finding -instead, for the first time in his life, that his brain was too much -for him. In the cell next to him was a drunken wife-beater and in the -one beyond a yelling maniac. At midnight they opened the station house -to the homeless wanderers who were crowded about the door, shivering in -the winter blast, and they thronged into the corridor outside of the -cells. Some of them stretched themselves out on the bare stone floor -and fell to snoring, others sat up, laughing and talking, cursing and -quarreling. The air was fetid with their breath, yet in spite of this -some of them smelled Jurgis and called down the torments of hell upon -him, while he lay in a far corner of his cell, counting the throbbings -of the blood in his forehead. - -They had brought him his supper, which was “duffers and dope”—being -hunks of dry bread on a tin plate, and coffee, called “dope” because it -was drugged to keep the prisoners quiet. Jurgis had not known this, or -he would have swallowed the stuff in desperation; as it was, every -nerve of him was a-quiver with shame and rage. Toward morning the place -fell silent, and he got up and began to pace his cell; and then within -the soul of him there rose up a fiend, red-eyed and cruel, and tore out -the strings of his heart. - -It was not for himself that he suffered—what did a man who worked in -Durham’s fertilizer mill care about anything that the world might do to -him! What was any tyranny of prison compared with the tyranny of the -past, of the thing that had happened and could not be recalled, of the -memory that could never be effaced! The horror of it drove him mad; he -stretched out his arms to heaven, crying out for deliverance from -it—and there was no deliverance, there was no power even in heaven that -could undo the past. It was a ghost that would not drown; it followed -him, it seized upon him and beat him to the ground. Ah, if only he -could have foreseen it—but then, he would have foreseen it, if he had -not been a fool! He smote his hands upon his forehead, cursing himself -because he had ever allowed Ona to work where she had, because he had -not stood between her and a fate which every one knew to be so common. -He should have taken her away, even if it were to lie down and die of -starvation in the gutters of Chicago’s streets! And now—oh, it could -not be true; it was too monstrous, too horrible. - -It was a thing that could not be faced; a new shuddering seized him -every time he tried to think of it. No, there was no bearing the load -of it, there was no living under it. There would be none for her—he -knew that he might pardon her, might plead with her on his knees, but -she would never look him in the face again, she would never be his wife -again. The shame of it would kill her—there could be no other -deliverance, and it was best that she should die. - -This was simple and clear, and yet, with cruel inconsistency, whenever -he escaped from this nightmare it was to suffer and cry out at the -vision of Ona starving. They had put him in jail, and they would keep -him here a long time, years maybe. And Ona would surely not go to work -again, broken and crushed as she was. And Elzbieta and Marija, too, -might lose their places—if that hell fiend Connor chose to set to work -to ruin them, they would all be turned out. And even if he did not, -they could not live—even if the boys left school again, they could -surely not pay all the bills without him and Ona. They had only a few -dollars now—they had just paid the rent of the house a week ago, and -that after it was two weeks overdue. So it would be due again in a -week! They would have no money to pay it then—and they would lose the -house, after all their long, heartbreaking struggle. Three times now -the agent had warned him that he would not tolerate another delay. -Perhaps it was very base of Jurgis to be thinking about the house when -he had the other unspeakable thing to fill his mind; yet, how much he -had suffered for this house, how much they had all of them suffered! It -was their one hope of respite, as long as they lived; they had put all -their money into it—and they were working people, poor people, whose -money was their strength, the very substance of them, body and soul, -the thing by which they lived and for lack of which they died. - -And they would lose it all; they would be turned out into the streets, -and have to hide in some icy garret, and live or die as best they -could! Jurgis had all the night—and all of many more nights—to think -about this, and he saw the thing in its details; he lived it all, as if -he were there. They would sell their furniture, and then run into debt -at the stores, and then be refused credit; they would borrow a little -from the Szedvilases, whose delicatessen store was tottering on the -brink of ruin; the neighbors would come and help them a little—poor, -sick Jadvyga would bring a few spare pennies, as she always did when -people were starving, and Tamoszius Kuszleika would bring them the -proceeds of a night’s fiddling. So they would struggle to hang on until -he got out of jail—or would they know that he was in jail, would they -be able to find out anything about him? Would they be allowed to see -him—or was it to be part of his punishment to be kept in ignorance -about their fate? - -His mind would hang upon the worst possibilities; he saw Ona ill and -tortured, Marija out of her place, little Stanislovas unable to get to -work for the snow, the whole family turned out on the street. God -Almighty! would they actually let them lie down in the street and die? -Would there be no help even then—would they wander about in the snow -till they froze? Jurgis had never seen any dead bodies in the streets, -but he had seen people evicted and disappear, no one knew where; and -though the city had a relief bureau, though there was a charity -organization society in the stockyards district, in all his life there -he had never heard of either of them. They did not advertise their -activities, having more calls than they could attend to without that. - -—So on until morning. Then he had another ride in the patrol wagon, -along with the drunken wife-beater and the maniac, several “plain -drunks” and “saloon fighters,” a burglar, and two men who had been -arrested for stealing meat from the packing houses. Along with them he -was driven into a large, white-walled room, stale-smelling and crowded. -In front, upon a raised platform behind a rail, sat a stout, -florid-faced personage, with a nose broken out in purple blotches. - -Our friend realized vaguely that he was about to be tried. He wondered -what for—whether or not his victim might be dead, and if so, what they -would do with him. Hang him, perhaps, or beat him to death—nothing -would have surprised Jurgis, who knew little of the laws. Yet he had -picked up gossip enough to have it occur to him that the loud-voiced -man upon the bench might be the notorious Justice Callahan, about whom -the people of Packingtown spoke with bated breath. - -“Pat” Callahan—“Growler” Pat, as he had been known before he ascended -the bench—had begun life as a butcher boy and a bruiser of local -reputation; he had gone into politics almost as soon as he had learned -to talk, and had held two offices at once before he was old enough to -vote. If Scully was the thumb, Pat Callahan was the first finger of the -unseen hand whereby the packers held down the people of the district. -No politician in Chicago ranked higher in their confidence; he had been -at it a long time—had been the business agent in the city council of -old Durham, the self-made merchant, way back in the early days, when -the whole city of Chicago had been up at auction. “Growler” Pat had -given up holding city offices very early in his career—caring only for -party power, and giving the rest of his time to superintending his -dives and brothels. Of late years, however, since his children were -growing up, he had begun to value respectability, and had had himself -made a magistrate; a position for which he was admirably fitted, -because of his strong conservatism and his contempt for “foreigners.” - -Jurgis sat gazing about the room for an hour or two; he was in hopes -that some one of the family would come, but in this he was -disappointed. Finally, he was led before the bar, and a lawyer for the -company appeared against him. Connor was under the doctor’s care, the -lawyer explained briefly, and if his Honor would hold the prisoner for -a week—“Three hundred dollars,” said his Honor, promptly. - -Jurgis was staring from the judge to the lawyer in perplexity. “Have -you any one to go on your bond?” demanded the judge, and then a clerk -who stood at Jurgis’ elbow explained to him what this meant. The latter -shook his head, and before he realized what had happened the policemen -were leading him away again. They took him to a room where other -prisoners were waiting and here he stayed until court adjourned, when -he had another long and bitterly cold ride in a patrol wagon to the -county jail, which is on the north side of the city, and nine or ten -miles from the stockyards. - -Here they searched Jurgis, leaving him only his money, which consisted -of fifteen cents. Then they led him to a room and told him to strip for -a bath; after which he had to walk down a long gallery, past the grated -cell doors of the inmates of the jail. This was a great event to the -latter—the daily review of the new arrivals, all stark naked, and many -and diverting were the comments. Jurgis was required to stay in the -bath longer than any one, in the vain hope of getting out of him a few -of his phosphates and acids. The prisoners roomed two in a cell, but -that day there was one left over, and he was the one. - -The cells were in tiers, opening upon galleries. His cell was about -five feet by seven in size, with a stone floor and a heavy wooden bench -built into it. There was no window—the only light came from windows -near the roof at one end of the court outside. There were two bunks, -one above the other, each with a straw mattress and a pair of gray -blankets—the latter stiff as boards with filth, and alive with fleas, -bedbugs, and lice. When Jurgis lifted up the mattress he discovered -beneath it a layer of scurrying roaches, almost as badly frightened as -himself. - -Here they brought him more “duffers and dope,” with the addition of a -bowl of soup. Many of the prisoners had their meals brought in from a -restaurant, but Jurgis had no money for that. Some had books to read -and cards to play, with candles to burn by night, but Jurgis was all -alone in darkness and silence. He could not sleep again; there was the -same maddening procession of thoughts that lashed him like whips upon -his naked back. When night fell he was pacing up and down his cell like -a wild beast that breaks its teeth upon the bars of its cage. Now and -then in his frenzy he would fling himself against the walls of the -place, beating his hands upon them. They cut him and bruised him—they -were cold and merciless as the men who had built them. - -In the distance there was a church-tower bell that tolled the hours one -by one. When it came to midnight Jurgis was lying upon the floor with -his head in his arms, listening. Instead of falling silent at the end, -the bell broke into a sudden clangor. Jurgis raised his head; what -could that mean—a fire? God! Suppose there were to be a fire in this -jail! But then he made out a melody in the ringing; there were chimes. -And they seemed to waken the city—all around, far and near, there were -bells, ringing wild music; for fully a minute Jurgis lay lost in -wonder, before, all at once, the meaning of it broke over him—that this -was Christmas Eve! - -Christmas Eve—he had forgotten it entirely! There was a breaking of -floodgates, a whirl of new memories and new griefs rushing into his -mind. In far Lithuania they had celebrated Christmas; and it came to -him as if it had been yesterday—himself a little child, with his lost -brother and his dead father in the cabin—in the deep black forest, -where the snow fell all day and all night and buried them from the -world. It was too far off for Santa Claus in Lithuania, but it was not -too far for peace and good will to men, for the wonder-bearing vision -of the Christ Child. And even in Packingtown they had not forgotten -it—some gleam of it had never failed to break their darkness. Last -Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day Jurgis had toiled on the killing -beds, and Ona at wrapping hams, and still they had found strength -enough to take the children for a walk upon the avenue, to see the -store windows all decorated with Christmas trees and ablaze with -electric lights. In one window there would be live geese, in another -marvels in sugar—pink and white canes big enough for ogres, and cakes -with cherubs upon them; in a third there would be rows of fat yellow -turkeys, decorated with rosettes, and rabbits and squirrels hanging; in -a fourth would be a fairyland of toys—lovely dolls with pink dresses, -and woolly sheep and drums and soldier hats. Nor did they have to go -without their share of all this, either. The last time they had had a -big basket with them and all their Christmas marketing to do—a roast of -pork and a cabbage and some rye bread, and a pair of mittens for Ona, -and a rubber doll that squeaked, and a little green cornucopia full of -candy to be hung from the gas jet and gazed at by half a dozen pairs of -longing eyes. - -Even half a year of the sausage machines and the fertilizer mill had -not been able to kill the thought of Christmas in them; there was a -choking in Jurgis’ throat as he recalled that the very night Ona had -not come home Teta Elzbieta had taken him aside and shown him an old -valentine that she had picked up in a paper store for three cents—dingy -and shopworn, but with bright colors, and figures of angels and doves. -She had wiped all the specks off this, and was going to set it on the -mantel, where the children could see it. Great sobs shook Jurgis at -this memory—they would spend their Christmas in misery and despair, -with him in prison and Ona ill and their home in desolation. Ah, it was -too cruel! Why at least had they not left him alone—why, after they had -shut him in jail, must they be ringing Christmas chimes in his ears! - -But no, their bells were not ringing for him—their Christmas was not -meant for him, they were simply not counting him at all. He was of no -consequence—he was flung aside, like a bit of trash, the carcass of -some animal. It was horrible, horrible! His wife might be dying, his -baby might be starving, his whole family might be perishing in the -cold—and all the while they were ringing their Christmas chimes! And -the bitter mockery of it—all this was punishment for him! They put him -in a place where the snow could not beat in, where the cold could not -eat through his bones; they brought him food and drink—why, in the name -of heaven, if they must punish him, did they not put his family in jail -and leave him outside—why could they find no better way to punish him -than to leave three weak women and six helpless children to starve and -freeze? That was their law, that was their justice! - -Jurgis stood upright; trembling with passion, his hands clenched and -his arms upraised, his whole soul ablaze with hatred and defiance. Ten -thousand curses upon them and their law! Their justice—it was a lie, it -was a lie, a hideous, brutal lie, a thing too black and hateful for any -world but a world of nightmares. It was a sham and a loathsome mockery. -There was no justice, there was no right, anywhere in it—it was only -force, it was tyranny, the will and the power, reckless and -unrestrained! They had ground him beneath their heel, they had devoured -all his substance; they had murdered his old father, they had broken -and wrecked his wife, they had crushed and cowed his whole family; and -now they were through with him, they had no further use for him—and -because he had interfered with them, had gotten in their way, this was -what they had done to him! They had put him behind bars, as if he had -been a wild beast, a thing without sense or reason, without rights, -without affections, without feelings. Nay, they would not even have -treated a beast as they had treated him! Would any man in his senses -have trapped a wild thing in its lair, and left its young behind to -die? - -These midnight hours were fateful ones to Jurgis; in them was the -beginning of his rebellion, of his outlawry and his unbelief. He had no -wit to trace back the social crime to its far sources—he could not say -that it was the thing men have called “the system” that was crushing -him to the earth; that it was the packers, his masters, who had bought -up the law of the land, and had dealt out their brutal will to him from -the seat of justice. He only knew that he was wronged, and that the -world had wronged him; that the law, that society, with all its powers, -had declared itself his foe. And every hour his soul grew blacker, -every hour he dreamed new dreams of vengeance, of defiance, of raging, -frenzied hate. - -The vilest deeds, like poison weeds, - Bloom well in prison air; -It is only what is good in Man - That wastes and withers there; -Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, - And the Warder is Despair. - - -So wrote a poet, to whom the world had dealt its justice— - -I know not whether Laws be right, - Or whether Laws be wrong; -All that we know who lie in gaol - Is that the wall is strong. -And they do well to hide their hell, - For in it things are done -That Son of God nor son of Man - Ever should look upon! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -At seven o’clock the next morning Jurgis was let out to get water to -wash his cell—a duty which he performed faithfully, but which most of -the prisoners were accustomed to shirk, until their cells became so -filthy that the guards interposed. Then he had more “duffers and dope,” -and afterward was allowed three hours for exercise, in a long, -cement-walked court roofed with glass. Here were all the inmates of the -jail crowded together. At one side of the court was a place for -visitors, cut off by two heavy wire screens, a foot apart, so that -nothing could be passed in to the prisoners; here Jurgis watched -anxiously, but there came no one to see him. - -Soon after he went back to his cell, a keeper opened the door to let in -another prisoner. He was a dapper young fellow, with a light brown -mustache and blue eyes, and a graceful figure. He nodded to Jurgis, and -then, as the keeper closed the door upon him, began gazing critically -about him. - -“Well, pal,” he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again, “good -morning.” - -“Good morning,” said Jurgis. - -“A rum go for Christmas, eh?” added the other. - -Jurgis nodded. - -The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he lifted up -the mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. “My God!” he -said, “that’s the worst yet.” - -He glanced at Jurgis again. “Looks as if it hadn’t been slept in last -night. Couldn’t stand it, eh?” - -“I didn’t want to sleep last night,” said Jurgis. - -“When did you come in?” - -“Yesterday.” - -The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose. -“There’s the devil of a stink in here,” he said, suddenly. “What is -it?” - -“It’s me,” said Jurgis. - -“You?” - -“Yes, me.” - -“Didn’t they make you wash?” - -“Yes, but this don’t wash.” - -“What is it?” - -“Fertilizer.” - -“Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?” - -“I work in the stockyards—at least I did until the other day. It’s in -my clothes.” - -“That’s a new one on me,” said the newcomer. “I thought I’d been up -against ‘em all. What are you in for?” - -“I hit my boss.” - -“Oh—that’s it. What did he do?” - -“He—he treated me mean.” - -“I see. You’re what’s called an honest workingman!” - -“What are you?” Jurgis asked. - -“I?” The other laughed. “They say I’m a cracksman,” he said. - -“What’s that?” asked Jurgis. - -“Safes, and such things,” answered the other. - -“Oh,” said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stared at the speaker in awe. “You -mean you break into them—you—you—” - -“Yes,” laughed the other, “that’s what they say.” - -He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgis found -afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education, like what -the world calls a “gentleman.” - -“Is that what you’re here for?” Jurgis inquired. - -“No,” was the answer. “I’m here for disorderly conduct. They were mad -because they couldn’t get any evidence. - -“What’s your name?” the young fellow continued after a pause. “My -name’s Duane—Jack Duane. I’ve more than a dozen, but that’s my company -one.” He seated himself on the floor with his back to the wall and his -legs crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put Jurgis on a -friendly footing—he was evidently a man of the world, used to getting -on, and not too proud to hold conversation with a mere laboring man. He -drew Jurgis out, and heard all about his life all but the one -unmentionable thing; and then he told stories about his own life. He -was a great one for stories, not always of the choicest. Being sent to -jail had apparently not disturbed his cheerfulness; he had “done time” -twice before, it seemed, and he took it all with a frolic welcome. What -with women and wine and the excitement of his vocation, a man could -afford to rest now and then. - -Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by the -arrival of a cell mate. He could not turn his face to the wall and -sulk, he had to speak when he was spoken to; nor could he help being -interested in the conversation of Duane—the first educated man with -whom he had ever talked. How could he help listening with wonder while -the other told of midnight ventures and perilous escapes, of feastings -and orgies, of fortunes squandered in a night? The young fellow had an -amused contempt for Jurgis, as a sort of working mule; he, too, had -felt the world’s injustice, but instead of bearing it patiently, he had -struck back, and struck hard. He was striking all the time—there was -war between him and society. He was a genial freebooter, living off the -enemy, without fear or shame. He was not always victorious, but then -defeat did not mean annihilation, and need not break his spirit. - -Withal he was a goodhearted fellow—too much so, it appeared. His story -came out, not in the first day, nor the second, but in the long hours -that dragged by, in which they had nothing to do but talk and nothing -to talk of but themselves. Jack Duane was from the East; he was a -college-bred man—had been studying electrical engineering. Then his -father had met with misfortune in business and killed himself; and -there had been his mother and a younger brother and sister. Also, there -was an invention of Duane’s; Jurgis could not understand it clearly, -but it had to do with telegraphing, and it was a very important -thing—there were fortunes in it, millions upon millions of dollars. And -Duane had been robbed of it by a great company, and got tangled up in -lawsuits and lost all his money. Then somebody had given him a tip on a -horse race, and he had tried to retrieve his fortune with another -person’s money, and had to run away, and all the rest had come from -that. The other asked him what had led him to safe-breaking—to Jurgis a -wild and appalling occupation to think about. A man he had met, his -cell mate had replied—one thing leads to another. Didn’t he ever wonder -about his family, Jurgis asked. Sometimes, the other answered, but not -often—he didn’t allow it. Thinking about it would make it no better. -This wasn’t a world in which a man had any business with a family; -sooner or later Jurgis would find that out also, and give up the fight -and shift for himself. - -Jurgis was so transparently what he pretended to be that his cell mate -was as open with him as a child; it was pleasant to tell him -adventures, he was so full of wonder and admiration, he was so new to -the ways of the country. Duane did not even bother to keep back names -and places—he told all his triumphs and his failures, his loves and his -griefs. Also he introduced Jurgis to many of the other prisoners, -nearly half of whom he knew by name. The crowd had already given Jurgis -a name—they called him “the stinker.” This was cruel, but they meant no -harm by it, and he took it with a good-natured grin. - -Our friend had caught now and then a whiff from the sewers over which -he lived, but this was the first time that he had ever been splashed by -their filth. This jail was a Noah’s ark of the city’s crime—there were -murderers, “hold-up men” and burglars, embezzlers, counterfeiters and -forgers, bigamists, “shoplifters,” “confidence men,” petty thieves and -pickpockets, gamblers and procurers, brawlers, beggars, tramps and -drunkards; they were black and white, old and young, Americans and -natives of every nation under the sun. There were hardened criminals -and innocent men too poor to give bail; old men, and boys literally not -yet in their teens. They were the drainage of the great festering ulcer -of society; they were hideous to look upon, sickening to talk to. All -life had turned to rottenness and stench in them—love was a -beastliness, joy was a snare, and God was an imprecation. They strolled -here and there about the courtyard, and Jurgis listened to them. He was -ignorant and they were wise; they had been everywhere and tried -everything. They could tell the whole hateful story of it, set forth -the inner soul of a city in which justice and honor, women’s bodies and -men’s souls, were for sale in the marketplace, and human beings writhed -and fought and fell upon each other like wolves in a pit; in which -lusts were raging fires, and men were fuel, and humanity was festering -and stewing and wallowing in its own corruption. Into this wild-beast -tangle these men had been born without their consent, they had taken -part in it because they could not help it; that they were in jail was -no disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dice were -loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they -had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of -millions of dollars. - -To most of this Jurgis tried not to listen. They frightened him with -their savage mockery; and all the while his heart was far away, where -his loved ones were calling. Now and then in the midst of it his -thoughts would take flight; and then the tears would come into his -eyes—and he would be called back by the jeering laughter of his -companions. - -He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he had no -word from his home. He paid one of his fifteen cents for a postal card, -and his companion wrote a note to the family, telling them where he was -and when he would be tried. There came no answer to it, however, and at -last, the day before New Year’s, Jurgis bade good-by to Jack Duane. The -latter gave him his address, or rather the address of his mistress, and -made Jurgis promise to look him up. “Maybe I could help you out of a -hole some day,” he said, and added that he was sorry to have him go. -Jurgis rode in the patrol wagon back to Justice Callahan’s court for -trial. - -One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was Teta -Elzbieta and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated far in -the rear. His heart began to pound, but he did not dare to try to -signal to them, and neither did Elzbieta. He took his seat in the -prisoners’ pen and sat gazing at them in helpless agony. He saw that -Ona was not with them, and was full of foreboding as to what that might -mean. He spent half an hour brooding over this—and then suddenly he -straightened up and the blood rushed into his face. A man had come -in—Jurgis could not see his features for the bandages that swathed him, -but he knew the burly figure. It was Connor! A trembling seized him, -and his limbs bent as if for a spring. Then suddenly he felt a hand on -his collar, and heard a voice behind him: “Sit down, you son of a—!” - -He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy. The fellow was -still alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet it was -pleasant to see him, all in penitential plasters. He and the company -lawyer, who was with him, came and took seats within the judge’s -railing; and a minute later the clerk called Jurgis’ name, and the -policeman jerked him to his feet and led him before the bar, gripping -him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring upon the boss. - -Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath, -and told his story. The wife of the prisoner had been employed in a -department near him, and had been discharged for impudence to him. Half -an hour later he had been violently attacked, knocked down, and almost -choked to death. He had brought witnesses— - -“They will probably not be necessary,” observed the judge and he turned -to Jurgis. “You admit attacking the plaintiff?” he asked. - -“Him?” inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss. - -“Yes,” said the judge. “I hit him, sir,” said Jurgis. - -“Say ‘your Honor,’” said the officer, pinching his arm hard. - -“Your Honor,” said Jurgis, obediently. - -“You tried to choke him?” - -“Yes, sir, your Honor.” - -“Ever been arrested before?” - -“No, sir, your Honor.” - -“What have you to say for yourself?” - -Jurgis hesitated. What had he to say? In two years and a half he had -learned to speak English for practical purposes, but these had never -included the statement that some one had intimidated and seduced his -wife. He tried once or twice, stammering and balking, to the annoyance -of the judge, who was gasping from the odor of fertilizer. Finally, the -prisoner made it understood that his vocabulary was inadequate, and -there stepped up a dapper young man with waxed mustaches, bidding him -speak in any language he knew. - -Jurgis began; supposing that he would be given time, he explained how -the boss had taken advantage of his wife’s position to make advances to -her and had threatened her with the loss of her place. When the -interpreter had translated this, the judge, whose calendar was crowded, -and whose automobile was ordered for a certain hour, interrupted with -the remark: “Oh, I see. Well, if he made love to your wife, why didn’t -she complain to the superintendent or leave the place?” - -Jurgis hesitated, somewhat taken aback; he began to explain that they -were very poor—that work was hard to get— - -“I see,” said Justice Callahan; “so instead you thought you would knock -him down.” He turned to the plaintiff, inquiring, “Is there any truth -in this story, Mr. Connor?” - -“Not a particle, your Honor,” said the boss. “It is very -unpleasant—they tell some such tale every time you have to discharge a -woman—” - -“Yes, I know,” said the judge. “I hear it often enough. The fellow -seems to have handled you pretty roughly. Thirty days and costs. Next -case.” - -Jurgis had been listening in perplexity. It was only when the policeman -who had him by the arm turned and started to lead him away that he -realized that sentence had been passed. He gazed round him wildly. -“Thirty days!” he panted and then he whirled upon the judge. “What will -my family do?” he cried frantically. “I have a wife and baby, sir, and -they have no money—my God, they will starve to death!” - -“You would have done well to think about them before you committed the -assault,” said the judge dryly, as he turned to look at the next -prisoner. - -Jurgis would have spoken again, but the policeman had seized him by the -collar and was twisting it, and a second policeman was making for him -with evidently hostile intentions. So he let them lead him away. Far -down the room he saw Elzbieta and Kotrina, risen from their seats, -staring in fright; he made one effort to go to them, and then, brought -back by another twist at his throat, he bowed his head and gave up the -struggle. They thrust him into a cell room, where other prisoners were -waiting; and as soon as court had adjourned they led him down with them -into the “Black Maria,” and drove him away. - -This time Jurgis was bound for the “Bridewell,” a petty jail where Cook -County prisoners serve their time. It was even filthier and more -crowded than the county jail; all the smaller fry out of the latter had -been sifted into it—the petty thieves and swindlers, the brawlers and -vagrants. For his cell mate Jurgis had an Italian fruit seller who had -refused to pay his graft to the policeman, and been arrested for -carrying a large pocketknife; as he did not understand a word of -English our friend was glad when he left. He gave place to a Norwegian -sailor, who had lost half an ear in a drunken brawl, and who proved to -be quarrelsome, cursing Jurgis because he moved in his bunk and caused -the roaches to drop upon the lower one. It would have been quite -intolerable, staying in a cell with this wild beast, but for the fact -that all day long the prisoners were put at work breaking stone. - -Ten days of his thirty Jurgis spent thus, without hearing a word from -his family; then one day a keeper came and informed him that there was -a visitor to see him. Jurgis turned white, and so weak at the knees -that he could hardly leave his cell. - -The man led him down the corridor and a flight of steps to the -visitors’ room, which was barred like a cell. Through the grating -Jurgis could see some one sitting in a chair; and as he came into the -room the person started up, and he saw that it was little Stanislovas. -At the sight of some one from home the big fellow nearly went to -pieces—he had to steady himself by a chair, and he put his other hand -to his forehead, as if to clear away a mist. “Well?” he said, weakly. - -Little Stanislovas was also trembling, and all but too frightened to -speak. “They—they sent me to tell you—” he said, with a gulp. - -“Well?” Jurgis repeated. He followed the boy’s glance to where the -keeper was standing watching them. “Never mind that,” Jurgis cried, -wildly. “How are they?” - -“Ona is very sick,” Stanislovas said; “and we are almost starving. We -can’t get along; we thought you might be able to help us.” - -Jurgis gripped the chair tighter; there were beads of perspiration on -his forehead, and his hand shook. “I—can’t help you,” he said. - -“Ona lies in her room all day,” the boy went on, breathlessly. “She -won’t eat anything, and she cries all the time. She won’t tell what is -the matter and she won’t go to work at all. Then a long time ago the -man came for the rent. He was very cross. He came again last week. He -said he would turn us out of the house. And then Marija—” - -A sob choked Stanislovas, and he stopped. “What’s the matter with -Marija?” cried Jurgis. - -“She’s cut her hand!” said the boy. “She’s cut it bad, this time, worse -than before. She can’t work and it’s all turning green, and the company -doctor says she may—she may have to have it cut off. And Marija cries -all the time—her money is nearly all gone, too, and we can’t pay the -rent and the interest on the house; and we have no coal and nothing -more to eat, and the man at the store, he says—” - -The little fellow stopped again, beginning to whimper. “Go on!” the -other panted in frenzy—“Go on!” - -“I—I will,” sobbed Stanislovas. “It’s so—so cold all the time. And last -Sunday it snowed again—a deep, deep snow—and I couldn’t—couldn’t get to -work.” - -“God!” Jurgis half shouted, and he took a step toward the child. There -was an old hatred between them because of the snow—ever since that -dreadful morning when the boy had had his fingers frozen and Jurgis had -had to beat him to send him to work. Now he clenched his hands, looking -as if he would try to break through the grating. “You little villain,” -he cried, “you didn’t try!” - -“I did—I did!” wailed Stanislovas, shrinking from him in terror. “I -tried all day—two days. Elzbieta was with me, and she couldn’t either. -We couldn’t walk at all, it was so deep. And we had nothing to eat, and -oh, it was so cold! I tried, and then the third day Ona went with me—” - -“Ona!” - -“Yes. She tried to get to work, too. She had to. We were all starving. -But she had lost her place—” - -Jurgis reeled, and gave a gasp. “She went back to that place?” he -screamed. “She tried to,” said Stanislovas, gazing at him in -perplexity. “Why not, Jurgis?” - -The man breathed hard, three or four times. “Go—on,” he panted, -finally. - -“I went with her,” said Stanislovas, “but Miss Henderson wouldn’t take -her back. And Connor saw her and cursed her. He was still bandaged -up—why did you hit him, Jurgis?” (There was some fascinating mystery -about this, the little fellow knew; but he could get no satisfaction.) - -Jurgis could not speak; he could only stare, his eyes starting out. -“She has been trying to get other work,” the boy went on; “but she’s so -weak she can’t keep up. And my boss would not take me back, either—Ona -says he knows Connor, and that’s the reason; they’ve all got a grudge -against us now. So I’ve got to go downtown and sell papers with the -rest of the boys and Kotrina—” - -“Kotrina!” - -“Yes, she’s been selling papers, too. She does best, because she’s a -girl. Only the cold is so bad—it’s terrible coming home at night, -Jurgis. Sometimes they can’t come home at all—I’m going to try to find -them tonight and sleep where they do, it’s so late and it’s such a long -ways home. I’ve had to walk, and I didn’t know where it was—I don’t -know how to get back, either. Only mother said I must come, because you -would want to know, and maybe somebody would help your family when they -had put you in jail so you couldn’t work. And I walked all day to get -here—and I only had a piece of bread for breakfast, Jurgis. Mother -hasn’t any work either, because the sausage department is shut down; -and she goes and begs at houses with a basket, and people give her -food. Only she didn’t get much yesterday; it was too cold for her -fingers, and today she was crying—” - -So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood, -gripping the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that his -head would burst; it was like having weights piled upon him, one after -another, crushing the life out of him. He struggled and fought within -himself—as if in some terrible nightmare, in which a man suffers an -agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry out, but feels that he is -going mad, that his brain is on fire— - -Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw would kill -him, little Stanislovas stopped. “You cannot help us?” he said weakly. - -Jurgis shook his head. - -“They won’t give you anything here?” - -He shook it again. - -“When are you coming out?” - -“Three weeks yet,” Jurgis answered. - -And the boy gazed around him uncertainly. “Then I might as well go,” he -said. - -Jurgis nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting, he put his hand into his -pocket and drew it out, shaking. “Here,” he said, holding out the -fourteen cents. “Take this to them.” - -And Stanislovas took it, and after a little more hesitation, started -for the door. “Good-by, Jurgis,” he said, and the other noticed that he -walked unsteadily as he passed out of sight. - -For a minute or so Jurgis stood clinging to his chair, reeling and -swaying; then the keeper touched him on the arm, and he turned and went -back to breaking stone. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -Jurgis did not get out of the Bridewell quite as soon as he had -expected. To his sentence there were added “court costs” of a dollar -and a half—he was supposed to pay for the trouble of putting him in -jail, and not having the money, was obliged to work it off by three -days more of toil. Nobody had taken the trouble to tell him this—only -after counting the days and looking forward to the end in an agony of -impatience, when the hour came that he expected to be free he found -himself still set at the stone heap, and laughed at when he ventured to -protest. Then he concluded he must have counted wrong; but as another -day passed, he gave up all hope—and was sunk in the depths of despair, -when one morning after breakfast a keeper came to him with the word -that his time was up at last. So he doffed his prison garb, and put on -his old fertilizer clothing, and heard the door of the prison clang -behind him. - -He stood upon the steps, bewildered; he could hardly believe that it -was true,—that the sky was above him again and the open street before -him; that he was a free man. But then the cold began to strike through -his clothes, and he started quickly away. - -There had been a heavy snow, and now a thaw had set in; fine sleety -rain was falling, driven by a wind that pierced Jurgis to the bone. He -had not stopped for his-overcoat when he set out to “do up” Connor, and -so his rides in the patrol wagons had been cruel experiences; his -clothing was old and worn thin, and it never had been very warm. Now as -he trudged on the rain soon wet it through; there were six inches of -watery slush on the sidewalks, so that his feet would soon have been -soaked, even had there been no holes in his shoes. - -Jurgis had had enough to eat in the jail, and the work had been the -least trying of any that he had done since he came to Chicago; but even -so, he had not grown strong—the fear and grief that had preyed upon his -mind had worn him thin. Now he shivered and shrunk from the rain, -hiding his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders together. -The Bridewell grounds were on the outskirts of the city and the country -around them was unsettled and wild—on one side was the big drainage -canal, and on the other a maze of railroad tracks, and so the wind had -full sweep. - -After walking a ways, Jurgis met a little ragamuffin whom he hailed: -“Hey, sonny!” The boy cocked one eye at him—he knew that Jurgis was a -“jailbird” by his shaven head. “Wot yer want?” he queried. - -“How do you go to the stockyards?” Jurgis demanded. - -“I don’t go,” replied the boy. - -Jurgis hesitated a moment, nonplussed. Then he said, “I mean which is -the way?” - -“Why don’t yer say so then?” was the response, and the boy pointed to -the northwest, across the tracks. “That way.” - -“How far is it?” Jurgis asked. “I dunno,” said the other. “Mebbe twenty -miles or so.” - -“Twenty miles!” Jurgis echoed, and his face fell. He had to walk every -foot of it, for they had turned him out of jail without a penny in his -pockets. - -Yet, when he once got started, and his blood had warmed with walking, -he forgot everything in the fever of his thoughts. All the dreadful -imaginations that had haunted him in his cell now rushed into his mind -at once. The agony was almost over—he was going to find out; and he -clenched his hands in his pockets as he strode, following his flying -desire, almost at a run. Ona—the baby—the family—the house—he would -know the truth about them all! And he was coming to the rescue—he was -free again! His hands were his own, and he could help them, he could do -battle for them against the world. - -For an hour or so he walked thus, and then he began to look about him. -He seemed to be leaving the city altogether. The street was turning -into a country road, leading out to the westward; there were -snow-covered fields on either side of him. Soon he met a farmer driving -a two-horse wagon loaded with straw, and he stopped him. - -“Is this the way to the stockyards?” he asked. - -The farmer scratched his head. “I dunno jest where they be,” he said. -“But they’re in the city somewhere, and you’re going dead away from it -now.” - -Jurgis looked dazed. “I was told this was the way,” he said. - -“Who told you?” - -“A boy.” - -“Well, mebbe he was playing a joke on ye. The best thing ye kin do is -to go back, and when ye git into town ask a policeman. I’d take ye in, -only I’ve come a long ways an’ I’m loaded heavy. Git up!” - -So Jurgis turned and followed, and toward the end of the morning he -began to see Chicago again. Past endless blocks of two-story shanties -he walked, along wooden sidewalks and unpaved pathways treacherous with -deep slush holes. Every few blocks there would be a railroad crossing -on the level with the sidewalk, a deathtrap for the unwary; long -freight trains would be passing, the cars clanking and crashing -together, and Jurgis would pace about waiting, burning up with a fever -of impatience. Occasionally the cars would stop for some minutes, and -wagons and streetcars would crowd together waiting, the drivers -swearing at each other, or hiding beneath umbrellas out of the rain; at -such times Jurgis would dodge under the gates and run across the tracks -and between the cars, taking his life into his hands. - -He crossed a long bridge over a river frozen solid and covered with -slush. Not even on the river bank was the snow white—the rain which -fell was a diluted solution of smoke, and Jurgis’ hands and face were -streaked with black. Then he came into the business part of the city, -where the streets were sewers of inky blackness, with horses sleeping -and plunging, and women and children flying across in panic-stricken -droves. These streets were huge canyons formed by towering black -buildings, echoing with the clang of car gongs and the shouts of -drivers; the people who swarmed in them were as busy as ants—all -hurrying breathlessly, never stopping to look at anything nor at each -other. The solitary trampish-looking foreigner, with water-soaked -clothing and haggard face and anxious eyes, was as much alone as he -hurried past them, as much unheeded and as lost, as if he had been a -thousand miles deep in a wilderness. - -A policeman gave him his direction and told him that he had five miles -to go. He came again to the slum districts, to avenues of saloons and -cheap stores, with long dingy red factory buildings, and coal-yards and -railroad tracks; and then Jurgis lifted up his head and began to sniff -the air like a startled animal—scenting the far-off odor of home. It -was late afternoon then, and he was hungry, but the dinner invitations -hung out of the saloons were not for him. - -So he came at last to the stockyards, to the black volcanoes of smoke -and the lowing cattle and the stench. Then, seeing a crowded car, his -impatience got the better of him and he jumped aboard, hiding behind -another man, unnoticed by the conductor. In ten minutes more he had -reached his street, and home. - -He was half running as he came round the corner. There was the house, -at any rate—and then suddenly he stopped and stared. What was the -matter with the house? - -Jurgis looked twice, bewildered; then he glanced at the house next door -and at the one beyond—then at the saloon on the corner. Yes, it was the -right place, quite certainly—he had not made any mistake. But the -house—the house was a different color! - -He came a couple of steps nearer. Yes; it had been gray and now it was -yellow! The trimmings around the windows had been red, and now they -were green! It was all newly painted! How strange it made it seem! - -Jurgis went closer yet, but keeping on the other side of the street. A -sudden and horrible spasm of fear had come over him. His knees were -shaking beneath him, and his mind was in a whirl. New paint on the -house, and new weatherboards, where the old had begun to rot off, and -the agent had got after them! New shingles over the hole in the roof, -too, the hole that had for six months been the bane of his soul—he -having no money to have it fixed and no time to fix it himself, and the -rain leaking in, and overflowing the pots and pans he put to catch it, -and flooding the attic and loosening the plaster. And now it was fixed! -And the broken windowpane replaced! And curtains in the windows! New, -white curtains, stiff and shiny! - -Then suddenly the front door opened. Jurgis stood, his chest heaving as -he struggled to catch his breath. A boy had come out, a stranger to -him; a big, fat, rosy-cheeked youngster, such as had never been seen in -his home before. - -Jurgis stared at the boy, fascinated. He came down the steps whistling, -kicking off the snow. He stopped at the foot, and picked up some, and -then leaned against the railing, making a snowball. A moment later he -looked around and saw Jurgis, and their eyes met; it was a hostile -glance, the boy evidently thinking that the other had suspicions of the -snowball. When Jurgis started slowly across the street toward him, he -gave a quick glance about, meditating retreat, but then he concluded to -stand his ground. - -Jurgis took hold of the railing of the steps, for he was a little -unsteady. “What—what are you doing here?” he managed to gasp. - -“Go on!” said the boy. - -“You—” Jurgis tried again. “What do you want here?” - -“Me?” answered the boy, angrily. “I live here.” - -“You live here!” Jurgis panted. He turned white and clung more tightly -to the railing. “You live here! Then where’s my family?” - -The boy looked surprised. “Your family!” he echoed. - -And Jurgis started toward him. “I—this is my house!” he cried. - -“Come off!” said the boy; then suddenly the door upstairs opened, and -he called: “Hey, ma! Here’s a fellow says he owns this house.” - -A stout Irishwoman came to the top of the steps. “What’s that?” she -demanded. - -Jurgis turned toward her. “Where is my family?” he cried, wildly. “I -left them here! This is my home! What are you doing in my home?” - -The woman stared at him in frightened wonder, she must have thought she -was dealing with a maniac—Jurgis looked like one. “Your home!” she -echoed. - -“My home!” he half shrieked. “I lived here, I tell you.” - -“You must be mistaken,” she answered him. “No one ever lived here. This -is a new house. They told us so. They—” - -“What have they done with my family?” shouted Jurgis, frantically. - -A light had begun to break upon the woman; perhaps she had had doubts -of what “they” had told her. “I don’t know where your family is,” she -said. “I bought the house only three days ago, and there was nobody -here, and they told me it was all new. Do you really mean you had ever -rented it?” - -“Rented it!” panted Jurgis. “I bought it! I paid for it! I own it! And -they—my God, can’t you tell me where my people went?” - -She made him understand at last that she knew nothing. Jurgis’ brain -was so confused that he could not grasp the situation. It was as if his -family had been wiped out of existence; as if they were proving to be -dream people, who never had existed at all. He was quite lost—but then -suddenly he thought of Grandmother Majauszkiene, who lived in the next -block. She would know! He turned and started at a run. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene came to the door herself. She cried out when -she saw Jurgis, wild-eyed and shaking. Yes, yes, she could tell him. -The family had moved; they had not been able to pay the rent and they -had been turned out into the snow, and the house had been repainted and -sold again the next week. No, she had not heard how they were, but she -could tell him that they had gone back to Aniele Jukniene, with whom -they had stayed when they first came to the yards. Wouldn’t Jurgis come -in and rest? It was certainly too bad—if only he had not got into jail— - -And so Jurgis turned and staggered away. He did not go very far round -the corner he gave out completely, and sat down on the steps of a -saloon, and hid his face in his hands, and shook all over with dry, -racking sobs. - -Their home! Their home! They had lost it! Grief, despair, rage, -overwhelmed him—what was any imagination of the thing to this -heartbreaking, crushing reality of it—to the sight of strange people -living in his house, hanging their curtains to his windows, staring at -him with hostile eyes! It was monstrous, it was unthinkable—they could -not do it—it could not be true! Only think what he had suffered for -that house—what miseries they had all suffered for it—the price they -had paid for it! - -The whole long agony came back to him. Their sacrifices in the -beginning, their three hundred dollars that they had scraped together, -all they owned in the world, all that stood between them and -starvation! And then their toil, month by month, to get together the -twelve dollars, and the interest as well, and now and then the taxes, -and the other charges, and the repairs, and what not! Why, they had put -their very souls into their payments on that house, they had paid for -it with their sweat and tears—yes, more, with their very lifeblood. -Dede Antanas had died of the struggle to earn that money—he would have -been alive and strong today if he had not had to work in Durham’s dark -cellars to earn his share. And Ona, too, had given her health and -strength to pay for it—she was wrecked and ruined because of it; and so -was he, who had been a big, strong man three years ago, and now sat -here shivering, broken, cowed, weeping like a hysterical child. Ah! -they had cast their all into the fight; and they had lost, they had -lost! All that they had paid was gone—every cent of it. And their house -was gone—they were back where they had started from, flung out into the -cold to starve and freeze! - -Jurgis could see all the truth now—could see himself, through the whole -long course of events, the victim of ravenous vultures that had torn -into his vitals and devoured him; of fiends that had racked and -tortured him, mocking him, meantime, jeering in his face. Ah, God, the -horror of it, the monstrous, hideous, demoniacal wickedness of it! He -and his family, helpless women and children, struggling to live, -ignorant and defenseless and forlorn as they were—and the enemies that -had been lurking for them, crouching upon their trail and thirsting for -their blood! That first lying circular, that smooth-tongued slippery -agent! That trap of the extra payments, the interest, and all the other -charges that they had not the means to pay, and would never have -attempted to pay! And then all the tricks of the packers, their -masters, the tyrants who ruled them—the shutdowns and the scarcity of -work, the irregular hours and the cruel speeding-up, the lowering of -wages, the raising of prices! The mercilessness of nature about them, -of heat and cold, rain and snow; the mercilessness of the city, of the -country in which they lived, of its laws and customs that they did not -understand! All of these things had worked together for the company -that had marked them for its prey and was waiting for its chance. And -now, with this last hideous injustice, its time had come, and it had -turned them out bag and baggage, and taken their house and sold it -again! And they could do nothing, they were tied hand and foot—the law -was against them, the whole machinery of society was at their -oppressors’ command! If Jurgis so much as raised a hand against them, -back he would go into that wild-beast pen from which he had just -escaped! - -To get up and go away was to give up, to acknowledge defeat, to leave -the strange family in possession; and Jurgis might have sat shivering -in the rain for hours before he could do that, had it not been for the -thought of his family. It might be that he had worse things yet to -learn—and so he got to his feet and started away, walking on, wearily, -half-dazed. - -To Aniele’s house, in back of the yards, was a good two miles; the -distance had never seemed longer to Jurgis, and when he saw the -familiar dingy-gray shanty his heart was beating fast. He ran up the -steps and began to hammer upon the door. - -The old woman herself came to open it. She had shrunk all up with her -rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow parchment -face stared up at him from a little above the level of the doorknob. -She gave a start when she saw him. “Is Ona here?” he cried, -breathlessly. - -“Yes,” was the answer, “she’s here.” - -“How—” Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching convulsively at -the side of the door. From somewhere within the house had come a sudden -cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish. And the voice was Ona’s. For a -moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; then he bounded past -the old woman and into the room. - -It was Aniele’s kitchen, and huddled round the stove were half a dozen -women, pale and frightened. One of them started to her feet as Jurgis -entered; she was haggard and frightfully thin, with one arm tied up in -bandages—he hardly realized that it was Marija. He looked first for -Ona; then, not seeing her, he stared at the women, expecting them to -speak. But they sat dumb, gazing back at him, panic-stricken; and a -second later came another piercing scream. - -It was from the rear of the house, and upstairs. Jurgis bounded to a -door of the room and flung it open; there was a ladder leading through -a trap door to the garret, and he was at the foot of it when suddenly -he heard a voice behind him, and saw Marija at his heels. She seized -him by the sleeve with her good hand, panting wildly, “No, no, Jurgis! -Stop!” - -“What do you mean?” he gasped. - -“You mustn’t go up,” she cried. - -Jurgis was half-crazed with bewilderment and fright. “What’s the -matter?” he shouted. “What is it?” - -Marija clung to him tightly; he could hear Ona sobbing and moaning -above, and he fought to get away and climb up, without waiting for her -reply. “No, no,” she rushed on. “Jurgis! You mustn’t go up! It’s—it’s -the child!” - -“The child?” he echoed in perplexity. “Antanas?” - -Marija answered him, in a whisper: “The new one!” - -And then Jurgis went limp, and caught himself on the ladder. He stared -at her as if she were a ghost. “The new one!” he gasped. “But it isn’t -time,” he added, wildly. - -Marija nodded. “I know,” she said; “but it’s come.” - -And then again came Ona’s scream, smiting him like a blow in the face, -making him wince and turn white. Her voice died away into a wail—then -he heard her sobbing again, “My God—let me die, let me die!” And Marija -hung her arms about him, crying: “Come out! Come away!” - -She dragged him back into the kitchen, half carrying him, for he had -gone all to pieces. It was as if the pillars of his soul had fallen -in—he was blasted with horror. In the room he sank into a chair, -trembling like a leaf, Marija still holding him, and the women staring -at him in dumb, helpless fright. - -And then again Ona cried out; he could hear it nearly as plainly here, -and he staggered to his feet. “How long has this been going on?” he -panted. - -“Not very long,” Marija answered, and then, at a signal from Aniele, -she rushed on: “You go away, Jurgis you can’t help—go away and come -back later. It’s all right—it’s—” - -“Who’s with her?” Jurgis demanded; and then, seeing Marija hesitating, -he cried again, “Who’s with her?” - -“She’s—she’s all right,” she answered. “Elzbieta’s with her.” - -“But the doctor!” he panted. “Some one who knows!” - -He seized Marija by the arm; she trembled, and her voice sank beneath a -whisper as she replied, “We—we have no money.” Then, frightened at the -look on his face, she exclaimed: “It’s all right, Jurgis! You don’t -understand—go away—go away! Ah, if you only had waited!” - -Above her protests Jurgis heard Ona again; he was almost out of his -mind. It was all new to him, raw and horrible—it had fallen upon him -like a lightning stroke. When little Antanas was born he had been at -work, and had known nothing about it until it was over; and now he was -not to be controlled. The frightened women were at their wits’ end; one -after another they tried to reason with him, to make him understand -that this was the lot of woman. In the end they half drove him out into -the rain, where he began to pace up and down, bareheaded and frantic. -Because he could hear Ona from the street, he would first go away to -escape the sounds, and then come back because he could not help it. At -the end of a quarter of an hour he rushed up the steps again, and for -fear that he would break in the door they had to open it and let him -in. - -There was no arguing with him. They could not tell him that all was -going well—how could they know, he cried—why, she was dying, she was -being torn to pieces! Listen to her—listen! Why, it was monstrous—it -could not be allowed—there must be some help for it! Had they tried to -get a doctor? They might pay him afterward—they could promise— - -“We couldn’t promise, Jurgis,” protested Marija. “We had no money—we -have scarcely been able to keep alive.” - -“But I can work,” Jurgis exclaimed. “I can earn money!” - -“Yes,” she answered—“but we thought you were in jail. How could we know -when you would return? They will not work for nothing.” - -Marija went on to tell how she had tried to find a midwife, and how -they had demanded ten, fifteen, even twenty-five dollars, and that in -cash. “And I had only a quarter,” she said. “I have spent every cent of -my money—all that I had in the bank; and I owe the doctor who has been -coming to see me, and he has stopped because he thinks I don’t mean to -pay him. And we owe Aniele for two weeks’ rent, and she is nearly -starving, and is afraid of being turned out. We have been borrowing and -begging to keep alive, and there is nothing more we can do—” - -“And the children?” cried Jurgis. - -“The children have not been home for three days, the weather has been -so bad. They could not know what is happening—it came suddenly, two -months before we expected it.” - -Jurgis was standing by the table, and he caught himself with his hand; -his head sank and his arms shook—it looked as if he were going to -collapse. Then suddenly Aniele got up and came hobbling toward him, -fumbling in her skirt pocket. She drew out a dirty rag, in one corner -of which she had something tied. - -“Here, Jurgis!” she said, “I have some money. _Palauk!_ See!” - -She unwrapped it and counted it out—thirty-four cents. “You go, now,” -she said, “and try and get somebody yourself. And maybe the rest can -help—give him some money, you; he will pay you back some day, and it -will do him good to have something to think about, even if he doesn’t -succeed. When he comes back, maybe it will be over.” - -And so the other women turned out the contents of their pocketbooks; -most of them had only pennies and nickels, but they gave him all. Mrs. -Olszewski, who lived next door, and had a husband who was a skilled -cattle butcher, but a drinking man, gave nearly half a dollar, enough -to raise the whole sum to a dollar and a quarter. Then Jurgis thrust it -into his pocket, still holding it tightly in his fist, and started away -at a run. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -“Madame Haupt Hebamme”, ran a sign, swinging from a second-story window -over a saloon on the avenue; at a side door was another sign, with a -hand pointing up a dingy flight of stairs. Jurgis went up them, three -at a time. - -Madame Haupt was frying pork and onions, and had her door half open to -let out the smoke. When he tried to knock upon it, it swung open the -rest of the way, and he had a glimpse of her, with a black bottle -turned up to her lips. Then he knocked louder, and she started and put -it away. She was a Dutchwoman, enormously fat—when she walked she -rolled like a small boat on the ocean, and the dishes in the cupboard -jostled each other. She wore a filthy blue wrapper, and her teeth were -black. - -“Vot is it?” she said, when she saw Jurgis. - -He had run like mad all the way and was so out of breath he could -hardly speak. His hair was flying and his eyes wild—he looked like a -man that had risen from the tomb. “My wife!” he panted. “Come quickly!” -Madame Haupt set the frying pan to one side and wiped her hands on her -wrapper. - -“You vant me to come for a case?” she inquired. - -“Yes,” gasped Jurgis. - -“I haf yust come back from a case,” she said. “I haf had no time to eat -my dinner. Still—if it is so bad—” - -“Yes—it is!” cried he. - -“Vell, den, perhaps—vot you pay?” - -“I—I—how much do you want?” Jurgis stammered. - -“Tventy-five dollars.” His face fell. “I can’t pay that,” he said. - -The woman was watching him narrowly. “How much do you pay?” she -demanded. - -“Must I pay now—right away?” - -“Yes; all my customers do.” - -“I—I haven’t much money,” Jurgis began in an agony of dread. “I’ve been -in—in trouble—and my money is gone. But I’ll pay you—every cent—just as -soon as I can; I can work—” - -“Vot is your work?” - -“I have no place now. I must get one. But I—” - -“How much haf you got now?” - -He could hardly bring himself to reply. When he said “A dollar and a -quarter,” the woman laughed in his face. - -“I vould not put on my hat for a dollar and a quarter,” she said. - -“It’s all I’ve got,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “I must get some -one—my wife will die. I can’t help it—I—” - -Madame Haupt had put back her pork and onions on the stove. She turned -to him and answered, out of the steam and noise: “Git me ten dollars -cash, und so you can pay me the rest next mont’.” - -“I can’t do it—I haven’t got it!” Jurgis protested. “I tell you I have -only a dollar and a quarter.” - -The woman turned to her work. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “Dot is -all to try to sheat me. Vot is de reason a big man like you has got -only a dollar und a quarter?” - -“I’ve just been in jail,” Jurgis cried—he was ready to get down upon -his knees to the woman—“and I had no money before, and my family has -almost starved.” - -“Vere is your friends, dot ought to help you?” - -“They are all poor,” he answered. “They gave me this. I have done -everything I can—” - -“Haven’t you got notting you can sell?” - -“I have nothing, I tell you—I have nothing,” he cried, frantically. - -“Can’t you borrow it, den? Don’t your store people trust you?” Then, as -he shook his head, she went on: “Listen to me—if you git me you vill be -glad of it. I vill save your wife und baby for you, and it vill not -seem like mooch to you in de end. If you loose dem now how you tink you -feel den? Und here is a lady dot knows her business—I could send you to -people in dis block, und dey vould tell you—” - -Madame Haupt was pointing her cooking-fork at Jurgis persuasively; but -her words were more than he could bear. He flung up his hands with a -gesture of despair and turned and started away. “It’s no use,” he -exclaimed—but suddenly he heard the woman’s voice behind him again— - -“I vill make it five dollars for you.” - -She followed behind him, arguing with him. “You vill be foolish not to -take such an offer,” she said. “You von’t find nobody go out on a rainy -day like dis for less. Vy, I haf never took a case in my life so sheap -as dot. I couldn’t pay mine room rent—” - -Jurgis interrupted her with an oath of rage. “If I haven’t got it,” he -shouted, “how can I pay it? Damn it, I would pay you if I could, but I -tell you I haven’t got it. I haven’t got it! Do you hear me—_I haven’t -got it!_” - -He turned and started away again. He was halfway down the stairs before -Madame Haupt could shout to him: “Vait! I vill go mit you! Come back!” - -He went back into the room again. - -“It is not goot to tink of anybody suffering,” she said, in a -melancholy voice. “I might as vell go mit you for noffing as vot you -offer me, but I vill try to help you. How far is it?” - -“Three or four blocks from here.” - -“Tree or four! Und so I shall get soaked! Gott in Himmel, it ought to -be vorth more! Vun dollar und a quarter, und a day like dis!—But you -understand now—you vill pay me de rest of twenty-five dollars soon?” - -“As soon as I can.” - -“Some time dis mont’?” - -“Yes, within a month,” said poor Jurgis. “Anything! Hurry up!” - -“Vere is de dollar und a quarter?” persisted Madame Haupt, -relentlessly. - -Jurgis put the money on the table and the woman counted it and stowed -it away. Then she wiped her greasy hands again and proceeded to get -ready, complaining all the time; she was so fat that it was painful for -her to move, and she grunted and gasped at every step. She took off her -wrapper without even taking the trouble to turn her back to Jurgis, and -put on her corsets and dress. Then there was a black bonnet which had -to be adjusted carefully, and an umbrella which was mislaid, and a bag -full of necessaries which had to be collected from here and there—the -man being nearly crazy with anxiety in the meantime. When they were on -the street he kept about four paces ahead of her, turning now and then, -as if he could hurry her on by the force of his desire. But Madame -Haupt could only go so far at a step, and it took all her attention to -get the needed breath for that. - -They came at last to the house, and to the group of frightened women in -the kitchen. It was not over yet, Jurgis learned—he heard Ona crying -still; and meantime Madame Haupt removed her bonnet and laid it on the -mantelpiece, and got out of her bag, first an old dress and then a -saucer of goose grease, which she proceeded to rub upon her hands. The -more cases this goose grease is used in, the better luck it brings to -the midwife, and so she keeps it upon her kitchen mantelpiece or stowed -away in a cupboard with her dirty clothes, for months, and sometimes -even for years. - -Then they escorted her to the ladder, and Jurgis heard her give an -exclamation of dismay. “Gott in Himmel, vot for haf you brought me to a -place like dis? I could not climb up dot ladder. I could not git troo a -trap door! I vill not try it—vy, I might kill myself already. Vot sort -of a place is dot for a woman to bear a child in—up in a garret, mit -only a ladder to it? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” Jurgis -stood in the doorway and listened to her scolding, half drowning out -the horrible moans and screams of Ona. - -At last Aniele succeeded in pacifying her, and she essayed the ascent; -then, however, she had to be stopped while the old woman cautioned her -about the floor of the garret. They had no real floor—they had laid old -boards in one part to make a place for the family to live; it was all -right and safe there, but the other part of the garret had only the -joists of the floor, and the lath and plaster of the ceiling below, and -if one stepped on this there would be a catastrophe. As it was half -dark up above, perhaps one of the others had best go up first with a -candle. Then there were more outcries and threatening, until at last -Jurgis had a vision of a pair of elephantine legs disappearing through -the trap door, and felt the house shake as Madame Haupt started to -walk. Then suddenly Aniele came to him and took him by the arm. - -“Now,” she said, “you go away. Do as I tell you—you have done all you -can, and you are only in the way. Go away and stay away.” - -“But where shall I go?” Jurgis asked, helplessly. - -“I don’t know where,” she answered. “Go on the street, if there is no -other place—only go! And stay all night!” - -In the end she and Marija pushed him out of the door and shut it behind -him. It was just about sundown, and it was turning cold—the rain had -changed to snow, and the slush was freezing. Jurgis shivered in his -thin clothing, and put his hands into his pockets and started away. He -had not eaten since morning, and he felt weak and ill; with a sudden -throb of hope he recollected he was only a few blocks from the saloon -where he had been wont to eat his dinner. They might have mercy on him -there, or he might meet a friend. He set out for the place as fast as -he could walk. - -“Hello, Jack,” said the saloon-keeper, when he entered—they call all -foreigners and unskilled men “Jack” in Packingtown. “Where’ve you -been?” - -Jurgis went straight to the bar. “I’ve been in jail,” he said, “and -I’ve just got out. I walked home all the way, and I’ve not a cent, and -had nothing to eat since this morning. And I’ve lost my home, and my -wife’s ill, and I’m done up.” - -The saloon-keeper gazed at him, with his haggard white face and his -blue trembling lips. Then he pushed a big bottle toward him. “Fill her -up!” he said. - -Jurgis could hardly hold the bottle, his hands shook so. - -“Don’t be afraid,” said the saloon-keeper, “fill her up!” - -So Jurgis drank a large glass of whisky, and then turned to the lunch -counter, in obedience to the other’s suggestion. He ate all he dared, -stuffing it in as fast as he could; and then, after trying to speak his -gratitude, he went and sat down by the big red stove in the middle of -the room. - -It was too good to last, however—like all things in this hard world. -His soaked clothing began to steam, and the horrible stench of -fertilizer to fill the room. In an hour or so the packing houses would -be closing and the men coming in from their work; and they would not -come into a place that smelt of Jurgis. Also it was Saturday night, and -in a couple of hours would come a violin and a cornet, and in the rear -part of the saloon the families of the neighborhood would dance and -feast upon wienerwurst and lager, until two or three o’clock in the -morning. The saloon-keeper coughed once or twice, and then remarked, -“Say, Jack, I’m afraid you’ll have to quit.” - -He was used to the sight of human wrecks, this saloon-keeper; he -“fired” dozens of them every night, just as haggard and cold and -forlorn as this one. But they were all men who had given up and been -counted out, while Jurgis was still in the fight, and had reminders of -decency about him. As he got up meekly, the other reflected that he had -always been a steady man, and might soon be a good customer again. -“You’ve been up against it, I see,” he said. “Come this way.” - -In the rear of the saloon were the cellar stairs. There was a door -above and another below, both safely padlocked, making the stairs an -admirable place to stow away a customer who might still chance to have -money, or a political light whom it was not advisable to kick out of -doors. - -So Jurgis spent the night. The whisky had only half warmed him, and he -could not sleep, exhausted as he was; he would nod forward, and then -start up, shivering with the cold, and begin to remember again. Hour -after hour passed, until he could only persuade himself that it was not -morning by the sounds of music and laughter and singing that were to be -heard from the room. When at last these ceased, he expected that he -would be turned out into the street; as this did not happen, he fell to -wondering whether the man had forgotten him. - -In the end, when the silence and suspense were no longer to be borne, -he got up and hammered on the door; and the proprietor came, yawning -and rubbing his eyes. He was keeping open all night, and dozing between -customers. - -“I want to go home,” Jurgis said. “I’m worried about my wife—I can’t -wait any longer.” - -“Why the hell didn’t you say so before?” said the man. “I thought you -didn’t have any home to go to.” Jurgis went outside. It was four -o’clock in the morning, and as black as night. There were three or four -inches of fresh snow on the ground, and the flakes were falling thick -and fast. He turned toward Aniele’s and started at a run. - -There was a light burning in the kitchen window and the blinds were -drawn. The door was unlocked and Jurgis rushed in. - -Aniele, Marija, and the rest of the women were huddled about the stove, -exactly as before; with them were several newcomers, Jurgis -noticed—also he noticed that the house was silent. - -“Well?” he said. - -No one answered him, they sat staring at him with their pale faces. He -cried again: “Well?” - -And then, by the light of the smoky lamp, he saw Marija who sat nearest -him, shaking her head slowly. “Not yet,” she said. - -And Jurgis gave a cry of dismay. “Not _yet?_” - -Again Marija’s head shook. The poor fellow stood dumfounded. “I don’t -hear her,” he gasped. - -“She’s been quiet a long time,” replied the other. - -There was another pause—broken suddenly by a voice from the attic: -“Hello, there!” - -Several of the women ran into the next room, while Marija sprang toward -Jurgis. “Wait here!” she cried, and the two stood, pale and trembling, -listening. In a few moments it became clear that Madame Haupt was -engaged in descending the ladder, scolding and exhorting again, while -the ladder creaked in protest. In a moment or two she reached the -ground, angry and breathless, and they heard her coming into the room. -Jurgis gave one glance at her, and then turned white and reeled. She -had her jacket off, like one of the workers on the killing beds. Her -hands and arms were smeared with blood, and blood was splashed upon her -clothing and her face. - -She stood breathing hard, and gazing about her; no one made a sound. “I -haf done my best,” she began suddenly. “I can do noffing more—dere is -no use to try.” - -Again there was silence. - -“It ain’t my fault,” she said. “You had ought to haf had a doctor, und -not vaited so long—it vas too late already ven I come.” Once more there -was deathlike stillness. Marija was clutching Jurgis with all the power -of her one well arm. - -Then suddenly Madame Haupt turned to Aniele. “You haf not got something -to drink, hey?” she queried. “Some brandy?” - -Aniele shook her head. - -“Herr Gott!” exclaimed Madame Haupt. “Such people! Perhaps you vill -give me someting to eat den—I haf had noffing since yesterday morning, -und I haf vorked myself near to death here. If I could haf known it vas -like dis, I vould never haf come for such money as you gif me.” At this -moment she chanced to look round, and saw Jurgis: She shook her finger -at him. “You understand me,” she said, “you pays me dot money yust de -same! It is not my fault dat you send for me so late I can’t help your -vife. It is not my fault if der baby comes mit one arm first, so dot I -can’t save it. I haf tried all night, und in dot place vere it is not -fit for dogs to be born, und mit notting to eat only vot I brings in -mine own pockets.” - -Here Madame Haupt paused for a moment to get her breath; and Marija, -seeing the beads of sweat on Jurgis’s forehead, and feeling the -quivering of his frame, broke out in a low voice: “How is Ona?” - -“How is she?” echoed Madame Haupt. “How do you tink she can be ven you -leave her to kill herself so? I told dem dot ven they send for de -priest. She is young, und she might haf got over it, und been vell und -strong, if she had been treated right. She fight hard, dot girl—she is -not yet quite dead.” - -And Jurgis gave a frantic scream. “_Dead!_” - -“She vill die, of course,” said the other angrily. “Der baby is dead -now.” - -The garret was lighted by a candle stuck upon a board; it had almost -burned itself out, and was sputtering and smoking as Jurgis rushed up -the ladder. He could make out dimly in one corner a pallet of rags and -old blankets, spread upon the floor; at the foot of it was a crucifix, -and near it a priest muttering a prayer. In a far corner crouched -Elzbieta, moaning and wailing. Upon the pallet lay Ona. - -She was covered with a blanket, but he could see her shoulders and one -arm lying bare; she was so shrunken he would scarcely have known -her—she was all but a skeleton, and as white as a piece of chalk. Her -eyelids were closed, and she lay still as death. He staggered toward -her and fell upon his knees with a cry of anguish: “Ona! Ona!” - -She did not stir. He caught her hand in his, and began to clasp it -frantically, calling: “Look at me! Answer me! It is Jurgis come -back—don’t you hear me?” - -There was the faintest quivering of the eyelids, and he called again in -frenzy: “Ona! Ona!” - -Then suddenly her eyes opened one instant. One instant she looked at -him—there was a flash of recognition between them, he saw her afar off, -as through a dim vista, standing forlorn. He stretched out his arms to -her, he called her in wild despair; a fearful yearning surged up in -him, hunger for her that was agony, desire that was a new being born -within him, tearing his heartstrings, torturing him. But it was all in -vain—she faded from him, she slipped back and was gone. And a wail of -anguish burst from him, great sobs shook all his frame, and hot tears -ran down his cheeks and fell upon her. He clutched her hands, he shook -her, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to him but she lay cold -and still—she was gone—she was gone! - -The word rang through him like the sound of a bell, echoing in the far -depths of him, making forgotten chords to vibrate, old shadowy fears to -stir—fears of the dark, fears of the void, fears of annihilation. She -was dead! She was dead! He would never see her again, never hear her -again! An icy horror of loneliness seized him; he saw himself standing -apart and watching all the world fade away from him—a world of shadows, -of fickle dreams. He was like a little child, in his fright and grief; -he called and called, and got no answer, and his cries of despair -echoed through the house, making the women downstairs draw nearer to -each other in fear. He was inconsolable, beside himself—the priest came -and laid his hand upon his shoulder and whispered to him, but he heard -not a sound. He was gone away himself, stumbling through the shadows, -and groping after the soul that had fled. - -So he lay. The gray dawn came up and crept into the attic. The priest -left, the women left, and he was alone with the still, white -figure—quieter now, but moaning and shuddering, wrestling with the -grisly fiend. Now and then he would raise himself and stare at the -white mask before him, then hide his eyes because he could not bear it. -Dead! _dead!_ And she was only a girl, she was barely eighteen! Her -life had hardly begun—and here she lay murdered—mangled, tortured to -death! - -It was morning when he rose up and came down into the kitchen—haggard -and ashen gray, reeling and dazed. More of the neighbors had come in, -and they stared at him in silence as he sank down upon a chair by the -table and buried his face in his arms. - -A few minutes later the front door opened; a blast of cold and snow -rushed in, and behind it little Kotrina, breathless from running, and -blue with the cold. “I’m home again!” she exclaimed. “I could hardly—” - -And then, seeing Jurgis, she stopped with an exclamation. Looking from -one to another she saw that something had happened, and she asked, in a -lower voice: “What’s the matter?” - -Before anyone could reply, Jurgis started up; he went toward her, -walking unsteadily. “Where have you been?” he demanded. - -“Selling papers with the boys,” she said. “The snow—” - -“Have you any money?” he demanded. - -“Yes.” - -“How much?” - -“Nearly three dollars, Jurgis.” - -“Give it to me.” - -Kotrina, frightened by his manner, glanced at the others. “Give it to -me!” he commanded again, and she put her hand into her pocket and -pulled out a lump of coins tied in a bit of rag. Jurgis took it without -a word, and went out of the door and down the street. - -Three doors away was a saloon. “Whisky,” he said, as he entered, and as -the man pushed him some, he tore at the rag with his teeth and pulled -out half a dollar. “How much is the bottle?” he said. “I want to get -drunk.” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -But a big man cannot stay drunk very long on three dollars. That was -Sunday morning, and Monday night Jurgis came home, sober and sick, -realizing that he had spent every cent the family owned, and had not -bought a single instant’s forgetfulness with it. - -Ona was not yet buried; but the police had been notified, and on the -morrow they would put the body in a pine coffin and take it to the -potter’s field. Elzbieta was out begging now, a few pennies from each -of the neighbors, to get enough to pay for a mass for her; and the -children were upstairs starving to death, while he, good-for-nothing -rascal, had been spending their money on drink. So spoke Aniele, -scornfully, and when he started toward the fire she added the -information that her kitchen was no longer for him to fill with his -phosphate stinks. She had crowded all her boarders into one room on -Ona’s account, but now he could go up in the garret where he -belonged—and not there much longer, either, if he did not pay her some -rent. - -Jurgis went without a word, and, stepping over half a dozen sleeping -boarders in the next room, ascended the ladder. It was dark up above; -they could not afford any light; also it was nearly as cold as -outdoors. In a corner, as far away from the corpse as possible, sat -Marija, holding little Antanas in her one good arm and trying to soothe -him to sleep. In another corner crouched poor little Juozapas, wailing -because he had had nothing to eat all day. Marija said not a word to -Jurgis; he crept in like a whipped cur, and went and sat down by the -body. - -Perhaps he ought to have meditated upon the hunger of the children, and -upon his own baseness; but he thought only of Ona, he gave himself up -again to the luxury of grief. He shed no tears, being ashamed to make a -sound; he sat motionless and shuddering with his anguish. He had never -dreamed how much he loved Ona, until now that she was gone; until now -that he sat here, knowing that on the morrow they would take her away, -and that he would never lay eyes upon her again—never all the days of -his life. His old love, which had been starved to death, beaten to -death, awoke in him again; the floodgates of memory were lifted—he saw -all their life together, saw her as he had seen her in Lithuania, the -first day at the fair, beautiful as the flowers, singing like a bird. -He saw her as he had married her, with all her tenderness, with her -heart of wonder; the very words she had spoken seemed to ring now in -his ears, the tears she had shed to be wet upon his cheek. The long, -cruel battle with misery and hunger had hardened and embittered him, -but it had not changed her—she had been the same hungry soul to the -end, stretching out her arms to him, pleading with him, begging him for -love and tenderness. And she had suffered—so cruelly she had suffered, -such agonies, such infamies—ah, God, the memory of them was not to be -borne. What a monster of wickedness, of heartlessness, he had been! -Every angry word that he had ever spoken came back to him and cut him -like a knife; every selfish act that he had done—with what torments he -paid for them now! And such devotion and awe as welled up in his -soul—now that it could never be spoken, now that it was too late, too -late! His bosom-was choking with it, bursting with it; he crouched here -in the darkness beside her, stretching out his arms to her—and she was -gone forever, she was dead! He could have screamed aloud with the -horror and despair of it; a sweat of agony beaded his forehead, yet he -dared not make a sound—he scarcely dared to breathe, because of his -shame and loathing of himself. - -Late at night came Elzbieta, having gotten the money for a mass, and -paid for it in advance, lest she should be tempted too sorely at home. -She brought also a bit of stale rye bread that some one had given her, -and with that they quieted the children and got them to sleep. Then she -came over to Jurgis and sat down beside him. - -She said not a word of reproach—she and Marija had chosen that course -before; she would only plead with him, here by the corpse of his dead -wife. Already Elzbieta had choked down her tears, grief being crowded -out of her soul by fear. She had to bury one of her children—but then -she had done it three times before, and each time risen up and gone -back to take up the battle for the rest. Elzbieta was one of the -primitive creatures: like the angleworm, which goes on living though -cut in half; like a hen, which, deprived of her chickens one by one, -will mother the last that is left her. She did this because it was her -nature—she asked no questions about the justice of it, nor the -worth-whileness of life in which destruction and death ran riot. - -And this old common-sense view she labored to impress upon Jurgis, -pleading with him with tears in her eyes. Ona was dead, but the others -were left and they must be saved. She did not ask for her own children. -She and Marija could care for them somehow, but there was Antanas, his -own son. Ona had given Antanas to him—the little fellow was the only -remembrance of her that he had; he must treasure it and protect it, he -must show himself a man. He knew what Ona would have had him do, what -she would ask of him at this moment, if she could speak to him. It was -a terrible thing that she should have died as she had; but the life had -been too hard for her, and she had to go. It was terrible that they -were not able to bury her, that he could not even have a day to mourn -her—but so it was. Their fate was pressing; they had not a cent, and -the children would perish—some money must be had. Could he not be a man -for Ona’s sake, and pull himself together? In a little while they would -be out of danger—now that they had given up the house they could live -more cheaply, and with all the children working they could get along, -if only he would not go to pieces. So Elzbieta went on, with feverish -intensity. It was a struggle for life with her; she was not afraid that -Jurgis would go on drinking, for he had no money for that, but she was -wild with dread at the thought that he might desert them, might take to -the road, as Jonas had done. - -But with Ona’s dead body beneath his eyes, Jurgis could not well think -of treason to his child. Yes, he said, he would try, for the sake of -Antanas. He would give the little fellow his chance—would get to work -at once, yes, tomorrow, without even waiting for Ona to be buried. They -might trust him, he would keep his word, come what might. - -And so he was out before daylight the next morning, headache, -heartache, and all. He went straight to Graham’s fertilizer mill, to -see if he could get back his job. But the boss shook his head when he -saw him—no, his place had been filled long ago, and there was no room -for him. - -“Do you think there will be?” Jurgis asked. “I may have to wait.” - -“No,” said the other, “it will not be worth your while to wait—there -will be nothing for you here.” - -Jurgis stood gazing at him in perplexity. “What is the matter?” he -asked. “Didn’t I do my work?” - -The other met his look with one of cold indifference, and answered, -“There will be nothing for you here, I said.” - -Jurgis had his suspicions as to the dreadful meaning of that incident, -and he went away with a sinking at the heart. He went and took his -stand with the mob of hungry wretches who were standing about in the -snow before the time station. Here he stayed, breakfastless, for two -hours, until the throng was driven away by the clubs of the police. -There was no work for him that day. - -Jurgis had made a good many acquaintances in his long services at the -yards—there were saloonkeepers who would trust him for a drink and a -sandwich, and members of his old union who would lend him a dime at a -pinch. It was not a question of life and death for him, therefore; he -might hunt all day, and come again on the morrow, and try hanging on -thus for weeks, like hundreds and thousands of others. Meantime, Teta -Elzbieta would go and beg, over in the Hyde Park district, and the -children would bring home enough to pacify Aniele, and keep them all -alive. - -It was at the end of a week of this sort of waiting, roaming about in -the bitter winds or loafing in saloons, that Jurgis stumbled on a -chance in one of the cellars of Jones’s big packing plant. He saw a -foreman passing the open doorway, and hailed him for a job. - -“Push a truck?” inquired the man, and Jurgis answered, “Yes, sir!” -before the words were well out of his mouth. - -“What’s your name?” demanded the other. - -“Jurgis Rudkus.” - -“Worked in the yards before?” - -“Yes.” - -“Whereabouts?” - -“Two places—Brown’s killing beds and Durham’s fertilizer mill.” - -“Why did you leave there?” - -“The first time I had an accident, and the last time I was sent up for -a month.” - -“I see. Well, I’ll give you a trial. Come early tomorrow and ask for -Mr. Thomas.” - -So Jurgis rushed home with the wild tidings that he had a job—that the -terrible siege was over. The remnants of the family had quite a -celebration that night; and in the morning Jurgis was at the place half -an hour before the time of opening. The foreman came in shortly -afterward, and when he saw Jurgis he frowned. - -“Oh,” he said, “I promised you a job, didn’t I?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Jurgis. - -“Well, I’m sorry, but I made a mistake. I can’t use you.” - -Jurgis stared, dumfounded. “What’s the matter?” he gasped. - -“Nothing,” said the man, “only I can’t use you.” - -There was the same cold, hostile stare that he had had from the boss of -the fertilizer mill. He knew that there was no use in saying a word, -and he turned and went away. - -Out in the saloons the men could tell him all about the meaning of it; -they gazed at him with pitying eyes—poor devil, he was blacklisted! -What had he done? they asked—knocked down his boss? Good heavens, then -he might have known! Why, he stood as much chance of getting a job in -Packingtown as of being chosen mayor of Chicago. Why had he wasted his -time hunting? They had him on a secret list in every office, big and -little, in the place. They had his name by this time in St. Louis and -New York, in Omaha and Boston, in Kansas City and St. Joseph. He was -condemned and sentenced, without trial and without appeal; he could -never work for the packers again—he could not even clean cattle pens or -drive a truck in any place where they controlled. He might try it, if -he chose, as hundreds had tried it, and found out for themselves. He -would never be told anything about it; he would never get any more -satisfaction than he had gotten just now; but he would always find when -the time came that he was not needed. It would not do for him to give -any other name, either—they had company “spotters” for just that -purpose, and he wouldn’t keep a job in Packingtown three days. It was -worth a fortune to the packers to keep their blacklist effective, as a -warning to the men and a means of keeping down union agitation and -political discontent. - -Jurgis went home, carrying these new tidings to the family council. It -was a most cruel thing; here in this district was his home, such as it -was, the place he was used to and the friends he knew—and now every -possibility of employment in it was closed to him. There was nothing in -Packingtown but packing houses; and so it was the same thing as -evicting him from his home. - -He and the two women spent all day and half the night discussing it. It -would be convenient, downtown, to the children’s place of work; but -then Marija was on the road to recovery, and had hopes of getting a job -in the yards; and though she did not see her old-time lover once a -month, because of the misery of their state, yet she could not make up -her mind to go away and give him up forever. Then, too, Elzbieta had -heard something about a chance to scrub floors in Durham’s offices and -was waiting every day for word. In the end it was decided that Jurgis -should go downtown to strike out for himself, and they would decide -after he got a job. As there was no one from whom he could borrow -there, and he dared not beg for fear of being arrested, it was arranged -that every day he should meet one of the children and be given fifteen -cents of their earnings, upon which he could keep going. Then all day -he was to pace the streets with hundreds and thousands of other -homeless wretches inquiring at stores, warehouses, and factories for a -chance; and at night he was to crawl into some doorway or underneath a -truck, and hide there until midnight, when he might get into one of the -station houses, and spread a newspaper upon the floor, and lie down in -the midst of a throng of “bums” and beggars, reeking with alcohol and -tobacco, and filthy with vermin and disease. - -So for two weeks more Jurgis fought with the demon of despair. Once he -got a chance to load a truck for half a day, and again he carried an -old woman’s valise and was given a quarter. This let him into a -lodging-house on several nights when he might otherwise have frozen to -death; and it also gave him a chance now and then to buy a newspaper in -the morning and hunt up jobs while his rivals were watching and waiting -for a paper to be thrown away. This, however, was really not the -advantage it seemed, for the newspaper advertisements were a cause of -much loss of precious time and of many weary journeys. A full half of -these were “fakes,” put in by the endless variety of establishments -which preyed upon the helpless ignorance of the unemployed. If Jurgis -lost only his time, it was because he had nothing else to lose; -whenever a smooth-tongued agent would tell him of the wonderful -positions he had on hand, he could only shake his head sorrowfully and -say that he had not the necessary dollar to deposit; when it was -explained to him what “big money” he and all his family could make by -coloring photographs, he could only promise to come in again when he -had two dollars to invest in the outfit. - -In the end Jurgis got a chance through an accidental meeting with an -old-time acquaintance of his union days. He met this man on his way to -work in the giant factories of the Harvester Trust; and his friend told -him to come along and he would speak a good word for him to his boss, -whom he knew well. So Jurgis trudged four or five miles, and passed -through a waiting throng of unemployed at the gate under the escort of -his friend. His knees nearly gave way beneath him when the foreman, -after looking him over and questioning him, told him that he could find -an opening for him. - -How much this accident meant to Jurgis he realized only by stages; for -he found that the harvester works were the sort of place to which -philanthropists and reformers pointed with pride. It had some thought -for its employees; its workshops were big and roomy, it provided a -restaurant where the workmen could buy good food at cost, it had even a -reading room, and decent places where its girl-hands could rest; also -the work was free from many of the elements of filth and repulsiveness -that prevailed at the stockyards. Day after day Jurgis discovered these -things—things never expected nor dreamed of by him—until this new place -came to seem a kind of a heaven to him. - -It was an enormous establishment, covering a hundred and sixty acres of -ground, employing five thousand people, and turning out over three -hundred thousand machines every year—a good part of all the harvesting -and mowing machines used in the country. Jurgis saw very little of it, -of course—it was all specialized work, the same as at the stockyards; -each one of the hundreds of parts of a mowing machine was made -separately, and sometimes handled by hundreds of men. Where Jurgis -worked there was a machine which cut and stamped a certain piece of -steel about two square inches in size; the pieces came tumbling out -upon a tray, and all that human hands had to do was to pile them in -regular rows, and change the trays at intervals. This was done by a -single boy, who stood with eyes and thought centered upon it, and -fingers flying so fast that the sounds of the bits of steel striking -upon each other was like the music of an express train as one hears it -in a sleeping car at night. This was “piece-work,” of course; and -besides it was made certain that the boy did not idle, by setting the -machine to match the highest possible speed of human hands. Thirty -thousand of these pieces he handled every day, nine or ten million -every year—how many in a lifetime it rested with the gods to say. Near -by him men sat bending over whirling grindstones, putting the finishing -touches to the steel knives of the reaper; picking them out of a basket -with the right hand, pressing first one side and then the other against -the stone and finally dropping them with the left hand into another -basket. One of these men told Jurgis that he had sharpened three -thousand pieces of steel a day for thirteen years. In the next room -were wonderful machines that ate up long steel rods by slow stages, -cutting them off, seizing the pieces, stamping heads upon them, -grinding them and polishing them, threading them, and finally dropping -them into a basket, all ready to bolt the harvesters together. From yet -another machine came tens of thousands of steel burs to fit upon these -bolts. In other places all these various parts were dipped into troughs -of paint and hung up to dry, and then slid along on trolleys to a room -where men streaked them with red and yellow, so that they might look -cheerful in the harvest fields. - -Jurgis’s friend worked upstairs in the casting rooms, and his task was -to make the molds of a certain part. He shoveled black sand into an -iron receptacle and pounded it tight and set it aside to harden; then -it would be taken out, and molten iron poured into it. This man, too, -was paid by the mold—or rather for perfect castings, nearly half his -work going for naught. You might see him, along with dozens of others, -toiling like one possessed by a whole community of demons; his arms -working like the driving rods of an engine, his long, black hair flying -wild, his eyes starting out, the sweat rolling in rivers down his face. -When he had shoveled the mold full of sand, and reached for the pounder -to pound it with, it was after the manner of a canoeist running rapids -and seizing a pole at sight of a submerged rock. All day long this man -would toil thus, his whole being centered upon the purpose of making -twenty-three instead of twenty-two and a half cents an hour; and then -his product would be reckoned up by the census taker, and jubilant -captains of industry would boast of it in their banquet halls, telling -how our workers are nearly twice as efficient as those of any other -country. If we are the greatest nation the sun ever shone upon, it -would seem to be mainly because we have been able to goad our -wage-earners to this pitch of frenzy; though there are a few other -things that are great among us including our drink-bill, which is a -billion and a quarter of dollars a year, and doubling itself every -decade. - -There was a machine which stamped out the iron plates, and then another -which, with a mighty thud, mashed them to the shape of the sitting-down -portion of the American farmer. Then they were piled upon a truck, and -it was Jurgis’s task to wheel them to the room where the machines were -“assembled.” This was child’s play for him, and he got a dollar and -seventy-five cents a day for it; on Saturday he paid Aniele the -seventy-five cents a week he owed her for the use of her garret, and -also redeemed his overcoat, which Elzbieta had put in pawn when he was -in jail. - -This last was a great blessing. A man cannot go about in midwinter in -Chicago with no overcoat and not pay for it, and Jurgis had to walk or -ride five or six miles back and forth to his work. It so happened that -half of this was in one direction and half in another, necessitating a -change of cars; the law required that transfers be given at all -intersecting points, but the railway corporation had gotten round this -by arranging a pretense at separate ownership. So whenever he wished to -ride, he had to pay ten cents each way, or over ten per cent of his -income to this power, which had gotten its franchises long ago by -buying up the city council, in the face of popular clamor amounting -almost to a rebellion. Tired as he felt at night, and dark and bitter -cold as it was in the morning, Jurgis generally chose to walk; at the -hours other workmen were traveling, the streetcar monopoly saw fit to -put on so few cars that there would be men hanging to every foot of the -backs of them and often crouching upon the snow-covered roof. Of course -the doors could never be closed, and so the cars were as cold as -outdoors; Jurgis, like many others, found it better to spend his fare -for a drink and a free lunch, to give him strength to walk. - -These, however, were all slight matters to a man who had escaped from -Durham’s fertilizer mill. Jurgis began to pick up heart again and to -make plans. He had lost his house but then the awful load of the rent -and interest was off his shoulders, and when Marija was well again they -could start over and save. In the shop where he worked was a man, a -Lithuanian like himself, whom the others spoke of in admiring whispers, -because of the mighty feats he was performing. All day he sat at a -machine turning bolts; and then in the evening he went to the public -school to study English and learn to read. In addition, because he had -a family of eight children to support and his earnings were not enough, -on Saturdays and Sundays he served as a watchman; he was required to -press two buttons at opposite ends of a building every five minutes, -and as the walk only took him two minutes, he had three minutes to -study between each trip. Jurgis felt jealous of this fellow; for that -was the sort of thing he himself had dreamed of, two or three years -ago. He might do it even yet, if he had a fair chance—he might attract -attention and become a skilled man or a boss, as some had done in this -place. Suppose that Marija could get a job in the big mill where they -made binder twine—then they would move into this neighborhood, and he -would really have a chance. With a hope like that, there was some use -in living; to find a place where you were treated like a human being—by -God! he would show them how he could appreciate it. He laughed to -himself as he thought how he would hang on to this job! - -And then one afternoon, the ninth of his work in the place, when he -went to get his overcoat he saw a group of men crowded before a placard -on the door, and when he went over and asked what it was, they told him -that beginning with the morrow his department of the harvester works -would be closed until further notice! - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -That was the way they did it! There was not half an hour’s warning—the -works were closed! It had happened that way before, said the men, and -it would happen that way forever. They had made all the harvesting -machines that the world needed, and now they had to wait till some wore -out! It was nobody’s fault—that was the way of it; and thousands of men -and women were turned out in the dead of winter, to live upon their -savings if they had any, and otherwise to die. So many tens of -thousands already in the city, homeless and begging for work, and now -several thousand more added to them! - -Jurgis walked home-with his pittance of pay in his pocket, heartbroken, -overwhelmed. One more bandage had been torn from his eyes, one more -pitfall was revealed to him! Of what help was kindness and decency on -the part of employers—when they could not keep a job for him, when -there were more harvesting machines made than the world was able to -buy! What a hellish mockery it was, anyway, that a man should slave to -make harvesting machines for the country, only to be turned out to -starve for doing his duty too well! - -It took him two days to get over this heart-sickening disappointment. -He did not drink anything, because Elzbieta got his money for -safekeeping, and knew him too well to be in the least frightened by his -angry demands. He stayed up in the garret however, and sulked—what was -the use of a man’s hunting a job when it was taken from him before he -had time to learn the work? But then their money was going again, and -little Antanas was hungry, and crying with the bitter cold of the -garret. Also Madame Haupt, the midwife, was after him for some money. -So he went out once more. - -For another ten days he roamed the streets and alleys of the huge city, -sick and hungry, begging for any work. He tried in stores and offices, -in restaurants and hotels, along the docks and in the railroad yards, -in warehouses and mills and factories where they made products that -went to every corner of the world. There were often one or two -chances—but there were always a hundred men for every chance, and his -turn would not come. At night he crept into sheds and cellars and -doorways—until there came a spell of belated winter weather, with a -raging gale, and the thermometer five degrees below zero at sundown and -falling all night. Then Jurgis fought like a wild beast to get into the -big Harrison Street police station, and slept down in a corridor, -crowded with two other men upon a single step. - -He had to fight often in these days to fight for a place near the -factory gates, and now and again with gangs on the street. He found, -for instance, that the business of carrying satchels for railroad -passengers was a pre-empted one—whenever he essayed it, eight or ten -men and boys would fall upon him and force him to run for his life. -They always had the policeman “squared,” and so there was no use in -expecting protection. - -That Jurgis did not starve to death was due solely to the pittance the -children brought him. And even this was never certain. For one thing -the cold was almost more than the children could bear; and then they, -too, were in perpetual peril from rivals who plundered and beat them. -The law was against them, too—little Vilimas, who was really eleven, -but did not look to be eight, was stopped on the streets by a severe -old lady in spectacles, who told him that he was too young to be -working and that if he did not stop selling papers she would send a -truant officer after him. Also one night a strange man caught little -Kotrina by the arm and tried to persuade her into a dark cellar-way, an -experience which filled her with such terror that she was hardly to be -kept at work. - -At last, on a Sunday, as there was no use looking for work, Jurgis went -home by stealing rides on the cars. He found that they had been waiting -for him for three days—there was a chance of a job for him. - -It was quite a story. Little Juozapas, who was near crazy with hunger -these days, had gone out on the street to beg for himself. Juozapas had -only one leg, having been run over by a wagon when a little child, but -he had got himself a broomstick, which he put under his arm for a -crutch. He had fallen in with some other children and found the way to -Mike Scully’s dump, which lay three or four blocks away. To this place -there came every day many hundreds of wagon-loads of garbage and trash -from the lake front, where the rich people lived; and in the heaps the -children raked for food—there were hunks of bread and potato peelings -and apple cores and meat bones, all of it half frozen and quite -unspoiled. Little Juozapas gorged himself, and came home with a -newspaper full, which he was feeding to Antanas when his mother came -in. Elzbieta was horrified, for she did not believe that the food out -of the dumps was fit to eat. The next day, however, when no harm came -of it and Juozapas began to cry with hunger, she gave in and said that -he might go again. And that afternoon he came home with a story of how -while he had been digging away with a stick, a lady upon the street had -called him. A real fine lady, the little boy explained, a beautiful -lady; and she wanted to know all about him, and whether he got the -garbage for chickens, and why he walked with a broomstick, and why Ona -had died, and how Jurgis had come to go to jail, and what was the -matter with Marija, and everything. In the end she had asked where he -lived, and said that she was coming to see him, and bring him a new -crutch to walk with. She had on a hat with a bird upon it, Juozapas -added, and a long fur snake around her neck. - -She really came, the very next morning, and climbed the ladder to the -garret, and stood and stared about her, turning pale at the sight of -the blood stains on the floor where Ona had died. She was a “settlement -worker,” she explained to Elzbieta—she lived around on Ashland Avenue. -Elzbieta knew the place, over a feed store; somebody had wanted her to -go there, but she had not cared to, for she thought that it must have -something to do with religion, and the priest did not like her to have -anything to do with strange religions. They were rich people who came -to live there to find out about the poor people; but what good they -expected it would do them to know, one could not imagine. So spoke -Elzbieta, naïvely, and the young lady laughed and was rather at a loss -for an answer—she stood and gazed about her, and thought of a cynical -remark that had been made to her, that she was standing upon the brink -of the pit of hell and throwing in snowballs to lower the temperature. - -Elzbieta was glad to have somebody to listen, and she told all their -woes—what had happened to Ona, and the jail, and the loss of their -home, and Marija’s accident, and how Ona had died, and how Jurgis could -get no work. As she listened the pretty young lady’s eyes filled with -tears, and in the midst of it she burst into weeping and hid her face -on Elzbieta’s shoulder, quite regardless of the fact that the woman had -on a dirty old wrapper and that the garret was full of fleas. Poor -Elzbieta was ashamed of herself for having told so woeful a tale, and -the other had to beg and plead with her to get her to go on. The end of -it was that the young lady sent them a basket of things to eat, and -left a letter that Jurgis was to take to a gentleman who was -superintendent in one of the mills of the great steelworks in South -Chicago. “He will get Jurgis something to do,” the young lady had said, -and added, smiling through her tears—“If he doesn’t, he will never -marry me.” - -The steel-works were fifteen miles away, and as usual it was so -contrived that one had to pay two fares to get there. Far and wide the -sky was flaring with the red glare that leaped from rows of towering -chimneys—for it was pitch dark when Jurgis arrived. The vast works, a -city in themselves, were surrounded by a stockade; and already a full -hundred men were waiting at the gate where new hands were taken on. -Soon after daybreak whistles began to blow, and then suddenly thousands -of men appeared, streaming from saloons and boardinghouses across the -way, leaping from trolley cars that passed—it seemed as if they rose -out of the ground, in the dim gray light. A river of them poured in -through the gate—and then gradually ebbed away again, until there were -only a few late ones running, and the watchman pacing up and down, and -the hungry strangers stamping and shivering. - -Jurgis presented his precious letter. The gatekeeper was surly, and put -him through a catechism, but he insisted that he knew nothing, and as -he had taken the precaution to seal his letter, there was nothing for -the gatekeeper to do but send it to the person to whom it was -addressed. A messenger came back to say that Jurgis should wait, and so -he came inside of the gate, perhaps not sorry enough that there were -others less fortunate watching him with greedy eyes. The great mills -were getting under way—one could hear a vast stirring, a rolling and -rumbling and hammering. Little by little the scene grew plain: -towering, black buildings here and there, long rows of shops and sheds, -little railways branching everywhere, bare gray cinders underfoot and -oceans of billowing black smoke above. On one side of the grounds ran a -railroad with a dozen tracks, and on the other side lay the lake, where -steamers came to load. - -Jurgis had time enough to stare and speculate, for it was two hours -before he was summoned. He went into the office building, where a -company timekeeper interviewed him. The superintendent was busy, he -said, but he (the timekeeper) would try to find Jurgis a job. He had -never worked in a steel mill before? But he was ready for anything? -Well, then, they would go and see. - -So they began a tour, among sights that made Jurgis stare amazed. He -wondered if ever he could get used to working in a place like this, -where the air shook with deafening thunder, and whistles shrieked -warnings on all sides of him at once; where miniature steam engines -came rushing upon him, and sizzling, quivering, white-hot masses of -metal sped past him, and explosions of fire and flaming sparks dazzled -him and scorched his face. The men in these mills were all black with -soot, and hollow-eyed and gaunt; they worked with fierce intensity, -rushing here and there, and never lifting their eyes from their tasks. -Jurgis clung to his guide like a scared child to its nurse, and while -the latter hailed one foreman after another to ask if they could use -another unskilled man, he stared about him and marveled. - -He was taken to the Bessemer furnace, where they made billets of -steel—a dome-like building, the size of a big theater. Jurgis stood -where the balcony of the theater would have been, and opposite, by the -stage, he saw three giant caldrons, big enough for all the devils of -hell to brew their broth in, full of something white and blinding, -bubbling and splashing, roaring as if volcanoes were blowing through -it—one had to shout to be heard in the place. Liquid fire would leap -from these caldrons and scatter like bombs below—and men were working -there, seeming careless, so that Jurgis caught his breath with fright. -Then a whistle would toot, and across the curtain of the theater would -come a little engine with a carload of something to be dumped into one -of the receptacles; and then another whistle would toot, down by the -stage, and another train would back up—and suddenly, without an -instant’s warning, one of the giant kettles began to tilt and topple, -flinging out a jet of hissing, roaring flame. Jurgis shrank back -appalled, for he thought it was an accident; there fell a pillar of -white flame, dazzling as the sun, swishing like a huge tree falling in -the forest. A torrent of sparks swept all the way across the building, -overwhelming everything, hiding it from sight; and then Jurgis looked -through the fingers of his hands, and saw pouring out of the caldron a -cascade of living, leaping fire, white with a whiteness not of earth, -scorching the eyeballs. Incandescent rainbows shone above it, blue, -red, and golden lights played about it; but the stream itself was -white, ineffable. Out of regions of wonder it streamed, the very river -of life; and the soul leaped up at the sight of it, fled back upon it, -swift and resistless, back into far-off lands, where beauty and terror -dwell. Then the great caldron tilted back again, empty, and Jurgis saw -to his relief that no one was hurt, and turned and followed his guide -out into the sunlight. - -They went through the blast furnaces, through rolling mills where bars -of steel were tossed about and chopped like bits of cheese. All around -and above giant machine arms were flying, giant wheels were turning, -great hammers crashing; traveling cranes creaked and groaned overhead, -reaching down iron hands and seizing iron prey—it was like standing in -the center of the earth, where the machinery of time was revolving. - -By and by they came to the place where steel rails were made; and -Jurgis heard a toot behind him, and jumped out of the way of a car with -a white-hot ingot upon it, the size of a man’s body. There was a sudden -crash and the car came to a halt, and the ingot toppled out upon a -moving platform, where steel fingers and arms seized hold of it, -punching it and prodding it into place, and hurrying it into the grip -of huge rollers. Then it came out upon the other side, and there were -more crashings and clatterings, and over it was flopped, like a pancake -on a gridiron, and seized again and rushed back at you through another -squeezer. So amid deafening uproar it clattered to and fro, growing -thinner and flatter and longer. The ingot seemed almost a living thing; -it did not want to run this mad course, but it was in the grip of fate, -it was tumbled on, screeching and clanking and shivering in protest. By -and by it was long and thin, a great red snake escaped from purgatory; -and then, as it slid through the rollers, you would have sworn that it -was alive—it writhed and squirmed, and wriggles and shudders passed out -through its tail, all but flinging it off by their violence. There was -no rest for it until it was cold and black—and then it needed only to -be cut and straightened to be ready for a railroad. - -It was at the end of this rail’s progress that Jurgis got his chance. -They had to be moved by men with crowbars, and the boss here could use -another man. So he took off his coat and set to work on the spot. - -It took him two hours to get to this place every day and cost him a -dollar and twenty cents a week. As this was out of the question, he -wrapped his bedding in a bundle and took it with him, and one of his -fellow workingmen introduced him to a Polish lodging-house, where he -might have the privilege of sleeping upon the floor for ten cents a -night. He got his meals at free-lunch counters, and every Saturday -night he went home—bedding and all—and took the greater part of his -money to the family. Elzbieta was sorry for this arrangement, for she -feared that it would get him into the habit of living without them, and -once a week was not very often for him to see his baby; but there was -no other way of arranging it. There was no chance for a woman at the -steelworks, and Marija was now ready for work again, and lured on from -day to day by the hope of finding it at the yards. - -In a week Jurgis got over his sense of helplessness and bewilderment in -the rail mill. He learned to find his way about and to take all the -miracles and terrors for granted, to work without hearing the rumbling -and crashing. From blind fear he went to the other extreme; he became -reckless and indifferent, like all the rest of the men, who took but -little thought of themselves in the ardor of their work. It was -wonderful, when one came to think of it, that these men should have -taken an interest in the work they did—they had no share in it—they -were paid by the hour, and paid no more for being interested. Also they -knew that if they were hurt they would be flung aside and forgotten—and -still they would hurry to their task by dangerous short cuts, would use -methods that were quicker and more effective in spite of the fact that -they were also risky. His fourth day at his work Jurgis saw a man -stumble while running in front of a car, and have his foot mashed off, -and before he had been there three weeks he was witness of a yet more -dreadful accident. There was a row of brick furnaces, shining white -through every crack with the molten steel inside. Some of these were -bulging dangerously, yet men worked before them, wearing blue glasses -when they opened and shut the doors. One morning as Jurgis was passing, -a furnace blew out, spraying two men with a shower of liquid fire. As -they lay screaming and rolling upon the ground in agony, Jurgis rushed -to help them, and as a result he lost a good part of the skin from the -inside of one of his hands. The company doctor bandaged it up, but he -got no other thanks from any one, and was laid up for eight working -days without any pay. - -Most fortunately, at this juncture, Elzbieta got the long-awaited -chance to go at five o’clock in the morning and help scrub the office -floors of one of the packers. Jurgis came home and covered himself with -blankets to keep warm, and divided his time between sleeping and -playing with little Antanas. Juozapas was away raking in the dump a -good part of the time, and Elzbieta and Marija were hunting for more -work. - -Antanas was now over a year and a half old, and was a perfect talking -machine. He learned so fast that every week when Jurgis came home it -seemed to him as if he had a new child. He would sit down and listen -and stare at him, and give vent to delighted exclamations—“_Palauk! -Muma! Tu mano szirdele!_” The little fellow was now really the one -delight that Jurgis had in the world—his one hope, his one victory. -Thank God, Antanas was a boy! And he was as tough as a pine knot, and -with the appetite of a wolf. Nothing had hurt him, and nothing could -hurt him; he had come through all the suffering and deprivation -unscathed—only shriller-voiced and more determined in his grip upon -life. He was a terrible child to manage, was Antanas, but his father -did not mind that—he would watch him and smile to himself with -satisfaction. The more of a fighter he was the better—he would need to -fight before he got through. - -Jurgis had got the habit of buying the Sunday paper whenever he had the -money; a most wonderful paper could be had for only five cents, a whole -armful, with all the news of the world set forth in big headlines, that -Jurgis could spell out slowly, with the children to help him at the -long words. There was battle and murder and sudden death—it was -marvelous how they ever heard about so many entertaining and thrilling -happenings; the stories must be all true, for surely no man could have -made such things up, and besides, there were pictures of them all, as -real as life. One of these papers was as good as a circus, and nearly -as good as a spree—certainly a most wonderful treat for a workingman, -who was tired out and stupefied, and had never had any education, and -whose work was one dull, sordid grind, day after day, and year after -year, with never a sight of a green field nor an hour’s entertainment, -nor anything but liquor to stimulate his imagination. Among other -things, these papers had pages full of comical pictures, and these were -the main joy in life to little Antanas. He treasured them up, and would -drag them out and make his father tell him about them; there were all -sorts of animals among them, and Antanas could tell the names of all of -them, lying upon the floor for hours and pointing them out with his -chubby little fingers. Whenever the story was plain enough for Jurgis -to make out, Antanas would have it repeated to him, and then he would -remember it, prattling funny little sentences and mixing it up with -other stories in an irresistible fashion. Also his quaint pronunciation -of words was such a delight—and the phrases he would pick up and -remember, the most outlandish and impossible things! The first time -that the little rascal burst out with “God damn,” his father nearly -rolled off the chair with glee; but in the end he was sorry for this, -for Antanas was soon “God-damning” everything and everybody. - -And then, when he was able to use his hands, Jurgis took his bedding -again and went back to his task of shifting rails. It was now April, -and the snow had given place to cold rains, and the unpaved street in -front of Aniele’s house was turned into a canal. Jurgis would have to -wade through it to get home, and if it was late he might easily get -stuck to his waist in the mire. But he did not mind this much—it was a -promise that summer was coming. Marija had now gotten a place as -beef-trimmer in one of the smaller packing plants; and he told himself -that he had learned his lesson now, and would meet with no more -accidents—so that at last there was prospect of an end to their long -agony. They could save money again, and when another winter came they -would have a comfortable place; and the children would be off the -streets and in school again, and they might set to work to nurse back -into life their habits of decency and kindness. So once more Jurgis -began to make plans and dream dreams. - -And then one Saturday night he jumped off the car and started home, -with the sun shining low under the edge of a bank of clouds that had -been pouring floods of water into the mud-soaked street. There was a -rainbow in the sky, and another in his breast—for he had thirty-six -hours’ rest before him, and a chance to see his family. Then suddenly -he came in sight of the house, and noticed that there was a crowd -before the door. He ran up the steps and pushed his way in, and saw -Aniele’s kitchen crowded with excited women. It reminded him so vividly -of the time when he had come home from jail and found Ona dying, that -his heart almost stood still. “What’s the matter?” he cried. - -A dead silence had fallen in the room, and he saw that every one was -staring at him. “What’s the matter?” he exclaimed again. - -And then, up in the garret, he heard sounds of wailing, in Marija’s -voice. He started for the ladder—and Aniele seized him by the arm. “No, -no!” she exclaimed. “Don’t go up there!” - -“What is it?” he shouted. - -And the old woman answered him weakly: “It’s Antanas. He’s dead. He was -drowned out in the street!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned deadly pale, but he -caught himself, and for half a minute stood in the middle of the room, -clenching his hands tightly and setting his teeth. Then he pushed -Aniele aside and strode into the next room and climbed the ladder. - -In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing beneath it; and -beside it lay Elzbieta, whether crying or in a faint, Jurgis could not -tell. Marija was pacing the room, screaming and wringing her hands. He -clenched his hands tighter yet, and his voice was hard as he spoke. - -“How did it happen?” he asked. - -Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated the question, -louder and yet more harshly. “He fell off the sidewalk!” she wailed. -The sidewalk in front of the house was a platform made of half-rotten -boards, about five feet above the level of the sunken street. - -“How did he come to be there?” he demanded. - -“He went—he went out to play,” Marija sobbed, her voice choking her. -“We couldn’t make him stay in. He must have got caught in the mud!” - -“Are you sure that he is dead?” he demanded. - -“Ai! ai!” she wailed. “Yes; we had the doctor.” - -Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed a tear. He -took one glance more at the blanket with the little form beneath it, -and then turned suddenly to the ladder and climbed down again. A -silence fell once more in the room as he entered. He went straight to -the door, passed out, and started down the street. - -When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, but he did -not do that now, though he had his week’s wages in his pocket. He -walked and walked, seeing nothing, splashing through mud and water. -Later on he sat down upon a step and hid his face in his hands and for -half an hour or so he did not move. Now and then he would whisper to -himself: “Dead! _Dead!_” - -Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was about sunset, and he -went on and on until it was dark, when he was stopped by a railroad -crossing. The gates were down, and a long train of freight cars was -thundering by. He stood and watched it; and all at once a wild impulse -seized him, a thought that had been lurking within him, unspoken, -unrecognized, leaped into sudden life. He started down the track, and -when he was past the gate-keeper’s shanty he sprang forward and swung -himself on to one of the cars. - -By and by the train stopped again, and Jurgis sprang down and ran under -the car, and hid himself upon the truck. Here he sat, and when the -train started again, he fought a battle with his soul. He gripped his -hands and set his teeth together—he had not wept, and he would not—not -a tear! It was past and over, and he was done with it—he would fling it -off his shoulders, be free of it, the whole business, that night. It -should go like a black, hateful nightmare, and in the morning he would -be a new man. And every time that a thought of it assailed him—a tender -memory, a trace of a tear—he rose up, cursing with rage, and pounded it -down. - -He was fighting for his life; he gnashed his teeth together in his -desperation. He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted his life, he had -wrecked himself, with his accursed weakness; and now he was done with -it—he would tear it out of him, root and branch! There should be no -more tears and no more tenderness; he had had enough of them—they had -sold him into slavery! Now he was going to be free, to tear off his -shackles, to rise up and fight. He was glad that the end had come—it -had to come some time, and it was just as well now. This was no world -for women and children, and the sooner they got out of it the better -for them. Whatever Antanas might suffer where he was, he could suffer -no more than he would have had he stayed upon earth. And meantime his -father had thought the last thought about him that he meant to; he was -going to think of himself, he was going to fight for himself, against -the world that had baffled him and tortured him! - -So he went on, tearing up all the flowers from the garden of his soul, -and setting his heel upon them. The train thundered deafeningly, and a -storm of dust blew in his face; but though it stopped now and then -through the night, he clung where he was—he would cling there until he -was driven off, for every mile that he got from Packingtown meant -another load from his mind. - -Whenever the cars stopped a warm breeze blew upon him, a breeze laden -with the perfume of fresh fields, of honeysuckle and clover. He snuffed -it, and it made his heart beat wildly—he was out in the country again! -He was going to _live_ in the country! When the dawn came he was -peering out with hungry eyes, getting glimpses of meadows and woods and -rivers. At last he could stand it no longer, and when the train stopped -again he crawled out. Upon the top of the car was a brakeman, who shook -his fist and swore; Jurgis waved his hand derisively, and started -across the country. - -Only think that he had been a countryman all his life; and for three -long years he had never seen a country sight nor heard a country sound! -Excepting for that one walk when he left jail, when he was too much -worried to notice anything, and for a few times that he had rested in -the city parks in the winter time when he was out of work, he had -literally never seen a tree! And now he felt like a bird lifted up and -borne away upon a gale; he stopped and stared at each new sight of -wonder—at a herd of cows, and a meadow full of daisies, at hedgerows -set thick with June roses, at little birds singing in the trees. - -Then he came to a farm-house, and after getting himself a stick for -protection, he approached it. The farmer was greasing a wagon in front -of the barn, and Jurgis went to him. “I would like to get some -breakfast, please,” he said. - -“Do you want to work?” said the farmer. - -“No,” said Jurgis. “I don’t.” - -“Then you can’t get anything here,” snapped the other. - -“I meant to pay for it,” said Jurgis. - -“Oh,” said the farmer; and then added sarcastically, “We don’t serve -breakfast after 7 A.M.” - -“I am very hungry,” said Jurgis gravely; “I would like to buy some -food.” - -“Ask the woman,” said the farmer, nodding over his shoulder. The -“woman” was more tractable, and for a dime Jurgis secured two thick -sandwiches and a piece of pie and two apples. He walked off eating the -pie, as the least convenient thing to carry. In a few minutes he came -to a stream, and he climbed a fence and walked down the bank, along a -woodland path. By and by he found a comfortable spot, and there he -devoured his meal, slaking his thirst at the stream. Then he lay for -hours, just gazing and drinking in joy; until at last he felt sleepy, -and lay down in the shade of a bush. - -When he awoke the sun was shining hot in his face. He sat up and -stretched his arms, and then gazed at the water sliding by. There was a -deep pool, sheltered and silent, below him, and a sudden wonderful idea -rushed upon him. He might have a bath! The water was free, and he might -get into it—all the way into it! It would be the first time that he had -been all the way into the water since he left Lithuania! - -When Jurgis had first come to the stockyards he had been as clean as -any workingman could well be. But later on, what with sickness and cold -and hunger and discouragement, and the filthiness of his work, and the -vermin in his home, he had given up washing in winter, and in summer -only as much of him as would go into a basin. He had had a shower bath -in jail, but nothing since—and now he would have a swim! - -The water was warm, and he splashed about like a very boy in his glee. -Afterward he sat down in the water near the bank, and proceeded to -scrub himself—soberly and methodically, scouring every inch of him with -sand. While he was doing it he would do it thoroughly, and see how it -felt to be clean. He even scrubbed his head with sand, and combed what -the men called “crumbs” out of his long, black hair, holding his head -under water as long as he could, to see if he could not kill them all. -Then, seeing that the sun was still hot, he took his clothes from the -bank and proceeded to wash them, piece by piece; as the dirt and grease -went floating off downstream he grunted with satisfaction and soused -the clothes again, venturing even to dream that he might get rid of the -fertilizer. - -He hung them all up, and while they were drying he lay down in the sun -and had another long sleep. They were hot and stiff as boards on top, -and a little damp on the underside, when he awakened; but being hungry, -he put them on and set out again. He had no knife, but with some labor -he broke himself a good stout club, and, armed with this, he marched -down the road again. - -Before long he came to a big farmhouse, and turned up the lane that led -to it. It was just supper-time, and the farmer was washing his hands at -the kitchen door. “Please, sir,” said Jurgis, “can I have something to -eat? I can pay.” To which the farmer responded promptly, “We don’t feed -tramps here. Get out!” - -Jurgis went without a word; but as he passed round the barn he came to -a freshly ploughed and harrowed field, in which the farmer had set out -some young peach trees; and as he walked he jerked up a row of them by -the roots, more than a hundred trees in all, before he reached the end -of the field. That was his answer, and it showed his mood; from now on -he was fighting, and the man who hit him would get all that he gave, -every time. - -Beyond the orchard Jurgis struck through a patch of woods, and then a -field of winter grain, and came at last to another road. Before long he -saw another farmhouse, and, as it was beginning to cloud over a little, -he asked here for shelter as well as food. Seeing the farmer eying him -dubiously, he added, “I’ll be glad to sleep in the barn.” - -“Well, I dunno,” said the other. “Do you smoke?” - -“Sometimes,” said Jurgis, “but I’ll do it out of doors.” When the man -had assented, he inquired, “How much will it cost me? I haven’t very -much money.” - -“I reckon about twenty cents for supper,” replied the farmer. “I won’t -charge ye for the barn.” - -So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer’s wife and -half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal—there were baked beans -and mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped and stewed, and a dish of -strawberries, and great, thick slices of bread, and a pitcher of milk. -Jurgis had not had such a feast since his wedding day, and he made a -mighty effort to put in his twenty cents’ worth. - -They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they sat upon -the steps and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest. When Jurgis -had explained that he was a workingman from Chicago, and that he did -not know just whither he was bound, the other said, “Why don’t you stay -here and work for me?” - -“I’m not looking for work just now,” Jurgis answered. - -“I’ll pay ye good,” said the other, eying his big form—“a dollar a day -and board ye. Help’s terrible scarce round here.” - -“Is that winter as well as summer?” Jurgis demanded quickly. - -“N—no,” said the farmer; “I couldn’t keep ye after November—I ain’t got -a big enough place for that.” - -“I see,” said the other, “that’s what I thought. When you get through -working your horses this fall, will you turn them out in the snow?” -(Jurgis was beginning to think for himself nowadays.) - -“It ain’t quite the same,” the farmer answered, seeing the point. -“There ought to be work a strong fellow like you can find to do, in the -cities, or some place, in the winter time.” - -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s what they all think; and so they crowd into -the cities, and when they have to beg or steal to live, then people ask -’em why they don’t go into the country, where help is scarce.” The -farmer meditated awhile. - -“How about when your money’s gone?” he inquired, finally. “You’ll have -to, then, won’t you?” - -“Wait till she’s gone,” said Jurgis; “then I’ll see.” - -He had a long sleep in the barn and then a big breakfast of coffee and -bread and oatmeal and stewed cherries, for which the man charged him -only fifteen cents, perhaps having been influenced by his arguments. -Then Jurgis bade farewell, and went on his way. - -Such was the beginning of his life as a tramp. It was seldom he got as -fair treatment as from this last farmer, and so as time went on he -learned to shun the houses and to prefer sleeping in the fields. When -it rained he would find a deserted building, if he could, and if not, -he would wait until after dark and then, with his stick ready, begin a -stealthy approach upon a barn. Generally he could get in before the dog -got scent of him, and then he would hide in the hay and be safe until -morning; if not, and the dog attacked him, he would rise up and make a -retreat in battle order. Jurgis was not the mighty man he had once -been, but his arms were still good, and there were few farm dogs he -needed to hit more than once. - -Before long there came raspberries, and then blackberries, to help him -save his money; and there were apples in the orchards and potatoes in -the ground—he learned to note the places and fill his pockets after -dark. Twice he even managed to capture a chicken, and had a feast, once -in a deserted barn and the other time in a lonely spot alongside of a -stream. When all of these things failed him he used his money -carefully, but without worry—for he saw that he could earn more -whenever he chose. Half an hour’s chopping wood in his lively fashion -was enough to bring him a meal, and when the farmer had seen him -working he would sometimes try to bribe him to stay. - -But Jurgis was not staying. He was a free man now, a buccaneer. The old -_Wanderlust_ had got into his blood, the joy of the unbound life, the -joy of seeking, of hoping without limit. There were mishaps and -discomforts—but at least there was always something new; and only think -what it meant to a man who for years had been penned up in one place, -seeing nothing but one dreary prospect of shanties and factories, to be -suddenly set loose beneath the open sky, to behold new landscapes, new -places, and new people every hour! To a man whose whole life had -consisted of doing one certain thing all day, until he was so exhausted -that he could only lie down and sleep until the next day—and to be now -his own master, working as he pleased and when he pleased, and facing a -new adventure every hour! - -Then, too, his health came back to him, all his lost youthful vigor, -his joy and power that he had mourned and forgotten! It came with a -sudden rush, bewildering him, startling him; it was as if his dead -childhood had come back to him, laughing and calling! What with plenty -to eat and fresh air and exercise that was taken as it pleased him, he -would waken from his sleep and start off not knowing what to do with -his energy, stretching his arms, laughing, singing old songs of home -that came back to him. Now and then, of course, he could not help but -think of little Antanas, whom he should never see again, whose little -voice he should never hear; and then he would have to battle with -himself. Sometimes at night he would waken dreaming of Ona, and stretch -out his arms to her, and wet the ground with his tears. But in the -morning he would get up and shake himself, and stride away again to -battle with the world. - -He never asked where he was nor where he was going; the country was big -enough, he knew, and there was no danger of his coming to the end of -it. And of course he could always have company for the -asking—everywhere he went there were men living just as he lived, and -whom he was welcome to join. He was a stranger at the business, but -they were not clannish, and they taught him all their tricks—what towns -and villages it was best to keep away from, and how to read the secret -signs upon the fences, and when to beg and when to steal, and just how -to do both. They laughed at his ideas of paying for anything with money -or with work—for they got all they wanted without either. Now and then -Jurgis camped out with a gang of them in some woodland haunt, and -foraged with them in the neighborhood at night. And then among them -some one would “take a shine” to him, and they would go off together -and travel for a week, exchanging reminiscences. - -Of these professional tramps a great many had, of course, been -shiftless and vicious all their lives. But the vast majority of them -had been workingmen, had fought the long fight as Jurgis had, and found -that it was a losing fight, and given up. Later on he encountered yet -another sort of men, those from whose ranks the tramps were recruited, -men who were homeless and wandering, but still seeking work—seeking it -in the harvest fields. Of these there was an army, the huge surplus -labor army of society; called into being under the stern system of -nature, to do the casual work of the world, the tasks which were -transient and irregular, and yet which had to be done. They did not -know that they were such, of course; they only knew that they sought -the job, and that the job was fleeting. In the early summer they would -be in Texas, and as the crops were ready they would follow north with -the season, ending with the fall in Manitoba. Then they would seek out -the big lumber camps, where there was winter work; or failing in this, -would drift to the cities, and live upon what they had managed to save, -with the help of such transient work as was there the loading and -unloading of steamships and drays, the digging of ditches and the -shoveling of snow. If there were more of them on hand than chanced to -be needed, the weaker ones died off of cold and hunger, again according -to the stern system of nature. - -It was in the latter part of July, when Jurgis was in Missouri, that he -came upon the harvest work. Here were crops that men had worked for -three or four months to prepare, and of which they would lose nearly -all unless they could find others to help them for a week or two. So -all over the land there was a cry for labor—agencies were set up and -all the cities were drained of men, even college boys were brought by -the carload, and hordes of frantic farmers would hold up trains and -carry off wagon-loads of men by main force. Not that they did not pay -them well—any man could get two dollars a day and his board, and the -best men could get two dollars and a half or three. - -The harvest-fever was in the very air, and no man with any spirit in -him could be in that region and not catch it. Jurgis joined a gang and -worked from dawn till dark, eighteen hours a day, for two weeks without -a break. Then he had a sum of money that would have been a fortune to -him in the old days of misery—but what could he do with it now? To be -sure he might have put it in a bank, and, if he were fortunate, get it -back again when he wanted it. But Jurgis was now a homeless man, -wandering over a continent; and what did he know about banking and -drafts and letters of credit? If he carried the money about with him, -he would surely be robbed in the end; and so what was there for him to -do but enjoy it while he could? On a Saturday night he drifted into a -town with his fellows; and because it was raining, and there was no -other place provided for him, he went to a saloon. And there were some -who treated him and whom he had to treat, and there was laughter and -singing and good cheer; and then out of the rear part of the saloon a -girl’s face, red-cheeked and merry, smiled at Jurgis, and his heart -thumped suddenly in his throat. He nodded to her, and she came and sat -by him, and they had more drink, and then he went upstairs into a room -with her, and the wild beast rose up within him and screamed, as it has -screamed in the Jungle from the dawn of time. And then because of his -memories and his shame, he was glad when others joined them, men and -women; and they had more drink and spent the night in wild rioting and -debauchery. In the van of the surplus-labor army, there followed -another, an army of women, they also struggling for life under the -stern system of nature. Because there were rich men who sought -pleasure, there had been ease and plenty for them so long as they were -young and beautiful; and later on, when they were crowded out by others -younger and more beautiful, they went out to follow upon the trail of -the workingmen. Sometimes they came of themselves, and the -saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes they were handled by -agencies, the same as the labor army. They were in the towns in harvest -time, near the lumber camps in the winter, in the cities when the men -came there; if a regiment were encamped, or a railroad or canal being -made, or a great exposition getting ready, the crowd of women were on -hand, living in shanties or saloons or tenement rooms, sometimes eight -or ten of them together. - -In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon the road -again. He was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan of his life, -he crushed his feelings down. He had made a fool of himself, but he -could not help it now—all he could do was to see that it did not happen -again. So he tramped on until exercise and fresh air banished his -headache, and his strength and joy returned. This happened to him every -time, for Jurgis was still a creature of impulse, and his pleasures had -not yet become business. It would be a long time before he could be -like the majority of these men of the road, who roamed until the hunger -for drink and for women mastered them, and then went to work with a -purpose in mind, and stopped when they had the price of a spree. - -On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help being made -miserable by his conscience. It was the ghost that would not down. It -would come upon him in the most unexpected places—sometimes it fairly -drove him to drink. - -One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelter in a -little house just outside of a town. It was a working-man’s home, and -the owner was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant from White Russia; he -bade Jurgis welcome in his home language, and told him to come to the -kitchen-fire and dry himself. He had no bed for him, but there was -straw in the garret, and he could make out. The man’s wife was cooking -the supper, and their children were playing about on the floor. Jurgis -sat and exchanged thoughts with him about the old country, and the -places where they had been and the work they had done. Then they ate, -and afterward sat and smoked and talked more about America, and how -they found it. In the middle of a sentence, however, Jurgis stopped, -seeing that the woman had brought a big basin of water and was -proceeding to undress her youngest baby. The rest had crawled into the -closet where they slept, but the baby was to have a bath, the -workingman explained. The nights had begun to be chilly, and his -mother, ignorant as to the climate in America, had sewed him up for the -winter; then it had turned warm again, and some kind of a rash had -broken out on the child. The doctor had said she must bathe him every -night, and she, foolish woman, believed him. - -Jurgis scarcely heard the explanation; he was watching the baby. He was -about a year old, and a sturdy little fellow, with soft fat legs, and a -round ball of a stomach, and eyes as black as coals. His pimples did -not seem to bother him much, and he was wild with glee over the bath, -kicking and squirming and chuckling with delight, pulling at his -mother’s face and then at his own little toes. When she put him into -the basin he sat in the midst of it and grinned, splashing the water -over himself and squealing like a little pig. He spoke in Russian, of -which Jurgis knew some; he spoke it with the quaintest of baby -accents—and every word of it brought back to Jurgis some word of his -own dead little one, and stabbed him like a knife. He sat perfectly -motionless, silent, but gripping his hands tightly, while a storm -gathered in his bosom and a flood heaped itself up behind his eyes. And -in the end he could bear it no more, but buried his face in his hands -and burst into tears, to the alarm and amazement of his hosts. Between -the shame of this and his woe Jurgis could not stand it, and got up and -rushed out into the rain. - -He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods, where -he hid and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, what agony was that, -what despair, when the tomb of memory was rent open and the ghosts of -his old life came forth to scourge him! What terror to see what he had -been and now could never be—to see Ona and his child and his own dead -self stretching out their arms to him, calling to him across a -bottomless abyss—and to know that they were gone from him forever, and -he writhing and suffocating in the mire of his own vileness! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -Early in the fall Jurgis set out for Chicago again. All the joy went -out of tramping as soon as a man could not keep warm in the hay; and, -like many thousands of others, he deluded himself with the hope that by -coming early he could avoid the rush. He brought fifteen dollars with -him, hidden away in one of his shoes, a sum which had been saved from -the saloon-keepers, not so much by his conscience, as by the fear which -filled him at the thought of being out of work in the city in the -winter time. - -He traveled upon the railroad with several other men, hiding in freight -cars at night, and liable to be thrown off at any time, regardless of -the speed of the train. When he reached the city he left the rest, for -he had money and they did not, and he meant to save himself in this -fight. He would bring to it all the skill that practice had brought -him, and he would stand, whoever fell. On fair nights he would sleep in -the park or on a truck or an empty barrel or box, and when it was rainy -or cold he would stow himself upon a shelf in a ten-cent lodging-house, -or pay three cents for the privileges of a “squatter” in a tenement -hallway. He would eat at free lunches, five cents a meal, and never a -cent more—so he might keep alive for two months and more, and in that -time he would surely find a job. He would have to bid farewell to his -summer cleanliness, of course, for he would come out of the first -night’s lodging with his clothes alive with vermin. There was no place -in the city where he could wash even his face, unless he went down to -the lake front—and there it would soon be all ice. - -First he went to the steel mill and the harvester works, and found that -his places there had been filled long ago. He was careful to keep away -from the stockyards—he was a single man now, he told himself, and he -meant to stay one, to have his wages for his own when he got a job. He -began the long, weary round of factories and warehouses, tramping all -day, from one end of the city to the other, finding everywhere from ten -to a hundred men ahead of him. He watched the newspapers, too—but no -longer was he to be taken in by smooth-spoken agents. He had been told -of all those tricks while “on the road.” - -In the end it was through a newspaper that he got a job, after nearly a -month of seeking. It was a call for a hundred laborers, and though he -thought it was a “fake,” he went because the place was near by. He -found a line of men a block long, but as a wagon chanced to come out of -an alley and break the line, he saw his chance and sprang to seize a -place. Men threatened him and tried to throw him out, but he cursed and -made a disturbance to attract a policeman, upon which they subsided, -knowing that if the latter interfered it would be to “fire” them all. - -An hour or two later he entered a room and confronted a big Irishman -behind a desk. - -“Ever worked in Chicago before?” the man inquired; and whether it was a -good angel that put it into Jurgis’s mind, or an intuition of his -sharpened wits, he was moved to answer, “No, sir.” - -“Where do you come from?” - -“Kansas City, sir.” - -“Any references?” - -“No, sir. I’m just an unskilled man. I’ve got good arms.” - -“I want men for hard work—it’s all underground, digging tunnels for -telephones. Maybe it won’t suit you.” - -“I’m willing, sir—anything for me. What’s the pay?” - -“Fifteen cents an hour.” - -“I’m willing, sir.” - -“All right; go back there and give your name.” - -So within half an hour he was at work, far underneath the streets of -the city. The tunnel was a peculiar one for telephone wires; it was -about eight feet high, and with a level floor nearly as wide. It had -innumerable branches—a perfect spider web beneath the city; Jurgis -walked over half a mile with his gang to the place where they were to -work. Stranger yet, the tunnel was lighted by electricity, and upon it -was laid a double-tracked, narrow-gauge railroad! - -But Jurgis was not there to ask questions, and he did not give the -matter a thought. It was nearly a year afterward that he finally -learned the meaning of this whole affair. The City Council had passed a -quiet and innocent little bill allowing a company to construct -telephone conduits under the city streets; and upon the strength of -this, a great corporation had proceeded to tunnel all Chicago with a -system of railway freight-subways. In the city there was a combination -of employers, representing hundreds of millions of capital, and formed -for the purpose of crushing the labor unions. The chief union which -troubled it was the teamsters’; and when these freight tunnels were -completed, connecting all the big factories and stores with the -railroad depots, they would have the teamsters’ union by the throat. -Now and then there were rumors and murmurs in the Board of Aldermen, -and once there was a committee to investigate—but each time another -small fortune was paid over, and the rumors died away; until at last -the city woke up with a start to find the work completed. There was a -tremendous scandal, of course; it was found that the city records had -been falsified and other crimes committed, and some of Chicago’s big -capitalists got into jail—figuratively speaking. The aldermen declared -that they had had no idea of it all, in spite of the fact that the main -entrance to the work had been in the rear of the saloon of one of them. - -It was in a newly opened cut that Jurgis worked, and so he knew that he -had an all-winter job. He was so rejoiced that he treated himself to a -spree that night, and with the balance of his money he hired himself a -place in a tenement room, where he slept upon a big homemade straw -mattress along with four other workingmen. This was one dollar a week, -and for four more he got his food in a boardinghouse near his work. -This would leave him four dollars extra each week, an unthinkable sum -for him. At the outset he had to pay for his digging tools, and also to -buy a pair of heavy boots, since his shoes were falling to pieces, and -a flannel shirt, since the one he had worn all summer was in shreds. He -spent a week meditating whether or not he should also buy an overcoat. -There was one belonging to a Hebrew collar button peddler, who had died -in the room next to him, and which the landlady was holding for her -rent; in the end, however, Jurgis decided to do without it, as he was -to be underground by day and in bed at night. - -This was an unfortunate decision, however, for it drove him more -quickly than ever into the saloons. From now on Jurgis worked from -seven o’clock until half-past five, with half an hour for dinner; which -meant that he never saw the sunlight on weekdays. In the evenings there -was no place for him to go except a barroom; no place where there was -light and warmth, where he could hear a little music or sit with a -companion and talk. He had now no home to go to; he had no affection -left in his life—only the pitiful mockery of it in the _camaraderie_ of -vice. On Sundays the churches were open—but where was there a church in -which an ill-smelling workingman, with vermin crawling upon his neck, -could sit without seeing people edge away and look annoyed? He had, of -course, his corner in a close though unheated room, with a window -opening upon a blank wall two feet away; and also he had the bare -streets, with the winter gales sweeping through them; besides this he -had only the saloons—and, of course, he had to drink to stay in them. -If he drank now and then he was free to make himself at home, to gamble -with dice or a pack of greasy cards, to play at a dingy pool table for -money, or to look at a beer-stained pink “sporting paper,” with -pictures of murderers and half-naked women. It was for such pleasures -as these that he spent his money; and such was his life during the six -weeks and a half that he toiled for the merchants of Chicago, to enable -them to break the grip of their teamsters’ union. - -In a work thus carried out, not much thought was given to the welfare -of the laborers. On an average, the tunneling cost a life a day and -several manglings; it was seldom, however, that more than a dozen or -two men heard of any one accident. The work was all done by the new -boring machinery, with as little blasting as possible; but there would -be falling rocks and crushed supports, and premature explosions—and in -addition all the dangers of railroading. So it was that one night, as -Jurgis was on his way out with his gang, an engine and a loaded car -dashed round one of the innumerable right-angle branches and struck him -upon the shoulder, hurling him against the concrete wall and knocking -him senseless. - -When he opened his eyes again it was to the clanging of the bell of an -ambulance. He was lying in it, covered by a blanket, and it was -threading its way slowly through the holiday-shopping crowds. They took -him to the county hospital, where a young surgeon set his arm; then he -was washed and laid upon a bed in a ward with a score or two more of -maimed and mangled men. - -Jurgis spent his Christmas in this hospital, and it was the pleasantest -Christmas he had had in America. Every year there were scandals and -investigations in this institution, the newspapers charging that -doctors were allowed to try fantastic experiments upon the patients; -but Jurgis knew nothing of this—his only complaint was that they used -to feed him upon tinned meat, which no man who had ever worked in -Packingtown would feed to his dog. Jurgis had often wondered just who -ate the canned corned beef and “roast beef” of the stockyards; now he -began to understand—that it was what you might call “graft meat,” put -up to be sold to public officials and contractors, and eaten by -soldiers and sailors, prisoners and inmates of institutions, -“shantymen” and gangs of railroad laborers. - -Jurgis was ready to leave the hospital at the end of two weeks. This -did not mean that his arm was strong and that he was able to go back to -work, but simply that he could get along without further attention, and -that his place was needed for some one worse off than he. That he was -utterly helpless, and had no means of keeping himself alive in the -meantime, was something which did not concern the hospital authorities, -nor any one else in the city. - -As it chanced, he had been hurt on a Monday, and had just paid for his -last week’s board and his room rent, and spent nearly all the balance -of his Saturday’s pay. He had less than seventy-five cents in his -pockets, and a dollar and a half due him for the day’s work he had done -before he was hurt. He might possibly have sued the company, and got -some damages for his injuries, but he did not know this, and it was not -the company’s business to tell him. He went and got his pay and his -tools, which he left in a pawnshop for fifty cents. Then he went to his -landlady, who had rented his place and had no other for him; and then -to his boardinghouse keeper, who looked him over and questioned him. As -he must certainly be helpless for a couple of months, and had boarded -there only six weeks, she decided very quickly that it would not be -worth the risk to keep him on trust. - -So Jurgis went out into the streets, in a most dreadful plight. It was -bitterly cold, and a heavy snow was falling, beating into his face. He -had no overcoat, and no place to go, and two dollars and sixty-five -cents in his pocket, with the certainty that he could not earn another -cent for months. The snow meant no chance to him now; he must walk -along and see others shoveling, vigorous and active—and he with his -left arm bound to his side! He could not hope to tide himself over by -odd jobs of loading trucks; he could not even sell newspapers or carry -satchels, because he was now at the mercy of any rival. Words could not -paint the terror that came over him as he realized all this. He was -like a wounded animal in the forest; he was forced to compete with his -enemies upon unequal terms. There would be no consideration for him -because of his weakness—it was no one’s business to help him in such -distress, to make the fight the least bit easier for him. Even if he -took to begging, he would be at a disadvantage, for reasons which he -was to discover in good time. - -In the beginning he could not think of anything except getting out of -the awful cold. He went into one of the saloons he had been wont to -frequent and bought a drink, and then stood by the fire shivering and -waiting to be ordered out. According to an unwritten law, the buying a -drink included the privilege of loafing for just so long; then one had -to buy another drink or move on. That Jurgis was an old customer -entitled him to a somewhat longer stop; but then he had been away two -weeks, and was evidently “on the bum.” He might plead and tell his -“hard luck story,” but that would not help him much; a saloon-keeper -who was to be moved by such means would soon have his place jammed to -the doors with “hoboes” on a day like this. - -So Jurgis went out into another place, and paid another nickel. He was -so hungry this time that he could not resist the hot beef stew, an -indulgence which cut short his stay by a considerable time. When he was -again told to move on, he made his way to a “tough” place in the -“Lêvée” district, where now and then he had gone with a certain -rat-eyed Bohemian workingman of his acquaintance, seeking a woman. It -was Jurgis’s vain hope that here the proprietor would let him remain as -a “sitter.” In low-class places, in the dead of winter, saloon-keepers -would often allow one or two forlorn-looking bums who came in covered -with snow or soaked with rain to sit by the fire and look miserable to -attract custom. A workingman would come in, feeling cheerful after his -day’s work was over, and it would trouble him to have to take his glass -with such a sight under his nose; and so he would call out: “Hello, -Bub, what’s the matter? You look as if you’d been up against it!” And -then the other would begin to pour out some tale of misery, and the man -would say, “Come have a glass, and maybe that’ll brace you up.” And so -they would drink together, and if the tramp was sufficiently -wretched-looking, or good enough at the “gab,” they might have two; and -if they were to discover that they were from the same country, or had -lived in the same city or worked at the same trade, they might sit down -at a table and spend an hour or two in talk—and before they got through -the saloon-keeper would have taken in a dollar. All of this might seem -diabolical, but the saloon-keeper was in no wise to blame for it. He -was in the same plight as the manufacturer who has to adulterate and -misrepresent his product. If he does not, some one else will; and the -saloon-keeper, unless he is also an alderman, is apt to be in debt to -the big brewers, and on the verge of being sold out. - -The market for “sitters” was glutted that afternoon, however, and there -was no place for Jurgis. In all he had to spend six nickels in keeping -a shelter over him that frightful day, and then it was just dark, and -the station houses would not open until midnight! At the last place, -however, there was a bartender who knew him and liked him, and let him -doze at one of the tables until the boss came back; and also, as he was -going out, the man gave him a tip—on the next block there was a -religious revival of some sort, with preaching and singing, and -hundreds of hoboes would go there for the shelter and warmth. - -Jurgis went straightway, and saw a sign hung out, saying that the door -would open at seven-thirty; then he walked, or half ran, a block, and -hid awhile in a doorway and then ran again, and so on until the hour. -At the end he was all but frozen, and fought his way in with the rest -of the throng (at the risk of having his arm broken again), and got -close to the big stove. - -By eight o’clock the place was so crowded that the speakers ought to -have been flattered; the aisles were filled halfway up, and at the door -men were packed tight enough to walk upon. There were three elderly -gentlemen in black upon the platform, and a young lady who played the -piano in front. First they sang a hymn, and then one of the three, a -tall, smooth-shaven man, very thin, and wearing black spectacles, began -an address. Jurgis heard smatterings of it, for the reason that terror -kept him awake—he knew that he snored abominably, and to have been put -out just then would have been like a sentence of death to him. - -The evangelist was preaching “sin and redemption,” the infinite grace -of God and His pardon for human frailty. He was very much in earnest, -and he meant well, but Jurgis, as he listened, found his soul filled -with hatred. What did he know about sin and suffering—with his smooth, -black coat and his neatly starched collar, his body warm, and his belly -full, and money in his pocket—and lecturing men who were struggling for -their lives, men at the death grapple with the demon powers of hunger -and cold!—This, of course, was unfair; but Jurgis felt that these men -were out of touch with the life they discussed, that they were unfitted -to solve its problems; nay, they themselves were part of the -problem—they were part of the order established that was crushing men -down and beating them! They were of the triumphant and insolent -possessors; they had a hall, and a fire, and food and clothing and -money, and so they might preach to hungry men, and the hungry men must -be humble and listen! They were trying to save their souls—and who but -a fool could fail to see that all that was the matter with their souls -was that they had not been able to get a decent existence for their -bodies? - -At eleven the meeting closed, and the desolate audience filed out into -the snow, muttering curses upon the few traitors who had got repentance -and gone up on the platform. It was yet an hour before the station -house would open, and Jurgis had no overcoat—and was weak from a long -illness. During that hour he nearly perished. He was obliged to run -hard to keep his blood moving at all—and then he came back to the -station house and found a crowd blocking the street before the door! -This was in the month of January, 1904, when the country was on the -verge of “hard times,” and the newspapers were reporting the shutting -down of factories every day—it was estimated that a million and a half -men were thrown out of work before the spring. So all the hiding places -of the city were crowded, and before that station house door men fought -and tore each other like savage beasts. When at last the place was -jammed and they shut the doors, half the crowd was still outside; and -Jurgis, with his helpless arm, was among them. There was no choice then -but to go to a lodging-house and spend another dime. It really broke -his heart to do this, at half-past twelve o’clock, after he had wasted -the night at the meeting and on the street. He would be turned out of -the lodging-house promptly at seven—they had the shelves which served -as bunks so contrived that they could be dropped, and any man who was -slow about obeying orders could be tumbled to the floor. - -This was one day, and the cold spell lasted for fourteen of them. At -the end of six days every cent of Jurgis’ money was gone; and then he -went out on the streets to beg for his life. - -He would begin as soon as the business of the city was moving. He would -sally forth from a saloon, and, after making sure there was no -policeman in sight, would approach every likely-looking person who -passed him, telling his woeful story and pleading for a nickel or a -dime. Then when he got one, he would dart round the corner and return -to his base to get warm; and his victim, seeing him do this, would go -away, vowing that he would never give a cent to a beggar again. The -victim never paused to ask where else Jurgis could have gone under the -circumstances—where he, the victim, would have gone. At the saloon -Jurgis could not only get more food and better food than he could buy -in any restaurant for the same money, but a drink in the bargain to -warm him up. Also he could find a comfortable seat by a fire, and could -chat with a companion until he was as warm as toast. At the saloon, -too, he felt at home. Part of the saloon-keeper’s business was to offer -a home and refreshments to beggars in exchange for the proceeds of -their foragings; and was there any one else in the whole city who would -do this—would the victim have done it himself? - -Poor Jurgis might have been expected to make a successful beggar. He -was just out of the hospital, and desperately sick-looking, and with a -helpless arm; also he had no overcoat, and shivered pitifully. But, -alas, it was again the case of the honest merchant, who finds that the -genuine and unadulterated article is driven to the wall by the artistic -counterfeit. Jurgis, as a beggar, was simply a blundering amateur in -competition with organized and scientific professionalism. He was just -out of the hospital—but the story was worn threadbare, and how could he -prove it? He had his arm in a sling—and it was a device a regular -beggar’s little boy would have scorned. He was pale and shivering—but -they were made up with cosmetics, and had studied the art of chattering -their teeth. As to his being without an overcoat, among them you would -meet men you could swear had on nothing but a ragged linen duster and a -pair of cotton trousers—so cleverly had they concealed the several -suits of all-wool underwear beneath. Many of these professional -mendicants had comfortable homes, and families, and thousands of -dollars in the bank; some of them had retired upon their earnings, and -gone into the business of fitting out and doctoring others, or working -children at the trade. There were some who had both their arms bound -tightly to their sides, and padded stumps in their sleeves, and a sick -child hired to carry a cup for them. There were some who had no legs, -and pushed themselves upon a wheeled platform—some who had been favored -with blindness, and were led by pretty little dogs. Some less fortunate -had mutilated themselves or burned themselves, or had brought horrible -sores upon themselves with chemicals; you might suddenly encounter upon -the street a man holding out to you a finger rotting and discolored -with gangrene—or one with livid scarlet wounds half escaped from their -filthy bandages. These desperate ones were the dregs of the city’s -cesspools, wretches who hid at night in the rain-soaked cellars of old -ramshackle tenements, in “stale-beer dives” and opium joints, with -abandoned women in the last stages of the harlot’s progress—women who -had been kept by Chinamen and turned away at last to die. Every day the -police net would drag hundreds of them off the streets, and in the -detention hospital you might see them, herded together in a miniature -inferno, with hideous, beastly faces, bloated and leprous with disease, -laughing, shouting, screaming in all stages of drunkenness, barking -like dogs, gibbering like apes, raving and tearing themselves in -delirium. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -In the face of all his handicaps, Jurgis was obliged to make the price -of a lodging, and of a drink every hour or two, under penalty of -freezing to death. Day after day he roamed about in the arctic cold, -his soul filled full of bitterness and despair. He saw the world of -civilization then more plainly than ever he had seen it before; a world -in which nothing counted but brutal might, an order devised by those -who possessed it for the subjugation of those who did not. He was one -of the latter; and all outdoors, all life, was to him one colossal -prison, which he paced like a pent-up tiger, trying one bar after -another, and finding them all beyond his power. He had lost in the -fierce battle of greed, and so was doomed to be exterminated; and all -society was busied to see that he did not escape the sentence. -Everywhere that he turned were prison bars, and hostile eyes following -him; the well-fed, sleek policemen, from whose glances he shrank, and -who seemed to grip their clubs more tightly when they saw him; the -saloon-keepers, who never ceased to watch him while he was in their -places, who were jealous of every moment he lingered after he had paid -his money; the hurrying throngs upon the streets, who were deaf to his -entreaties, oblivious of his very existence—and savage and contemptuous -when he forced himself upon them. They had their own affairs, and there -was no place for him among them. There was no place for him -anywhere—every direction he turned his gaze, this fact was forced upon -him: Everything was built to express it to him: the residences, with -their heavy walls and bolted doors, and basement windows barred with -iron; the great warehouses filled with the products of the whole world, -and guarded by iron shutters and heavy gates; the banks with their -unthinkable billions of wealth, all buried in safes and vaults of -steel. - -And then one day there befell Jurgis the one adventure of his life. It -was late at night, and he had failed to get the price of a lodging. -Snow was falling, and he had been out so long that he was covered with -it, and was chilled to the bone. He was working among the theater -crowds, flitting here and there, taking large chances with the police, -in his desperation half hoping to be arrested. When he saw a blue-coat -start toward him, however, his heart failed him, and he dashed down a -side street and fled a couple of blocks. When he stopped again he saw a -man coming toward him, and placed himself in his path. - -“Please, sir,” he began, in the usual formula, “will you give me the -price of a lodging? I’ve had a broken arm, and I can’t work, and I’ve -not a cent in my pocket. I’m an honest working-man, sir, and I never -begged before! It’s not my fault, sir—” - -Jurgis usually went on until he was interrupted, but this man did not -interrupt, and so at last he came to a breathless stop. The other had -halted, and Jurgis suddenly noticed that he stood a little unsteadily. -“Whuzzat you say?” he queried suddenly, in a thick voice. - -Jurgis began again, speaking more slowly and distinctly; before he was -half through the other put out his hand and rested it upon his -shoulder. “Poor ole chappie!” he said. “Been up—hic—up—against it, -hey?” - -Then he lurched toward Jurgis, and the hand upon his shoulder became an -arm about his neck. “Up against it myself, ole sport,” he said. “She’s -a hard ole world.” - -They were close to a lamppost, and Jurgis got a glimpse of the other. -He was a young fellow—not much over eighteen, with a handsome boyish -face. He wore a silk hat and a rich soft overcoat with a fur collar; -and he smiled at Jurgis with benignant sympathy. “I’m hard up, too, my -goo’ fren’,” he said. “I’ve got cruel parents, or I’d set you up. -Whuzzamatter whizyer?” - -“I’ve been in the hospital.” - -“Hospital!” exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly, “thass -too bad! Same’s my Aunt Polly—hic—my Aunt Polly’s in the hospital, -too—ole auntie’s been havin’ twins! Whuzzamatter whiz you?” - -“I’ve got a broken arm—” Jurgis began. - -“So,” said the other, sympathetically. “That ain’t so bad—you get over -that. I wish somebody’d break _my_ arm, ole chappie—damfidon’t! Then -they’d treat me better—hic—hole me up, ole sport! Whuzzit you wamme -do?” - -“I’m hungry, sir,” said Jurgis. - -“Hungry! Why don’t you hassome supper?” - -“I’ve got no money, sir.” - -“No money! Ho, ho—less be chums, ole boy—jess like me! No money, -either—a’most busted! Why don’t you go home, then, same’s me?” - -“I haven’t any home,” said Jurgis. - -“No home! Stranger in the city, hey? Goo’ God, thass bad! Better come -home wiz me—yes, by Harry, thass the trick, you’ll come home an’ -hassome supper—hic—wiz me! Awful lonesome—nobody home! Guv’ner gone -abroad—Bubby on’s honeymoon—Polly havin’ twins—every damn soul gone -away! Nuff—hic—nuff to drive a feller to drink, I say! Only ole Ham -standin’ by, passin’ plates—damfican eat like that, no sir! The club -for me every time, my boy, I say. But then they won’t lemme sleep -there—guv’ner’s orders, by Harry—home every night, sir! Ever hear -anythin’ like that? ‘Every mornin’ do?’ I asked him. ‘No, sir, every -night, or no allowance at all, sir.’ Thass my guv’ner—‘nice as nails, -by Harry! Tole ole Ham to watch me, too—servants spyin’ on me—whuzyer -think that, my fren’? A nice, quiet—hic—goodhearted young feller like -me, an’ his daddy can’t go to Europe—hup!—an’ leave him in peace! Ain’t -that a shame, sir? An’ I gotter go home every evenin’ an’ miss all the -fun, by Harry! Thass whuzzamatter now—thass why I’m here! Hadda come -away an’ leave Kitty—hic—left her cryin’, too—whujja think of that, ole -sport? ‘Lemme go, Kittens,’ says I—‘come early an’ often—I go where -duty—hic—calls me. Farewell, farewell, my own true love—farewell, -farewehell, my—own true—love!’” - -This last was a song, and the young gentleman’s voice rose mournful and -wailing, while he swung upon Jurgis’s neck. The latter was glancing -about nervously, lest some one should approach. They were still alone, -however. - -“But I came all right, all right,” continued the youngster, -aggressively, “I can—hic—I can have my own way when I want it, by -Harry—Freddie Jones is a hard man to handle when he gets goin’! ‘No, -sir,’ says I, ‘by thunder, and I don’t need anybody goin’ home with me, -either—whujja take me for, hey? Think I’m drunk, dontcha, hey?—I know -you! But I’m no more drunk than you are, Kittens,’ says I to her. And -then says she, ‘Thass true, Freddie dear’ (she’s a smart one, is -Kitty), ‘but I’m stayin’ in the flat, an’ you’re goin’ out into the -cold, cold night!’ ‘Put it in a pome, lovely Kitty,’ says I. ‘No -jokin’, Freddie, my boy,’ says she. ‘Lemme call a cab now, like a good -dear’—but I can call my own cabs, dontcha fool yourself—and I know what -I’m a-doin’, you bet! Say, my fren’, whatcha say—willye come home an’ -see me, an’ hassome supper? Come ’long like a good feller—don’t be -haughty! You’re up against it, same as me, an’ you can unerstan’ a -feller; your heart’s in the right place, by Harry—come ’long, ole -chappie, an’ we’ll light up the house, an’ have some fizz, an’ we’ll -raise hell, we will—whoop-la! S’long’s I’m inside the house I can do as -I please—the guv’ner’s own very orders, b’God! Hip! hip!” - -They had started down the street, arm in arm, the young man pushing -Jurgis along, half dazed. Jurgis was trying to think what to do—he knew -he could not pass any crowded place with his new acquaintance without -attracting attention and being stopped. It was only because of the -falling snow that people who passed here did not notice anything wrong. - -Suddenly, therefore, Jurgis stopped. “Is it very far?” he inquired. - -“Not very,” said the other, “Tired, are you, though? Well, we’ll -ride—whatcha say? Good! Call a cab!” - -And then, gripping Jurgis tight with one hand, the young fellow began -searching his pockets with the other. “You call, ole sport, an’ I’ll -pay,” he suggested. “How’s that, hey?” - -And he pulled out from somewhere a big roll of bills. It was more money -than Jurgis had ever seen in his life before, and he stared at it with -startled eyes. - -“Looks like a lot, hey?” said Master Freddie, fumbling with it. “Fool -you, though, ole chappie—they’re all little ones! I’ll be busted in one -week more, sure thing—word of honor. An’ not a cent more till the -first—hic—guv’ner’s orders—hic—not a _cent_, by Harry! Nuff to set a -feller crazy, it is. I sent him a cable, this af’noon—thass one reason -more why I’m goin’ home. ‘Hangin’ on the verge of starvation,’ I -says—‘for the honor of the family—hic—sen’ me some bread. Hunger will -compel me to join you—Freddie.’ Thass what I wired him, by Harry, an’ I -mean it—I’ll run away from school, b’God, if he don’t sen’ me some.” - -After this fashion the young gentleman continued to prattle on—and -meantime Jurgis was trembling with excitement. He might grab that wad -of bills and be out of sight in the darkness before the other could -collect his wits. Should he do it? What better had he to hope for, if -he waited longer? But Jurgis had never committed a crime in his life, -and now he hesitated half a second too long. “Freddie” got one bill -loose, and then stuffed the rest back into his trousers’ pocket. - -“Here, ole man,” he said, “you take it.” He held it out fluttering. -They were in front of a saloon; and by the light of the window Jurgis -saw that it was a hundred-dollar bill! “You take it,” the other -repeated. “Pay the cabbie an’ keep the change—I’ve got—hic—no head for -business! Guv’ner says so hisself, an’ the guv’ner knows—the guv’ner’s -got a head for business, you bet! ‘All right, guv’ner,’ I told him, -‘you run the show, and I’ll take the tickets!’ An’ so he set Aunt Polly -to watch me—hic—an’ now Polly’s off in the hospital havin’ twins, an’ -me out raisin’ Cain! Hello, there! Hey! Call him!” - -A cab was driving by; and Jurgis sprang and called, and it swung round -to the curb. Master Freddie clambered in with some difficulty, and -Jurgis had started to follow, when the driver shouted: “Hi, there! Get -out—you!” - -Jurgis hesitated, and was half obeying; but his companion broke out: -“Whuzzat? Whuzzamatter wiz you, hey?” - -And the cabbie subsided, and Jurgis climbed in. Then Freddie gave a -number on the Lake Shore Drive, and the carriage started away. The -youngster leaned back and snuggled up to Jurgis, murmuring contentedly; -in half a minute he was sound asleep, Jurgis sat shivering, speculating -as to whether he might not still be able to get hold of the roll of -bills. He was afraid to try to go through his companion’s pockets, -however; and besides the cabbie might be on the watch. He had the -hundred safe, and he would have to be content with that. - -At the end of half an hour or so the cab stopped. They were out on the -waterfront, and from the east a freezing gale was blowing off the -ice-bound lake. “Here we are,” called the cabbie, and Jurgis awakened -his companion. - -Master Freddie sat up with a start. - -“Hello!” he said. “Where are we? Whuzzis? Who are you, hey? Oh, yes, -sure nuff! Mos’ forgot you—hic—ole chappie! Home, are we? Lessee! -Br-r-r—it’s cold! Yes—come ’long—we’re home—it ever so—hic—humble!” - -Before them there loomed an enormous granite pile, set far back from -the street, and occupying a whole block. By the light of the driveway -lamps Jurgis could see that it had towers and huge gables, like a -mediæval castle. He thought that the young fellow must have made a -mistake—it was inconceivable to him that any person could have a home -like a hotel or the city hall. But he followed in silence, and they -went up the long flight of steps, arm in arm. - -“There’s a button here, ole sport,” said Master Freddie. “Hole my arm -while I find her! Steady, now—oh, yes, here she is! Saved!” - -A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in blue -livery stood holding it, and gazing before him, silent as a statue. - -They stood for a moment blinking in the light. Then Jurgis felt his -companion pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton closed the -door. Jurgis’s heart was beating wildly; it was a bold thing for him to -do—into what strange unearthly place he was venturing he had no idea. -Aladdin entering his cave could not have been more excited. - -The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a vast -hall, with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great -staircase opening at the far end of it. The floor was of tesselated -marble, smooth as glass, and from the walls strange shapes loomed out, -woven into huge portieres in rich, harmonious colors, or gleaming from -paintings, wonderful and mysterious-looking in the half-light, purple -and red and golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest. - -The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie took -off his hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of Jurgis’ arm, -tried to get out of his overcoat. After two or three attempts he -accomplished this, with the lackey’s help, and meantime a second man -had approached, a tall and portly personage, solemn as an executioner. -He bore straight down upon Jurgis, who shrank away nervously; he seized -him by the arm without a word, and started toward the door with him. -Then suddenly came Master Freddie’s voice, “Hamilton! My fren’ will -remain wiz me.” - -The man paused and half released Jurgis. “Come ’long ole chappie,” said -the other, and Jurgis started toward him. - -“Master Frederick!” exclaimed the man. - -“See that the cabbie—hic—is paid,” was the other’s response; and he -linked his arm in Jurgis’. Jurgis was about to say, “I have the money -for him,” but he restrained himself. The stout man in uniform signaled -to the other, who went out to the cab, while he followed Jurgis and his -young master. - -They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were two -huge doors. - -“Hamilton,” said Master Freddie. - -“Well, sir?” said the other. - -“Whuzzamatter wizze dinin’-room doors?” - -“Nothing is the matter, sir.” - -“Then why dontcha openum?” - -The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness. -“Lights,” commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a button, -and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, -half-blinding Jurgis. He stared; and little by little he made out the -great apartment, with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and -walls that were one enormous painting—nymphs and dryads dancing in a -flower-strewn glade—Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong -through a mountain streamlet—a group of maidens bathing in a forest -pool—all life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some -work of enchantment, that he was in a dream palace. Then his eye passed -to the long table in the center of the hall, a table black as ebony, -and gleaming with wrought silver and gold. In the center of it was a -huge carven bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and -purple of rare orchids, glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their -midst. - -“This’s the dinin’ room,” observed Master Freddie. “How you like it, -hey, ole sport?” - -He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over -Jurgis and smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it. - -“Rummy ole place to feed in all ’lone, though,” was Freddie’s -comment—“rummy’s hell! Whuzya think, hey?” Then another idea occurred -to him and he went on, without waiting: “Maybe you never saw -anythin—hic—like this ’fore? Hey, ole chappie?” - -“No,” said Jurgis. - -“Come from country, maybe—hey?” - -“Yes,” said Jurgis. - -“Aha! I thosso! Lossa folks from country never saw such a place. -Guv’ner brings ’em—free show—hic—reg’lar circus! Go home tell folks -about it. Ole man Jones’s place—Jones the packer—beef-trust man. Made -it all out of hogs, too, damn ole scoundrel. Now we see where our -pennies go—rebates, an’ private car lines—hic—by Harry! Bully place, -though—worth seein’! Ever hear of Jones the packer, hey, ole chappie?” - -Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes missed -nothing, demanded: “Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?” - -And Jurgis managed to stammer out: “I have worked for him in the -yards.” - -“What!” cried Master Freddie, with a yell. “_You!_ In the yards? Ho, -ho! Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man—by Harry! Guv’ner -ought to be here—glad to see you. Great fren’s with the men, -guv’ner—labor an’ capital, commun’ty ’f int’rests, an’ all that—hic! -Funny things happen in this world, don’t they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme -interduce you—fren’ the family—ole fren’ the guv’ner’s—works in the -yards. Come to spend the night wiz me, Hamilton—have a hot time. Me -fren’, Mr.—whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name.” - -“Rudkus—Jurgis Rudkus.” - -“My fren’, Mr. Rednose, Hamilton—shake han’s.” - -The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly -Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. “I know whuzzamatter wiz -you, Hamilton—lay you a dollar I know! You think—hic—you think I’m -drunk! Hey, now?” - -And the butler again bowed his head. “Yes, sir,” he said, at which -Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis’s neck and went into a fit of -laughter. “Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel,” he roared, “I’ll ’scharge -you for impudence, you see ’f I don’t! Ho, ho, ho! I’m drunk! Ho, ho!” - -The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim -would seize him. “Whatcha wanta do?” he queried suddenly. “Wanta see -the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv’ner—show you roun’? State -parlors—Looee Cans—Looee Sez—chairs cost three thousand apiece. Tea -room Maryanntnet—picture of shepherds dancing—Ruysdael—twenty-three -thousan’! Ballroom—balc’ny pillars—hic—imported—special -ship—sixty-eight thousan’! Ceilin’ painted in Rome—whuzzat feller’s -name, Hamilton—Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this place—silver -bowl—Benvenuto Cellini—rummy ole Dago! An’ the organ—thirty thousan’ -dollars, sir—starter up, Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No—never -mind—clean forgot—says he’s hungry, Hamilton—less have some supper. -Only—hic—don’t less have it here—come up to my place, ole sport—nice -an’ cosy. This way—steady now, don’t slip on the floor. Hamilton, we’ll -have a cole spread, an’ some fizz—don’t leave out the fizz, by Harry. -We’ll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?” - -“Yes, sir,” said the butler, “but, Master Frederick, your father left -orders—” - -And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. “My father’s -orders were left to me—hic—an’ not to you,” he said. Then, clasping -Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room; on the way -another idea occurred to him, and he asked: “Any—hic—cable message for -me, Hamilton?” - -“No, sir,” said the butler. - -“Guv’ner must be travelin’. An’ how’s the twins, Hamilton?” - -“They are doing well, sir.” - -“Good!” said Master Freddie; and added fervently: “God bless ’em, the -little lambs!” - -They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top of it -there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph -crouching by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm -and glowing with the hues of life. Above was a huge court, with domed -roof, the various apartments opening into it. The butler had paused -below but a few minutes to give orders, and then followed them; now he -pressed a button, and the hall blazed with light. He opened a door -before them, and then pressed another button, as they staggered into -the apartment. - -It was fitted up as a study. In the center was a mahogany table, -covered with books, and smokers’ implements; the walls were decorated -with college trophies and colors—flags, posters, photographs and -knickknacks—tennis rackets, canoe paddles, golf clubs, and polo sticks. -An enormous moose head, with horns six feet across, faced a buffalo -head on the opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the -polished floor. There were lounging chairs and sofas, window seats -covered with soft cushions of fantastic designs; there was one corner -fitted in Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jeweled lamp -beneath. Beyond, a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a -swimming pool of the purest marble, that had cost about forty thousand -dollars. - -Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then out of -the next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous -object that Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, opening a mouth -like a dragon’s; and he came toward the young man, wagging his tail. -“Hello, Dewey!” cried his master. “Been havin’ a snooze, ole boy? Well, -well—hello there, whuzzamatter?” (The dog was snarling at Jurgis.) -“Why, Dewey—this’ my fren’, Mr. Rednose—ole fren’ the guv’ner’s! Mr. -Rednose, Admiral Dewey; shake han’s—hic. Ain’t he a daisy, though—blue -ribbon at the New York show—eighty-five hundred at a clip! How’s that, -hey?” - -The speaker sank into one of the big armchairs, and Admiral Dewey -crouched beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes -off Jurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral. - -The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Jurgis -every second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, as he opened the -door a man in livery entered, carrying a folding table, and behind him -two men with covered trays. They stood like statues while the first -spread the table and set out the contents of the trays upon it. There -were cold pates, and thin slices of meat, tiny bread and butter -sandwiches with the crust cut off, a bowl of sliced peaches and cream -(in January), little fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow and white, -and half a dozen ice-cold bottles of wine. - -“Thass the stuff for you!” cried Master Freddie, exultantly, as he -spied them. “Come ’long, ole chappie, move up.” - -And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, and he -took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession -down his throat. Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and cried again to -Jurgis to seat himself. - -The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Jurgis -thought it was to keep him out of it; but finally he understand that it -was the other’s intention to put it under him, and so he sat down, -cautiously and mistrustingly. Master Freddie perceived that the -attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked with a nod to them, “You -may go.” - -They went, all save the butler. - -“You may go too, Hamilton,” he said. - -“Master Frederick—” the man began. - -“Go!” cried the youngster, angrily. “Damn you, don’t you hear me?” - -The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as he, -observed that he took the key out of the lock, in order that he might -peer through the keyhole. - -Master Frederick turned to the table again. “Now,” he said, “go for -it.” - -Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. “Eat!” cried the other. “Pile in, ole -chappie!” - -“Don’t you want anything?” Jurgis asked. - -“Ain’t hungry,” was the reply—“only thirsty. Kitty and me had some -candy—you go on.” - -So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, -his fork in one hand and his knife in the other; when he once got -started his wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for -breath until he had cleared every plate. “Gee whiz!” said the other, -who had been watching him in wonder. - -Then he held Jurgis the bottle. “Lessee you drink now,” he said; and -Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderfully -unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve -of him, thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and -then he gave vent to a long-drawn “Ah!” - -“Good stuff, hey?” said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned back in -the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing at Jurgis. - -And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening dress, -was Freddie, and looked very handsome—he was a beautiful boy, with -light golden hair and the head of an Antinous. He smiled at Jurgis -confidingly, and then started talking again, with his blissful -_insouciance_. This time he talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in -the course of the speech he told Jurgis all of his family history. His -big brother Charlie was in love with the guileless maiden who played -the part of “Little Bright-Eyes” in “The Kaliph of Kamskatka.” He had -been on the verge of marrying her once, only “the guv’ner” had sworn to -disinherit him, and had presented him with a sum that would stagger the -imagination, and that had staggered the virtue of “Little Bright-Eyes.” -Now Charlie had got leave from college, and had gone away in his -automobile on the next best thing to a honeymoon. “The guv’ner” had -made threats to disinherit another of his children also, sister -Gwendolen, who had married an Italian marquis with a string of titles -and a dueling record. They lived in his chateau, or rather had, until -he had taken to firing the breakfast dishes at her; then she had cabled -for help, and the old gentleman had gone over to find out what were his -Grace’s terms. So they had left Freddie all alone, and he with less -than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in arms and -meant serious business, as they would find in the end—if there was no -other way of bringing them to terms he would have his “Kittens” wire -that she was about to marry him, and see what happened then. - -So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled -his sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, sleepily. -Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed -them and forgot to open them. - -For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and -reveling in the strange sensation of the champagne. Once he stirred, -and the dog growled; after that he sat almost holding his breath—until -after a while the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came -in. - -He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis rose -up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and -then the butler came close, and pointed toward the door. “Get out of -here!” he whispered. - -Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring softly. -“If you do, you son of a—” hissed the butler, “I’ll mash in your face -for you before you get out of here!” - -And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw “Admiral Dewey” coming -up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his threats. Then he -surrendered and started toward the door. - -They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, -and through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler -strode close to him. - -“Hold up your hands,” he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, clinching -his one well fist. - -“What for?” he cried; and then understanding that the fellow proposed -to search him, he answered, “I’ll see you in hell first.” - -“Do you want to go to jail?” demanded the butler, menacingly. “I’ll -have the police—” - -“Have ’em!” roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. “But you won’t put your -hands on me till you do! I haven’t touched anything in your damned -house, and I’ll not have you touch me!” - -So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, -stepped suddenly to the door, and opened it. “Get out of here!” he -said; and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he gave him a -ferocious kick that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and -landed him sprawling in the snow at the bottom. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -Jurgis got up, wild with rage, but the door was shut and the great -castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit -into him, and he turned and went away at a run. - -When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented -streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last -humiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out -ahead on that deal! He put his hand into his trousers’ pocket every now -and then, to make sure that the precious hundred-dollar bill was still -there. - -Yet he was in a plight—a curious and even dreadful plight, when he came -to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one bill! And he had -to find some shelter that night he had to change it! - -Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was -no one he could go to for help—he had to manage it all alone. To get it -changed in a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands—he -would almost certainly be robbed, and perhaps murdered, before morning. -He might go to some hotel or railroad depot and ask to have it changed; -but what would they think, seeing a “bum” like him with a hundred -dollars? He would probably be arrested if he tried it; and what story -could he tell? On the morrow Freddie Jones would discover his loss, and -there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. The only -other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. He might pay them -to change it, if it could not be done otherwise. - -He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as being -too crowded—then finally, chancing upon one where the bartender was all -alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in. - -“Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” he demanded. - -The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, -and a three weeks’ stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Jurgis. -“What’s that youse say?” he demanded. - -“I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” - -“Where’d youse get it?” he inquired incredulously. - -“Never mind,” said Jurgis; “I’ve got it, and I want it changed. I’ll -pay you if you’ll do it.” - -The other stared at him hard. “Lemme see it,” he said. - -“Will you change it?” Jurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his -pocket. - -“How the hell can I know if it’s good or not?” retorted the bartender. -“Whatcher take me for, hey?” - -Then Jurgis slowly and warily approached him; he took out the bill, and -fumbled it for a moment, while the man stared at him with hostile eyes -across the counter. Then finally he handed it over. - -The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it between his -fingers, and held it up to the light; he turned it over, and upside -down, and edgeways. It was new and rather stiff, and that made him -dubious. Jurgis was watching him like a cat all the time. - -“Humph,” he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him up—a -ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in a sling—and -a hundred-dollar bill! “Want to buy anything?” he demanded. - -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “I’ll take a glass of beer.” - -“All right,” said the other, “I’ll change it.” And he put the bill in -his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, and set it on the -counter. Then he turned to the cash register, and punched up five -cents, and began to pull money out of the drawer. Finally, he faced -Jurgis, counting it out—two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. “There,” -he said. - -For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. “My -ninety-nine dollars,” he said. - -“What ninety-nine dollars?” demanded the bartender. - -“My change!” he cried—“the rest of my hundred!” - -“Go on,” said the bartender, “you’re nutty!” - -And Jurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror reigned -in him—black, paralyzing, awful horror, clutching him at the heart; and -then came rage, in surging, blinding floods—he screamed aloud, and -seized the glass and hurled it at the other’s head. The man ducked, and -it missed him by half an inch; he rose again and faced Jurgis, who was -vaulting over the bar with his one well arm, and dealt him a smashing -blow in the face, hurling him backward upon the floor. Then, as Jurgis -scrambled to his feet again and started round the counter after him, he -shouted at the top of his voice, “Help! help!” - -Jurgis seized a bottle off the counter as he ran; and as the bartender -made a leap he hurled the missile at him with all his force. It just -grazed his head, and shivered into a thousand pieces against the post -of the door. Then Jurgis started back, rushing at the man again in the -middle of the room. This time, in his blind frenzy, he came without a -bottle, and that was all the bartender wanted—he met him halfway and -floored him with a sledgehammer drive between the eyes. An instant -later the screen doors flew open, and two men rushed in—just as Jurgis -was getting to his feet again, foaming at the mouth with rage, and -trying to tear his broken arm out of its bandages. - -“Look out!” shouted the bartender. “He’s got a knife!” Then, seeing -that the two were disposed to join the fray, he made another rush at -Jurgis, and knocked aside his feeble defense and sent him tumbling -again; and the three flung themselves upon him, rolling and kicking -about the place. - -A second later a policeman dashed in, and the bartender yelled once -more—“Look out for his knife!” Jurgis had fought himself half to his -knees, when the policeman made a leap at him, and cracked him across -the face with his club. Though the blow staggered him, the wild-beast -frenzy still blazed in him, and he got to his feet, lunging into the -air. Then again the club descended, full upon his head, and he dropped -like a log to the floor. - -The policeman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for him -to try to rise again; and meantime the barkeeper got up, and put his -hand to his head. “Christ!” he said, “I thought I was done for that -time. Did he cut me?” - -“Don’t see anything, Jake,” said the policeman. “What’s the matter with -him?” - -“Just crazy drunk,” said the other. “A lame duck, too—but he ’most got -me under the bar. Youse had better call the wagon, Billy.” - -“No,” said the officer. “He’s got no more fight in him, I guess—and -he’s only got a block to go.” He twisted his hand in Jurgis’s collar -and jerked at him. “Git up here, you!” he commanded. - -But Jurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, and -after stowing the hundred-dollar bill away in a safe hiding place, came -and poured a glass of water over Jurgis. Then, as the latter began to -moan feebly, the policeman got him to his feet and dragged him out of -the place. The station house was just around the corner, and so in a -few minutes Jurgis was in a cell. - -He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance moaning in -torment, with a blinding headache and a racking thirst. Now and then he -cried aloud for a drink of water, but there was no one to hear him. -There were others in that same station house with split heads and a -fever; there were hundreds of them in the great city, and tens of -thousands of them in the great land, and there was no one to hear any -of them. - -In the morning Jurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of bread, -and then hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the nearest police -court. He sat in the pen with a score of others until his turn came. - -The bartender—who proved to be a well-known bruiser—was called to the -stand. He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner had come into -his saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had ordered a glass of -beer and tendered a dollar bill in payment. He had been given -ninety-five cents’ change, and had demanded ninety-nine dollars more, -and before the plaintiff could even answer had hurled the glass at him -and then attacked him with a bottle of bitters, and nearly wrecked the -place. - -Then the prisoner was sworn—a forlorn object, haggard and unshorn, with -an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and head cut, and bloody, -and one eye purplish black and entirely closed. “What have you to say -for yourself?” queried the magistrate. - -“Your Honor,” said Jurgis, “I went into his place and asked the man if -he could change me a hundred-dollar bill. And he said he would if I -bought a drink. I gave him the bill and then he wouldn’t give me the -change.” - -The magistrate was staring at him in perplexity. “You gave him a -hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed. - -“Yes, your Honor,” said Jurgis. - -“Where did you get it?” - -“A man gave it to me, your Honor.” - -“A man? What man, and what for?” - -“A young man I met upon the street, your Honor. I had been begging.” - -There was a titter in the courtroom; the officer who was holding Jurgis -put up his hand to hide a smile, and the magistrate smiled without -trying to hide it. “It’s true, your Honor!” cried Jurgis, passionately. - -“You had been drinking as well as begging last night, had you not?” -inquired the magistrate. “No, your Honor—” protested Jurgis. “I—” - -“You had not had anything to drink?” - -“Why, yes, your Honor, I had—” - -“What did you have?” - -“I had a bottle of something—I don’t know what it was—something that -burned—” - -There was again a laugh round the courtroom, stopping suddenly as the -magistrate looked up and frowned. “Have you ever been arrested before?” -he asked abruptly. - -The question took Jurgis aback. “I—I—” he stammered. - -“Tell me the truth, now!” commanded the other, sternly. - -“Yes, your Honor,” said Jurgis. - -“How often?” - -“Only once, your Honor.” - -“What for?” - -“For knocking down my boss, your Honor. I was working in the -stockyards, and he—” - -“I see,” said his Honor; “I guess that will do. You ought to stop -drinking if you can’t control yourself. Ten days and costs. Next case.” - -Jurgis gave vent to a cry of dismay, cut off suddenly by the policeman, -who seized him by the collar. He was jerked out of the way, into a room -with the convicted prisoners, where he sat and wept like a child in his -impotent rage. It seemed monstrous to him that policemen and judges -should esteem his word as nothing in comparison with the -bartender’s—poor Jurgis could not know that the owner of the saloon -paid five dollars each week to the policeman alone for Sunday -privileges and general favors—nor that the pugilist bartender was one -of the most trusted henchmen of the Democratic leader of the district, -and had helped only a few months before to hustle out a record-breaking -vote as a testimonial to the magistrate, who had been made the target -of odious kid-gloved reformers. - -Jurgis was driven out to the Bridewell for the second time. In his -tumbling around he had hurt his arm again, and so could not work, but -had to be attended by the physician. Also his head and his eye had to -be tied up—and so he was a pretty-looking object when, the second day -after his arrival, he went out into the exercise court and -encountered—Jack Duane! - -The young fellow was so glad to see Jurgis that he almost hugged him. -“By God, if it isn’t ‘the Stinker’!” he cried. “And what is it—have you -been through a sausage machine?” - -“No,” said Jurgis, “but I’ve been in a railroad wreck and a fight.” And -then, while some of the other prisoners gathered round he told his wild -story; most of them were incredulous, but Duane knew that Jurgis could -never have made up such a yarn as that. - -“Hard luck, old man,” he said, when they were alone; “but maybe it’s -taught you a lesson.” - -“I’ve learned some things since I saw you last,” said Jurgis -mournfully. Then he explained how he had spent the last summer, -“hoboing it,” as the phrase was. “And you?” he asked finally. “Have you -been here ever since?” - -“Lord, no!” said the other. “I only came in the day before yesterday. -It’s the second time they’ve sent me up on a trumped-up charge—I’ve had -hard luck and can’t pay them what they want. Why don’t you quit Chicago -with me, Jurgis?” - -“I’ve no place to go,” said Jurgis, sadly. - -“Neither have I,” replied the other, laughing lightly. “But we’ll wait -till we get out and see.” - -In the Bridewell Jurgis met few who had been there the last time, but -he met scores of others, old and young, of exactly the same sort. It -was like breakers upon a beach; there was new water, but the wave -looked just the same. He strolled about and talked with them, and the -biggest of them told tales of their prowess, while those who were -weaker, or younger and inexperienced, gathered round and listened in -admiring silence. The last time he was there, Jurgis had thought of -little but his family; but now he was free to listen to these men, and -to realize that he was one of them—that their point of view was his -point of view, and that the way they kept themselves alive in the world -was the way he meant to do it in the future. - -And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny in his -pocket, he went straight to Jack Duane. He went full of humility and -gratitude; for Duane was a gentleman, and a man with a profession—and -it was remarkable that he should be willing to throw in his lot with a -humble workingman, one who had even been a beggar and a tramp. Jurgis -could not see what help he could be to him; but he did not understand -that a man like himself—who could be trusted to stand by any one who -was kind to him—was as rare among criminals as among any other class of -men. - -The address Jurgis had was a garret room in the Ghetto district, the -home of a pretty little French girl, Duane’s mistress, who sewed all -day, and eked out her living by prostitution. He had gone elsewhere, -she told Jurgis—he was afraid to stay there now, on account of the -police. The new address was a cellar dive, whose proprietor said that -he had never heard of Duane; but after he had put Jurgis through a -catechism he showed him a back stairs which led to a “fence” in the -rear of a pawnbroker’s shop, and thence to a number of assignation -rooms, in one of which Duane was hiding. - -Duane was glad to see him; he was without a cent of money, he said, and -had been waiting for Jurgis to help him get some. He explained his -plan—in fact he spent the day in laying bare to his friend the criminal -world of the city, and in showing him how he might earn himself a -living in it. That winter he would have a hard time, on account of his -arm, and because of an unwonted fit of activity of the police; but so -long as he was unknown to them he would be safe if he were careful. -Here at “Papa” Hanson’s (so they called the old man who kept the dive) -he might rest at ease, for “Papa” Hanson was “square”—would stand by -him so long as he paid, and gave him an hour’s notice if there were to -be a police raid. Also Rosensteg, the pawnbroker, would buy anything he -had for a third of its value, and guarantee to keep it hidden for a -year. - -There was an oil stove in the little cupboard of a room, and they had -some supper; and then about eleven o’clock at night they sallied forth -together, by a rear entrance to the place, Duane armed with a -slingshot. They came to a residence district, and he sprang up a -lamppost and blew out the light, and then the two dodged into the -shelter of an area step and hid in silence. - -Pretty soon a man came by, a workingman—and they let him go. Then after -a long interval came the heavy tread of a policeman, and they held -their breath till he was gone. Though half-frozen, they waited a full -quarter of an hour after that—and then again came footsteps, walking -briskly. Duane nudged Jurgis, and the instant the man had passed they -rose up. Duane stole out as silently as a shadow, and a second later -Jurgis heard a thud and a stifled cry. He was only a couple of feet -behind, and he leaped to stop the man’s mouth, while Duane held him -fast by the arms, as they had agreed. But the man was limp and showed a -tendency to fall, and so Jurgis had only to hold him by the collar, -while the other, with swift fingers, went through his pockets—ripping -open, first his overcoat, and then his coat, and then his vest, -searching inside and outside, and transferring the contents into his -own pockets. At last, after feeling of the man’s fingers and in his -necktie, Duane whispered, “That’s all!” and they dragged him to the -area and dropped him in. Then Jurgis went one way and his friend the -other, walking briskly. - -The latter arrived first, and Jurgis found him examining the “swag.” -There was a gold watch, for one thing, with a chain and locket; there -was a silver pencil, and a matchbox, and a handful of small change, and -finally a card-case. This last Duane opened feverishly—there were -letters and checks, and two theater-tickets, and at last, in the back -part, a wad of bills. He counted them—there was a twenty, five tens, -four fives, and three ones. Duane drew a long breath. “That lets us -out!” he said. - -After further examination, they burned the card-case and its contents, -all but the bills, and likewise the picture of a little girl in the -locket. Then Duane took the watch and trinkets downstairs, and came -back with sixteen dollars. “The old scoundrel said the case was -filled,” he said. “It’s a lie, but he knows I want the money.” - -They divided up the spoils, and Jurgis got as his share fifty-five -dollars and some change. He protested that it was too much, but the -other had agreed to divide even. That was a good haul, he said, better -than average. - -When they got up in the morning, Jurgis was sent out to buy a paper; -one of the pleasures of committing a crime was the reading about it -afterward. “I had a pal that always did it,” Duane remarked, -laughing—“until one day he read that he had left three thousand dollars -in a lower inside pocket of his party’s vest!” - -There was a half-column account of the robbery—it was evident that a -gang was operating in the neighborhood, said the paper, for it was the -third within a week, and the police were apparently powerless. The -victim was an insurance agent, and he had lost a hundred and ten -dollars that did not belong to him. He had chanced to have his name -marked on his shirt, otherwise he would not have been identified yet. -His assailant had hit him too hard, and he was suffering from -concussion of the brain; and also he had been half-frozen when found, -and would lose three fingers on his right hand. The enterprising -newspaper reporter had taken all this information to his family, and -told how they had received it. - -Since it was Jurgis’s first experience, these details naturally caused -him some worriment; but the other laughed coolly—it was the way of the -game, and there was no helping it. Before long Jurgis would think no -more of it than they did in the yards of knocking out a bullock. “It’s -a case of us or the other fellow, and I say the other fellow, every -time,” he observed. - -“Still,” said Jurgis, reflectively, “he never did us any harm.” - -“He was doing it to somebody as hard as he could, you can be sure of -that,” said his friend. - -Duane had already explained to Jurgis that if a man of their trade were -known he would have to work all the time to satisfy the demands of the -police. Therefore it would be better for Jurgis to stay in hiding and -never be seen in public with his pal. But Jurgis soon got very tired of -staying in hiding. In a couple of weeks he was feeling strong and -beginning to use his arm, and then he could not stand it any longer. -Duane, who had done a job of some sort by himself, and made a truce -with the powers, brought over Marie, his little French girl, to share -with him; but even that did not avail for long, and in the end he had -to give up arguing, and take Jurgis out and introduce him to the -saloons and “sporting houses” where the big crooks and “holdup men” -hung out. - -And so Jurgis got a glimpse of the high-class criminal world of -Chicago. The city, which was owned by an oligarchy of business men, -being nominally ruled by the people, a huge army of graft was necessary -for the purpose of effecting the transfer of power. Twice a year, in -the spring and fall elections, millions of dollars were furnished by -the business men and expended by this army; meetings were held and -clever speakers were hired, bands played and rockets sizzled, tons of -documents and reservoirs of drinks were distributed, and tens of -thousands of votes were bought for cash. And this army of graft had, of -course, to be maintained the year round. The leaders and organizers -were maintained by the business men directly—aldermen and legislators -by means of bribes, party officials out of the campaign funds, -lobbyists and corporation lawyers in the form of salaries, contractors -by means of jobs, labor union leaders by subsidies, and newspaper -proprietors and editors by advertisements. The rank and file, however, -were either foisted upon the city, or else lived off the population -directly. There was the police department, and the fire and water -departments, and the whole balance of the civil list, from the meanest -office boy to the head of a city department; and for the horde who -could find no room in these, there was the world of vice and crime, -there was license to seduce, to swindle and plunder and prey. The law -forbade Sunday drinking; and this had delivered the saloon-keepers into -the hands of the police, and made an alliance between them necessary. -The law forbade prostitution; and this had brought the “madames” into -the combination. It was the same with the gambling-house keeper and the -poolroom man, and the same with any other man or woman who had a means -of getting “graft,” and was willing to pay over a share of it: the -green-goods man and the highwayman, the pickpocket and the sneak thief, -and the receiver of stolen goods, the seller of adulterated milk, of -stale fruit and diseased meat, the proprietor of unsanitary tenements, -the fake doctor and the usurer, the beggar and the “pushcart man,” the -prize fighter and the professional slugger, the race-track “tout,” the -procurer, the white-slave agent, and the expert seducer of young girls. -All of these agencies of corruption were banded together, and leagued -in blood brotherhood with the politician and the police; more often -than not they were one and the same person,—the police captain would -own the brothel he pretended to raid, the politician would open his -headquarters in his saloon. “Hinkydink” or “Bathhouse John,” or others -of that ilk, were proprietors of the most notorious dives in Chicago, -and also the “gray wolves” of the city council, who gave away the -streets of the city to the business men; and those who patronized their -places were the gamblers and prize fighters who set the law at -defiance, and the burglars and holdup men who kept the whole city in -terror. On election day all these powers of vice and crime were one -power; they could tell within one per cent what the vote of their -district would be, and they could change it at an hour’s notice. - -A month ago Jurgis had all but perished of starvation upon the streets; -and now suddenly, as by the gift of a magic key, he had entered into a -world where money and all the good things of life came freely. He was -introduced by his friend to an Irishman named “Buck” Halloran, who was -a political “worker” and on the inside of things. This man talked with -Jurgis for a while, and then told him that he had a little plan by -which a man who looked like a workingman might make some easy money; -but it was a private affair, and had to be kept quiet. Jurgis expressed -himself as agreeable, and the other took him that afternoon (it was -Saturday) to a place where city laborers were being paid off. The -paymaster sat in a little booth, with a pile of envelopes before him, -and two policemen standing by. Jurgis went, according to directions, -and gave the name of “Michael O’Flaherty,” and received an envelope, -which he took around the corner and delivered to Halloran, who was -waiting for him in a saloon. Then he went again; and gave the name of -“Johann Schmidt,” and a third time, and give the name of “Serge -Reminitsky.” Halloran had quite a list of imaginary workingmen, and -Jurgis got an envelope for each one. For this work he received five -dollars, and was told that he might have it every week, so long as he -kept quiet. As Jurgis was excellent at keeping quiet, he soon won the -trust of “Buck” Halloran, and was introduced to others as a man who -could be depended upon. - -This acquaintance was useful to him in another way, also before long -Jurgis made his discovery of the meaning of “pull,” and just why his -boss, Connor, and also the pugilist bartender, had been able to send -him to jail. One night there was given a ball, the “benefit” of -“One-eyed Larry,” a lame man who played the violin in one of the big -“high-class” houses of prostitution on Clark Street, and was a wag and -a popular character on the “Lêvée.” This ball was held in a big dance -hall, and was one of the occasions when the city’s powers of debauchery -gave themselves up to madness. Jurgis attended and got half insane with -drink, and began quarreling over a girl; his arm was pretty strong by -then, and he set to work to clean out the place, and ended in a cell in -the police station. The police station being crowded to the doors, and -stinking with “bums,” Jurgis did not relish staying there to sleep off -his liquor, and sent for Halloran, who called up the district leader -and had Jurgis bailed out by telephone at four o’clock in the morning. -When he was arraigned that same morning, the district leader had -already seen the clerk of the court and explained that Jurgis Rudkus -was a decent fellow, who had been indiscreet; and so Jurgis was fined -ten dollars and the fine was “suspended”—which meant that he did not -have to pay for it, and never would have to pay it, unless somebody -chose to bring it up against him in the future. - -Among the people Jurgis lived with now money was valued according to an -entirely different standard from that of the people of Packingtown; -yet, strange as it may seem, he did a great deal less drinking than he -had as a workingman. He had not the same provocations of exhaustion and -hopelessness; he had now something to work for, to struggle for. He -soon found that if he kept his wits about him, he would come upon new -opportunities; and being naturally an active man, he not only kept -sober himself, but helped to steady his friend, who was a good deal -fonder of both wine and women than he. - -One thing led to another. In the saloon where Jurgis met “Buck” -Halloran he was sitting late one night with Duane, when a “country -customer” (a buyer for an out-of-town merchant) came in, a little more -than half “piped.” There was no one else in the place but the -bartender, and as the man went out again Jurgis and Duane followed him; -he went round the corner, and in a dark place made by a combination of -the elevated railroad and an unrented building, Jurgis leaped forward -and shoved a revolver under his nose, while Duane, with his hat pulled -over his eyes, went through the man’s pockets with lightning fingers. -They got his watch and his “wad,” and were round the corner again and -into the saloon before he could shout more than once. The bartender, to -whom they had tipped the wink, had the cellar door open for them, and -they vanished, making their way by a secret entrance to a brothel next -door. From the roof of this there was access to three similar places -beyond. By means of these passages the customers of any one place could -be gotten out of the way, in case a falling out with the police chanced -to lead to a raid; and also it was necessary to have a way of getting a -girl out of reach in case of an emergency. Thousands of them came to -Chicago answering advertisements for “servants” and “factory hands,” -and found themselves trapped by fake employment agencies, and locked up -in a bawdy-house. It was generally enough to take all their clothes -away from them; but sometimes they would have to be “doped” and kept -prisoners for weeks; and meantime their parents might be telegraphing -the police, and even coming on to see why nothing was done. -Occasionally there was no way of satisfying them but to let them search -the place to which the girl had been traced. - -For his help in this little job, the bartender received twenty out of -the hundred and thirty odd dollars that the pair secured; and naturally -this put them on friendly terms with him, and a few days later he -introduced them to a little “sheeny” named Goldberger, one of the -“runners” of the “sporting house” where they had been hidden. After a -few drinks Goldberger began, with some hesitation, to narrate how he -had had a quarrel over his best girl with a professional “cardsharp,” -who had hit him in the jaw. The fellow was a stranger in Chicago, and -if he was found some night with his head cracked there would be no one -to care very much. Jurgis, who by this time would cheerfully have -cracked the heads of all the gamblers in Chicago, inquired what would -be coming to him; at which the Jew became still more confidential, and -said that he had some tips on the New Orleans races, which he got -direct from the police captain of the district, whom he had got out of -a bad scrape, and who “stood in” with a big syndicate of horse owners. -Duane took all this in at once, but Jurgis had to have the whole -race-track situation explained to him before he realized the importance -of such an opportunity. - -There was the gigantic Racing Trust. It owned the legislatures in every -state in which it did business; it even owned some of the big -newspapers, and made public opinion—there was no power in the land that -could oppose it unless, perhaps, it were the Poolroom Trust. It built -magnificent racing parks all over the country, and by means of enormous -purses it lured the people to come, and then it organized a gigantic -shell game, whereby it plundered them of hundreds of millions of -dollars every year. Horse racing had once been a sport, but nowadays it -was a business; a horse could be “doped” and doctored, undertrained or -overtrained; it could be made to fall at any moment—or its gait could -be broken by lashing it with the whip, which all the spectators would -take to be a desperate effort to keep it in the lead. There were scores -of such tricks; and sometimes it was the owners who played them and -made fortunes, sometimes it was the jockeys and trainers, sometimes it -was outsiders, who bribed them—but most of the time it was the chiefs -of the trust. Now for instance, they were having winter racing in New -Orleans and a syndicate was laying out each day’s program in advance, -and its agents in all the Northern cities were “milking” the poolrooms. -The word came by long-distance telephone in a cipher code, just a -little while before each race; and any man who could get the secret had -as good as a fortune. If Jurgis did not believe it, he could try it, -said the little Jew—let them meet at a certain house on the morrow and -make a test. Jurgis was willing, and so was Duane, and so they went to -one of the high-class poolrooms where brokers and merchants gambled -(with society women in a private room), and they put up ten dollars -each upon a horse called “Black Beldame,” a six to one shot, and won. -For a secret like that they would have done a good many sluggings—but -the next day Goldberger informed them that the offending gambler had -got wind of what was coming to him, and had skipped the town. - -There were ups and downs at the business; but there was always a -living, inside of a jail, if not out of it. Early in April the city -elections were due, and that meant prosperity for all the powers of -graft. Jurgis, hanging round in dives and gambling houses and brothels, -met with the heelers of both parties, and from their conversation he -came to understand all the ins and outs of the game, and to hear of a -number of ways in which he could make himself useful about election -time. “Buck” Halloran was a “Democrat,” and so Jurgis became a Democrat -also; but he was not a bitter one—the Republicans were good fellows, -too, and were to have a pile of money in this next campaign. At the -last election the Republicans had paid four dollars a vote to the -Democrats’ three; and “Buck” Halloran sat one night playing cards with -Jurgis and another man, who told how Halloran had been charged with the -job voting a “bunch” of thirty-seven newly landed Italians, and how he, -the narrator, had met the Republican worker who was after the very same -gang, and how the three had effected a bargain, whereby the Italians -were to vote half and half, for a glass of beer apiece, while the -balance of the fund went to the conspirators! - -Not long after this, Jurgis, wearying of the risks and vicissitudes of -miscellaneous crime, was moved to give up the career for that of a -politician. Just at this time there was a tremendous uproar being -raised concerning the alliance between the criminals and the police. -For the criminal graft was one in which the business men had no direct -part—it was what is called a “side line,” carried by the police. “Wide -open” gambling and debauchery made the city pleasing to “trade,” but -burglaries and holdups did not. One night it chanced that while Jack -Duane was drilling a safe in a clothing store he was caught red-handed -by the night watchman, and turned over to a policeman, who chanced to -know him well, and who took the responsibility of letting him make his -escape. Such a howl from the newspapers followed this that Duane was -slated for sacrifice, and barely got out of town in time. And just at -that juncture it happened that Jurgis was introduced to a man named -Harper whom he recognized as the night watchman at Brown’s, who had -been instrumental in making him an American citizen, the first year of -his arrival at the yards. The other was interested in the coincidence, -but did not remember Jurgis—he had handled too many “green ones” in his -time, he said. He sat in a dance hall with Jurgis and Halloran until -one or two in the morning, exchanging experiences. He had a long story -to tell of his quarrel with the superintendent of his department, and -how he was now a plain workingman, and a good union man as well. It was -not until some months afterward that Jurgis understood that the quarrel -with the superintendent had been prearranged, and that Harper was in -reality drawing a salary of twenty dollars a week from the packers for -an inside report of his union’s secret proceedings. The yards were -seething with agitation just then, said the man, speaking as a -unionist. The people of Packingtown had borne about all that they would -bear, and it looked as if a strike might begin any week. - -After this talk the man made inquiries concerning Jurgis, and a couple -of days later he came to him with an interesting proposition. He was -not absolutely certain, he said, but he thought that he could get him a -regular salary if he would come to Packingtown and do as he was told, -and keep his mouth shut. Harper—“Bush” Harper, he was called—was a -right-hand man of Mike Scully, the Democratic boss of the stockyards; -and in the coming election there was a peculiar situation. There had -come to Scully a proposition to nominate a certain rich brewer who -lived upon a swell boulevard that skirted the district, and who coveted -the big badge and the “honorable” of an alderman. The brewer was a Jew, -and had no brains, but he was harmless, and would put up a rare -campaign fund. Scully had accepted the offer, and then gone to the -Republicans with a proposition. He was not sure that he could manage -the “sheeny,” and he did not mean to take any chances with his -district; let the Republicans nominate a certain obscure but amiable -friend of Scully’s, who was now setting tenpins in the cellar of an -Ashland Avenue saloon, and he, Scully, would elect him with the -“sheeny’s” money, and the Republicans might have the glory, which was -more than they would get otherwise. In return for this the Republicans -would agree to put up no candidate the following year, when Scully -himself came up for reelection as the other alderman from the ward. To -this the Republicans had assented at once; but the hell of it was—so -Harper explained—that the Republicans were all of them fools—a man had -to be a fool to be a Republican in the stockyards, where Scully was -king. And they didn’t know how to work, and of course it would not do -for the Democratic workers, the noble redskins of the War Whoop League, -to support the Republican openly. The difficulty would not have been so -great except for another fact—there had been a curious development in -stockyards politics in the last year or two, a new party having leaped -into being. They were the Socialists; and it was a devil of a mess, -said “Bush” Harper. The one image which the word “Socialist” brought to -Jurgis was of poor little Tamoszius Kuszleika, who had called himself -one, and would go out with a couple of other men and a soap-box, and -shout himself hoarse on a street corner Saturday nights. Tamoszius had -tried to explain to Jurgis what it was all about, but Jurgis, who was -not of an imaginative turn, had never quite got it straight; at present -he was content with his companion’s explanation that the Socialists -were the enemies of American institutions—could not be bought, and -would not combine or make any sort of a “dicker.” Mike Scully was very -much worried over the opportunity which his last deal gave to them—the -stockyards Democrats were furious at the idea of a rich capitalist for -their candidate, and while they were changing they might possibly -conclude that a Socialist firebrand was preferable to a Republican bum. -And so right here was a chance for Jurgis to make himself a place in -the world, explained “Bush” Harper; he had been a union man, and he was -known in the yards as a workingman; he must have hundreds of -acquaintances, and as he had never talked politics with them he might -come out as a Republican now without exciting the least suspicion. -There were barrels of money for the use of those who could deliver the -goods; and Jurgis might count upon Mike Scully, who had never yet gone -back on a friend. Just what could he do? Jurgis asked, in some -perplexity, and the other explained in detail. To begin with, he would -have to go to the yards and work, and he mightn’t relish that; but he -would have what he earned, as well as the rest that came to him. He -would get active in the union again, and perhaps try to get an office, -as he, Harper, had; he would tell all his friends the good points of -Doyle, the Republican nominee, and the bad ones of the “sheeny”; and -then Scully would furnish a meeting place, and he would start the -“Young Men’s Republican Association,” or something of that sort, and -have the rich brewer’s best beer by the hogshead, and fireworks and -speeches, just like the War Whoop League. Surely Jurgis must know -hundreds of men who would like that sort of fun; and there would be the -regular Republican leaders and workers to help him out, and they would -deliver a big enough majority on election day. - -When he had heard all this explanation to the end, Jurgis demanded: -“But how can I get a job in Packingtown? I’m blacklisted.” - -At which “Bush” Harper laughed. “I’ll attend to that all right,” he -said. - -And the other replied, “It’s a go, then; I’m your man.” So Jurgis went -out to the stockyards again, and was introduced to the political lord -of the district, the boss of Chicago’s mayor. It was Scully who owned -the brick-yards and the dump and the ice pond—though Jurgis did not -know it. It was Scully who was to blame for the unpaved street in which -Jurgis’s child had been drowned; it was Scully who had put into office -the magistrate who had first sent Jurgis to jail; it was Scully who was -principal stockholder in the company which had sold him the ramshackle -tenement, and then robbed him of it. But Jurgis knew none of these -things—any more than he knew that Scully was but a tool and puppet of -the packers. To him Scully was a mighty power, the “biggest” man he had -ever met. - -He was a little, dried-up Irishman, whose hands shook. He had a brief -talk with his visitor, watching him with his ratlike eyes, and making -up his mind about him; and then he gave him a note to Mr. Harmon, one -of the head managers of Durham’s— - -“The bearer, Jurgis Rudkus, is a particular friend of mine, and I would -like you to find him a good place, for important reasons. He was once -indiscreet, but you will perhaps be so good as to overlook that.” - -Mr. Harmon looked up inquiringly when he read this. “What does he mean -by ‘indiscreet’?” he asked. - -“I was blacklisted, sir,” said Jurgis. - -At which the other frowned. “Blacklisted?” he said. “How do you mean?” -And Jurgis turned red with embarrassment. - -He had forgotten that a blacklist did not exist. “I—that is—I had -difficulty in getting a place,” he stammered. - -“What was the matter?” - -“I got into a quarrel with a foreman—not my own boss, sir—and struck -him.” - -“I see,” said the other, and meditated for a few moments. “What do you -wish to do?” he asked. - -“Anything, sir,” said Jurgis—“only I had a broken arm this winter, and -so I have to be careful.” - -“How would it suit you to be a night watchman?” - -“That wouldn’t do, sir. I have to be among the men at night.” - -“I see—politics. Well, would it suit you to trim hogs?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Jurgis. - -And Mr. Harmon called a timekeeper and said, “Take this man to Pat -Murphy and tell him to find room for him somehow.” - -And so Jurgis marched into the hog-killing room, a place where, in the -days gone by, he had come begging for a job. Now he walked jauntily, -and smiled to himself, seeing the frown that came to the boss’s face as -the timekeeper said, “Mr. Harmon says to put this man on.” It would -overcrowd his department and spoil the record he was trying to make—but -he said not a word except “All right.” - -And so Jurgis became a workingman once more; and straightway he sought -out his old friends, and joined the union, and began to “root” for -“Scotty” Doyle. Doyle had done him a good turn once, he explained, and -was really a bully chap; Doyle was a workingman himself, and would -represent the workingmen—why did they want to vote for a millionaire -“sheeny,” and what the hell had Mike Scully ever done for them that -they should back his candidates all the time? And meantime Scully had -given Jurgis a note to the Republican leader of the ward, and he had -gone there and met the crowd he was to work with. Already they had -hired a big hall, with some of the brewer’s money, and every night -Jurgis brought in a dozen new members of the “Doyle Republican -Association.” Pretty soon they had a grand opening night; and there was -a brass band, which marched through the streets, and fireworks and -bombs and red lights in front of the hall; and there was an enormous -crowd, with two overflow meetings—so that the pale and trembling -candidate had to recite three times over the little speech which one of -Scully’s henchmen had written, and which he had been a month learning -by heart. Best of all, the famous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, -presidential candidate, rode out in an automobile to discuss the sacred -privileges of American citizenship, and protection and prosperity for -the American workingman. His inspiriting address was quoted to the -extent of half a column in all the morning newspapers, which also said -that it could be stated upon excellent authority that the unexpected -popularity developed by Doyle, the Republican candidate for alderman, -was giving great anxiety to Mr. Scully, the chairman of the Democratic -City Committee. - -The chairman was still more worried when the monster torchlight -procession came off, with the members of the Doyle Republican -Association all in red capes and hats, and free beer for every voter in -the ward—the best beer ever given away in a political campaign, as the -whole electorate testified. During this parade, and at innumerable -cart-tail meetings as well, Jurgis labored tirelessly. He did not make -any speeches—there were lawyers and other experts for that—but he -helped to manage things; distributing notices and posting placards and -bringing out the crowds; and when the show was on he attended to the -fireworks and the beer. Thus in the course of the campaign he handled -many hundreds of dollars of the Hebrew brewer’s money, administering it -with naïve and touching fidelity. Toward the end, however, he learned -that he was regarded with hatred by the rest of the “boys,” because he -compelled them either to make a poorer showing than he or to do without -their share of the pie. After that Jurgis did his best to please them, -and to make up for the time he had lost before he discovered the extra -bungholes of the campaign barrel. - -He pleased Mike Scully, also. On election morning he was out at four -o’clock, “getting out the vote”; he had a two-horse carriage to ride -in, and he went from house to house for his friends, and escorted them -in triumph to the polls. He voted half a dozen times himself, and voted -some of his friends as often; he brought bunch after bunch of the -newest foreigners—Lithuanians, Poles, Bohemians, Slovaks—and when he -had put them through the mill he turned them over to another man to -take to the next polling place. When Jurgis first set out, the captain -of the precinct gave him a hundred dollars, and three times in the -course of the day he came for another hundred, and not more than -twenty-five out of each lot got stuck in his own pocket. The balance -all went for actual votes, and on a day of Democratic landslides they -elected “Scotty” Doyle, the ex-tenpin setter, by nearly a thousand -plurality—and beginning at five o’clock in the afternoon, and ending at -three the next morning, Jurgis treated himself to a most unholy and -horrible “jag.” Nearly every one else in Packingtown did the same, -however, for there was universal exultation over this triumph of -popular government, this crushing defeat of an arrogant plutocrat by -the power of the common people. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -After the elections Jurgis stayed on in Packingtown and kept his job. -The agitation to break up the police protection of criminals was -continuing, and it seemed to him best to “lay low” for the present. He -had nearly three hundred dollars in the bank, and might have considered -himself entitled to a vacation; but he had an easy job, and force of -habit kept him at it. Besides, Mike Scully, whom he consulted, advised -him that something might “turn up” before long. - -Jurgis got himself a place in a boardinghouse with some congenial -friends. He had already inquired of Aniele, and learned that Elzbieta -and her family had gone downtown, and so he gave no further thought to -them. He went with a new set, now, young unmarried fellows who were -“sporty.” Jurgis had long ago cast off his fertilizer clothing, and -since going into politics he had donned a linen collar and a greasy red -necktie. He had some reason for thinking of his dress, for he was -making about eleven dollars a week, and two-thirds of it he might spend -upon his pleasures without ever touching his savings. - -Sometimes he would ride down-town with a party of friends to the cheap -theaters and the music halls and other haunts with which they were -familiar. Many of the saloons in Packingtown had pool tables, and some -of them bowling alleys, by means of which he could spend his evenings -in petty gambling. Also, there were cards and dice. One time Jurgis got -into a game on a Saturday night and won prodigiously, and because he -was a man of spirit he stayed in with the rest and the game continued -until late Sunday afternoon, and by that time he was “out” over twenty -dollars. On Saturday nights, also, a number of balls were generally -given in Packingtown; each man would bring his “girl” with him, paying -half a dollar for a ticket, and several dollars additional for drinks -in the course of the festivities, which continued until three or four -o’clock in the morning, unless broken up by fighting. During all this -time the same man and woman would dance together, half-stupefied with -sensuality and drink. - -Before long Jurgis discovered what Scully had meant by something -“turning up.” In May the agreement between the packers and the unions -expired, and a new agreement had to be signed. Negotiations were going -on, and the yards were full of talk of a strike. The old scale had -dealt with the wages of the skilled men only; and of the members of the -Meat Workers’ Union about two-thirds were unskilled men. In Chicago -these latter were receiving, for the most part, eighteen and a half -cents an hour, and the unions wished to make this the general wage for -the next year. It was not nearly so large a wage as it seemed—in the -course of the negotiations the union officers examined time checks to -the amount of ten thousand dollars, and they found that the highest -wages paid had been fourteen dollars a week, and the lowest two dollars -and five cents, and the average of the whole, six dollars and -sixty-five cents. And six dollars and sixty-five cents was hardly too -much for a man to keep a family on, considering the fact that the price -of dressed meat had increased nearly fifty per cent in the last five -years, while the price of “beef on the hoof” had decreased as much, it -would have seemed that the packers ought to be able to pay it; but the -packers were unwilling to pay it—they rejected the union demand, and to -show what their purpose was, a week or two after the agreement expired -they put down the wages of about a thousand men to sixteen and a half -cents, and it was said that old man Jones had vowed he would put them -to fifteen before he got through. There were a million and a half of -men in the country looking for work, a hundred thousand of them right -in Chicago; and were the packers to let the union stewards march into -their places and bind them to a contract that would lose them several -thousand dollars a day for a year? Not much! - -All this was in June; and before long the question was submitted to a -referendum in the unions, and the decision was for a strike. It was the -same in all the packing house cities; and suddenly the newspapers and -public woke up to face the gruesome spectacle of a meat famine. All -sorts of pleas for a reconsideration were made, but the packers were -obdurate; and all the while they were reducing wages, and heading off -shipments of cattle, and rushing in wagon-loads of mattresses and cots. -So the men boiled over, and one night telegrams went out from the union -headquarters to all the big packing centers—to St. Paul, South Omaha, -Sioux City, St. Joseph, Kansas City, East St. Louis, and New York—and -the next day at noon between fifty and sixty thousand men drew off -their working clothes and marched out of the factories, and the great -“Beef Strike” was on. - -Jurgis went to his dinner, and afterward he walked over to see Mike -Scully, who lived in a fine house, upon a street which had been -decently paved and lighted for his especial benefit. Scully had gone -into semi-retirement, and looked nervous and worried. “What do you -want?” he demanded, when he saw Jurgis. - -“I came to see if maybe you could get me a place during the strike,” -the other replied. - -And Scully knit his brows and eyed him narrowly. In that morning’s -papers Jurgis had read a fierce denunciation of the packers by Scully, -who had declared that if they did not treat their people better the -city authorities would end the matter by tearing down their plants. -Now, therefore, Jurgis was not a little taken aback when the other -demanded suddenly, “See here, Rudkus, why don’t you stick by your job?” - -Jurgis started. “Work as a scab?” he cried. - -“Why not?” demanded Scully. “What’s that to you?” - -“But—but—” stammered Jurgis. He had somehow taken it for granted that -he should go out with his union. “The packers need good men, and need -them bad,” continued the other, “and they’ll treat a man right that -stands by them. Why don’t you take your chance and fix yourself?” - -“But,” said Jurgis, “how could I ever be of any use to you—in -politics?” - -“You couldn’t be it anyhow,” said Scully, abruptly. - -“Why not?” asked Jurgis. - -“Hell, man!” cried the other. “Don’t you know you’re a Republican? And -do you think I’m always going to elect Republicans? My brewer has found -out already how we served him, and there is the deuce to pay.” - -Jurgis looked dumfounded. He had never thought of that aspect of it -before. “I could be a Democrat,” he said. - -“Yes,” responded the other, “but not right away; a man can’t change his -politics every day. And besides, I don’t need you—there’d be nothing -for you to do. And it’s a long time to election day, anyhow; and what -are you going to do meantime?” - -“I thought I could count on you,” began Jurgis. - -“Yes,” responded Scully, “so you could—I never yet went back on a -friend. But is it fair to leave the job I got you and come to me for -another? I have had a hundred fellows after me today, and what can I -do? I’ve put seventeen men on the city payroll to clean streets this -one week, and do you think I can keep that up forever? It wouldn’t do -for me to tell other men what I tell you, but you’ve been on the -inside, and you ought to have sense enough to see for yourself. What -have you to gain by a strike?” - -“I hadn’t thought,” said Jurgis. - -“Exactly,” said Scully, “but you’d better. Take my word for it, the -strike will be over in a few days, and the men will be beaten; and -meantime what you can get out of it will belong to you. Do you see?” - -And Jurgis saw. He went back to the yards, and into the workroom. The -men had left a long line of hogs in various stages of preparation, and -the foreman was directing the feeble efforts of a score or two of -clerks and stenographers and office boys to finish up the job and get -them into the chilling rooms. Jurgis went straight up to him and -announced, “I have come back to work, Mr. Murphy.” - -The boss’s face lighted up. “Good man!” he cried. “Come ahead!” - -“Just a moment,” said Jurgis, checking his enthusiasm. “I think I ought -to get a little more wages.” - -“Yes,” replied the other, “of course. What do you want?” - -Jurgis had debated on the way. His nerve almost failed him now, but he -clenched his hands. “I think I ought to have’ three dollars a day,” he -said. - -“All right,” said the other, promptly; and before the day was out our -friend discovered that the clerks and stenographers and office boys -were getting five dollars a day, and then he could have kicked himself! - -So Jurgis became one of the new “American heroes,” a man whose virtues -merited comparison with those of the martyrs of Lexington and Valley -Forge. The resemblance was not complete, of course, for Jurgis was -generously paid and comfortably clad, and was provided with a spring -cot and a mattress and three substantial meals a day; also he was -perfectly at ease, and safe from all peril of life and limb, save only -in the case that a desire for beer should lead him to venture outside -of the stockyards gates. And even in the exercise of this privilege he -was not left unprotected; a good part of the inadequate police force of -Chicago was suddenly diverted from its work of hunting criminals, and -rushed out to serve him. The police, and the strikers also, were -determined that there should be no violence; but there was another -party interested which was minded to the contrary—and that was the -press. On the first day of his life as a strikebreaker Jurgis quit work -early, and in a spirit of bravado he challenged three men of his -acquaintance to go outside and get a drink. They accepted, and went -through the big Halsted Street gate, where several policemen were -watching, and also some union pickets, scanning sharply those who -passed in and out. Jurgis and his companions went south on Halsted -Street; past the hotel, and then suddenly half a dozen men started -across the street toward them and proceeded to argue with them -concerning the error of their ways. As the arguments were not taken in -the proper spirit, they went on to threats; and suddenly one of them -jerked off the hat of one of the four and flung it over the fence. The -man started after it, and then, as a cry of “Scab!” was raised and a -dozen people came running out of saloons and doorways, a second man’s -heart failed him and he followed. Jurgis and the fourth stayed long -enough to give themselves the satisfaction of a quick exchange of -blows, and then they, too, took to their heels and fled back of the -hotel and into the yards again. Meantime, of course, policemen were -coming on a run, and as a crowd gathered other police got excited and -sent in a riot call. Jurgis knew nothing of this, but went back to -“Packers’ Avenue,” and in front of the “Central Time Station” he saw -one of his companions, breathless and wild with excitement, narrating -to an ever growing throng how the four had been attacked and surrounded -by a howling mob, and had been nearly torn to pieces. While he stood -listening, smiling cynically, several dapper young men stood by with -notebooks in their hands, and it was not more than two hours later that -Jurgis saw newsboys running about with armfuls of newspapers, printed -in red and black letters six inches high: - -VIOLENCE IN THE YARDS! STRIKEBREAKERS SURROUNDED BY FRENZIED MOB! - - -If he had been able to buy all of the newspapers of the United States -the next morning, he might have discovered that his beer-hunting -exploit was being perused by some two score millions of people, and had -served as a text for editorials in half the staid and solemn -business-men’s newspapers in the land. - -Jurgis was to see more of this as time passed. For the present, his -work being over, he was free to ride into the city, by a railroad -direct from the yards, or else to spend the night in a room where cots -had been laid in rows. He chose the latter, but to his regret, for all -night long gangs of strikebreakers kept arriving. As very few of the -better class of workingmen could be got for such work, these specimens -of the new American hero contained an assortment of the criminals and -thugs of the city, besides Negroes and the lowest foreigners—Greeks, -Roumanians, Sicilians, and Slovaks. They had been attracted more by the -prospect of disorder than by the big wages; and they made the night -hideous with singing and carousing, and only went to sleep when the -time came for them to get up to work. - -In the morning before Jurgis had finished his breakfast, “Pat” Murphy -ordered him to one of the superintendents, who questioned him as to his -experience in the work of the killing room. His heart began to thump -with excitement, for he divined instantly that his hour had come—that -he was to be a boss! - -Some of the foremen were union members, and many who were not had gone -out with the men. It was in the killing department that the packers had -been left most in the lurch, and precisely here that they could least -afford it; the smoking and canning and salting of meat might wait, and -all the by-products might be wasted—but fresh meats must be had, or the -restaurants and hotels and brownstone houses would feel the pinch, and -then “public opinion” would take a startling turn. - -An opportunity such as this would not come twice to a man; and Jurgis -seized it. Yes, he knew the work, the whole of it, and he could teach -it to others. But if he took the job and gave satisfaction he would -expect to keep it—they would not turn him off at the end of the strike? -To which the superintendent replied that he might safely trust Durham’s -for that—they proposed to teach these unions a lesson, and most of all -those foremen who had gone back on them. Jurgis would receive five -dollars a day during the strike, and twenty-five a week after it was -settled. - -So our friend got a pair of “slaughter pen” boots and “jeans,” and -flung himself at his task. It was a weird sight, there on the killing -beds—a throng of stupid black Negroes, and foreigners who could not -understand a word that was said to them, mixed with pale-faced, -hollow-chested bookkeepers and clerks, half-fainting for the tropical -heat and the sickening stench of fresh blood—and all struggling to -dress a dozen or two cattle in the same place where, twenty-four hours -ago, the old killing gang had been speeding, with their marvelous -precision, turning out four hundred carcasses every hour! - -The Negroes and the “toughs” from the Lêvée did not want to work, and -every few minutes some of them would feel obliged to retire and -recuperate. In a couple of days Durham and Company had electric fans up -to cool off the rooms for them, and even couches for them to rest on; -and meantime they could go out and find a shady corner and take a -“snooze,” and as there was no place for any one in particular, and no -system, it might be hours before their boss discovered them. As for the -poor office employees, they did their best, moved to it by terror; -thirty of them had been “fired” in a bunch that first morning for -refusing to serve, besides a number of women clerks and typewriters who -had declined to act as waitresses. - -It was such a force as this that Jurgis had to organize. He did his -best, flying here and there, placing them in rows and showing them the -tricks; he had never given an order in his life before, but he had -taken enough of them to know, and he soon fell into the spirit of it, -and roared and stormed like any old stager. He had not the most -tractable pupils, however. “See hyar, boss,” a big black “buck” would -begin, “ef you doan’ like de way Ah does dis job, you kin get somebody -else to do it.” Then a crowd would gather and listen, muttering -threats. After the first meal nearly all the steel knives had been -missing, and now every Negro had one, ground to a fine point, hidden in -his boots. - -There was no bringing order out of such a chaos, Jurgis soon -discovered; and he fell in with the spirit of the thing—there was no -reason why he should wear himself out with shouting. If hides and guts -were slashed and rendered useless there was no way of tracing it to any -one; and if a man lay off and forgot to come back there was nothing to -be gained by seeking him, for all the rest would quit in the meantime. -Everything went, during the strike, and the packers paid. Before long -Jurgis found that the custom of resting had suggested to some alert -minds the possibility of registering at more than one place and earning -more than one five dollars a day. When he caught a man at this he -“fired” him, but it chanced to be in a quiet corner, and the man -tendered him a ten-dollar bill and a wink, and he took them. Of course, -before long this custom spread, and Jurgis was soon making quite a good -income from it. - -In the face of handicaps such as these the packers counted themselves -lucky if they could kill off the cattle that had been crippled in -transit and the hogs that had developed disease. Frequently, in the -course of a two or three days’ trip, in hot weather and without water, -some hog would develop cholera, and die; and the rest would attack him -before he had ceased kicking, and when the car was opened there would -be nothing of him left but the bones. If all the hogs in this carload -were not killed at once, they would soon be down with the dread -disease, and there would be nothing to do but make them into lard. It -was the same with cattle that were gored and dying, or were limping -with broken bones stuck through their flesh—they must be killed, even -if brokers and buyers and superintendents had to take off their coats -and help drive and cut and skin them. And meantime, agents of the -packers were gathering gangs of Negroes in the country districts of the -far South, promising them five dollars a day and board, and being -careful not to mention there was a strike; already carloads of them -were on the way, with special rates from the railroads, and all traffic -ordered out of the way. Many towns and cities were taking advantage of -the chance to clear out their jails and workhouses—in Detroit the -magistrates would release every man who agreed to leave town within -twenty-four hours, and agents of the packers were in the courtrooms to -ship them right. And meantime trainloads of supplies were coming in for -their accommodation, including beer and whisky, so that they might not -be tempted to go outside. They hired thirty young girls in Cincinnati -to “pack fruit,” and when they arrived put them at work canning corned -beef, and put cots for them to sleep in a public hallway, through which -the men passed. As the gangs came in day and night, under the escort of -squads of police, they stowed away in unused workrooms and storerooms, -and in the car sheds, crowded so closely together that the cots -touched. In some places they would use the same room for eating and -sleeping, and at night the men would put their cots upon the tables, to -keep away from the swarms of rats. - -But with all their best efforts, the packers were demoralized. Ninety -per cent of the men had walked out; and they faced the task of -completely remaking their labor force—and with the price of meat up -thirty per cent, and the public clamoring for a settlement. They made -an offer to submit the whole question at issue to arbitration; and at -the end of ten days the unions accepted it, and the strike was called -off. It was agreed that all the men were to be re-employed within -forty-five days, and that there was to be “no discrimination against -union men.” - -This was an anxious time for Jurgis. If the men were taken back -“without discrimination,” he would lose his present place. He sought -out the superintendent, who smiled grimly and bade him “wait and see.” -Durham’s strikebreakers were few of them leaving. - -Whether or not the “settlement” was simply a trick of the packers to -gain time, or whether they really expected to break the strike and -cripple the unions by the plan, cannot be said; but that night there -went out from the office of Durham and Company a telegram to all the -big packing centers, “Employ no union leaders.” And in the morning, -when the twenty thousand men thronged into the yards, with their dinner -pails and working clothes, Jurgis stood near the door of the -hog-trimming room, where he had worked before the strike, and saw a -throng of eager men, with a score or two of policemen watching them; -and he saw a superintendent come out and walk down the line, and pick -out man after man that pleased him; and one after another came, and -there were some men up near the head of the line who were never -picked—they being the union stewards and delegates, and the men Jurgis -had heard making speeches at the meetings. Each time, of course, there -were louder murmurings and angrier looks. Over where the cattle -butchers were waiting, Jurgis heard shouts and saw a crowd, and he -hurried there. One big butcher, who was president of the Packing Trades -Council, had been passed over five times, and the men were wild with -rage; they had appointed a committee of three to go in and see the -superintendent, and the committee had made three attempts, and each -time the police had clubbed them back from the door. Then there were -yells and hoots, continuing until at last the superintendent came to -the door. “We all go back or none of us do!” cried a hundred voices. -And the other shook his fist at them, and shouted, “You went out of -here like cattle, and like cattle you’ll come back!” - -Then suddenly the big butcher president leaped upon a pile of stones -and yelled: “It’s off, boys. We’ll all of us quit again!” And so the -cattle butchers declared a new strike on the spot; and gathering their -members from the other plants, where the same trick had been played, -they marched down Packers’ Avenue, which was thronged with a dense mass -of workers, cheering wildly. Men who had already got to work on the -killing beds dropped their tools and joined them; some galloped here -and there on horseback, shouting the tidings, and within half an hour -the whole of Packingtown was on strike again, and beside itself with -fury. - -There was quite a different tone in Packingtown after this—the place -was a seething caldron of passion, and the “scab” who ventured into it -fared badly. There were one or two of these incidents each day, the -newspapers detailing them, and always blaming them upon the unions. Yet -ten years before, when there were no unions in Packingtown, there was a -strike, and national troops had to be called, and there were pitched -battles fought at night, by the light of blazing freight trains. -Packingtown was always a center of violence; in “Whisky Point,” where -there were a hundred saloons and one glue factory, there was always -fighting, and always more of it in hot weather. Any one who had taken -the trouble to consult the station house blotter would have found that -there was less violence that summer than ever before—and this while -twenty thousand men were out of work, and with nothing to do all day -but brood upon bitter wrongs. There was no one to picture the battle -the union leaders were fighting—to hold this huge army in rank, to keep -it from straggling and pillaging, to cheer and encourage and guide a -hundred thousand people, of a dozen different tongues, through six long -weeks of hunger and disappointment and despair. - -Meantime the packers had set themselves definitely to the task of -making a new labor force. A thousand or two of strikebreakers were -brought in every night, and distributed among the various plants. Some -of them were experienced workers,—butchers, salesmen, and managers from -the packers’ branch stores, and a few union men who had deserted from -other cities; but the vast majority were “green” Negroes from the -cotton districts of the far South, and they were herded into the -packing plants like sheep. There was a law forbidding the use of -buildings as lodginghouses unless they were licensed for the purpose, -and provided with proper windows, stairways, and fire escapes; but -here, in a “paint room,” reached only by an enclosed “chute,” a room -without a single window and only one door, a hundred men were crowded -upon mattresses on the floor. Up on the third story of the “hog house” -of Jones’s was a storeroom, without a window, into which they crowded -seven hundred men, sleeping upon the bare springs of cots, and with a -second shift to use them by day. And when the clamor of the public led -to an investigation into these conditions, and the mayor of the city -was forced to order the enforcement of the law, the packers got a judge -to issue an injunction forbidding him to do it! - -Just at this time the mayor was boasting that he had put an end to -gambling and prize fighting in the city; but here a swarm of -professional gamblers had leagued themselves with the police to fleece -the strikebreakers; and any night, in the big open space in front of -Brown’s, one might see brawny Negroes stripped to the waist and -pounding each other for money, while a howling throng of three or four -thousand surged about, men and women, young white girls from the -country rubbing elbows with big buck Negroes with daggers in their -boots, while rows of woolly heads peered down from every window of the -surrounding factories. The ancestors of these black people had been -savages in Africa; and since then they had been chattel slaves, or had -been held down by a community ruled by the traditions of slavery. Now -for the first time they were free—free to gratify every passion, free -to wreck themselves. They were wanted to break a strike, and when it -was broken they would be shipped away, and their present masters would -never see them again; and so whisky and women were brought in by the -carload and sold to them, and hell was let loose in the yards. Every -night there were stabbings and shootings; it was said that the packers -had blank permits, which enabled them to ship dead bodies from the city -without troubling the authorities. They lodged men and women on the -same floor; and with the night there began a saturnalia of -debauchery—scenes such as never before had been witnessed in America. -And as the women were the dregs from the brothels of Chicago, and the -men were for the most part ignorant country Negroes, the nameless -diseases of vice were soon rife; and this where food was being handled -which was sent out to every corner of the civilized world. - -The “Union Stockyards” were never a pleasant place; but now they were -not only a collection of slaughterhouses, but also the camping place of -an army of fifteen or twenty thousand human beasts. All day long the -blazing midsummer sun beat down upon that square mile of abominations: -upon tens of thousands of cattle crowded into pens whose wooden floors -stank and steamed contagion; upon bare, blistering, cinder-strewn -railroad tracks, and huge blocks of dingy meat factories, whose -labyrinthine passages defied a breath of fresh air to penetrate them; -and there were not merely rivers of hot blood, and car-loads of moist -flesh, and rendering vats and soap caldrons, glue factories and -fertilizer tanks, that smelt like the craters of hell—there were also -tons of garbage festering in the sun, and the greasy laundry of the -workers hung out to dry, and dining rooms littered with food and black -with flies, and toilet rooms that were open sewers. - -And then at night, when this throng poured out into the streets to -play—fighting, gambling, drinking and carousing, cursing and screaming, -laughing and singing, playing banjoes and dancing! They were worked in -the yards all the seven days of the week, and they had their prize -fights and crap games on Sunday nights as well; but then around the -corner one might see a bonfire blazing, and an old, gray-headed -Negress, lean and witchlike, her hair flying wild and her eyes blazing, -yelling and chanting of the fires of perdition and the blood of the -“Lamb,” while men and women lay down upon the ground and moaned and -screamed in convulsions of terror and remorse. - -Such were the stockyards during the strike; while the unions watched in -sullen despair, and the country clamored like a greedy child for its -food, and the packers went grimly on their way. Each day they added new -workers, and could be more stern with the old ones—could put them on -piecework, and dismiss them if they did not keep up the pace. Jurgis -was now one of their agents in this process; and he could feel the -change day by day, like the slow starting up of a huge machine. He had -gotten used to being a master of men; and because of the stifling heat -and the stench, and the fact that he was a “scab” and knew it and -despised himself. He was drinking, and developing a villainous temper, -and he stormed and cursed and raged at his men, and drove them until -they were ready to drop with exhaustion. - -Then one day late in August, a superintendent ran into the place and -shouted to Jurgis and his gang to drop their work and come. They -followed him outside, to where, in the midst of a dense throng, they -saw several two-horse trucks waiting, and three patrol-wagon loads of -police. Jurgis and his men sprang upon one of the trucks, and the -driver yelled to the crowd, and they went thundering away at a gallop. -Some steers had just escaped from the yards, and the strikers had got -hold of them, and there would be the chance of a scrap! - -They went out at the Ashland Avenue gate, and over in the direction of -the “dump.” There was a yell as soon as they were sighted, men and -women rushing out of houses and saloons as they galloped by. There were -eight or ten policemen on the truck, however, and there was no -disturbance until they came to a place where the street was blocked -with a dense throng. Those on the flying truck yelled a warning and the -crowd scattered pell-mell, disclosing one of the steers lying in its -blood. There were a good many cattle butchers about just then, with -nothing much to do, and hungry children at home; and so some one had -knocked out the steer—and as a first-class man can kill and dress one -in a couple of minutes, there were a good many steaks and roasts -already missing. This called for punishment, of course; and the police -proceeded to administer it by leaping from the truck and cracking at -every head they saw. There were yells of rage and pain, and the -terrified people fled into houses and stores, or scattered -helter-skelter down the street. Jurgis and his gang joined in the -sport, every man singling out his victim, and striving to bring him to -bay and punch him. If he fled into a house his pursuer would smash in -the flimsy door and follow him up the stairs, hitting every one who -came within reach, and finally dragging his squealing quarry from under -a bed or a pile of old clothes in a closet. - -Jurgis and two policemen chased some men into a bar-room. One of them -took shelter behind the bar, where a policeman cornered him and -proceeded to whack him over the back and shoulders, until he lay down -and gave a chance at his head. The others leaped a fence in the rear, -balking the second policeman, who was fat; and as he came back, furious -and cursing, a big Polish woman, the owner of the saloon, rushed in -screaming, and received a poke in the stomach that doubled her up on -the floor. Meantime Jurgis, who was of a practical temper, was helping -himself at the bar; and the first policeman, who had laid out his man, -joined him, handing out several more bottles, and filling his pockets -besides, and then, as he started to leave, cleaning off all the balance -with a sweep of his club. The din of the glass crashing to the floor -brought the fat Polish woman to her feet again, but another policeman -came up behind her and put his knee into her back and his hands over -her eyes—and then called to his companion, who went back and broke open -the cash drawer and filled his pockets with the contents. Then the -three went outside, and the man who was holding the woman gave her a -shove and dashed out himself. The gang having already got the carcass -on to the truck, the party set out at a trot, followed by screams and -curses, and a shower of bricks and stones from unseen enemies. These -bricks and stones would figure in the accounts of the “riot” which -would be sent out to a few thousand newspapers within an hour or two; -but the episode of the cash drawer would never be mentioned again, save -only in the heartbreaking legends of Packingtown. - -It was late in the afternoon when they got back, and they dressed out -the remainder of the steer, and a couple of others that had been -killed, and then knocked off for the day. Jurgis went downtown to -supper, with three friends who had been on the other trucks, and they -exchanged reminiscences on the way. Afterward they drifted into a -roulette parlor, and Jurgis, who was never lucky at gambling, dropped -about fifteen dollars. To console himself he had to drink a good deal, -and he went back to Packingtown about two o’clock in the morning, very -much the worse for his excursion, and, it must be confessed, entirely -deserving the calamity that was in store for him. - -As he was going to the place where he slept, he met a painted-cheeked -woman in a greasy “kimono,” and she put her arm about his waist to -steady him; they turned into a dark room they were passing—but scarcely -had they taken two steps before suddenly a door swung open, and a man -entered, carrying a lantern. “Who’s there?” he called sharply. And -Jurgis started to mutter some reply; but at the same instant the man -raised his light, which flashed in his face, so that it was possible to -recognize him. Jurgis stood stricken dumb, and his heart gave a leap -like a mad thing. The man was Connor! - -Connor, the boss of the loading gang! The man who had seduced his -wife—who had sent him to prison, and wrecked his home, ruined his life! -He stood there, staring, with the light shining full upon him. - -Jurgis had often thought of Connor since coming back to Packingtown, -but it had been as of something far off, that no longer concerned him. -Now, however, when he saw him, alive and in the flesh, the same thing -happened to him that had happened before—a flood of rage boiled up in -him, a blind frenzy seized him. And he flung himself at the man, and -smote him between the eyes—and then, as he fell, seized him by the -throat and began to pound his head upon the stones. - -The woman began screaming, and people came rushing in. The lantern had -been upset and extinguished, and it was so dark they could not see a -thing; but they could hear Jurgis panting, and hear the thumping of his -victim’s skull, and they rushed there and tried to pull him off. -Precisely as before, Jurgis came away with a piece of his enemy’s flesh -between his teeth; and, as before, he went on fighting with those who -had interfered with him, until a policeman had come and beaten him into -insensibility. - -And so Jurgis spent the balance of the night in the stockyards station -house. This time, however, he had money in his pocket, and when he came -to his senses he could get something to drink, and also a messenger to -take word of his plight to “Bush” Harper. Harper did not appear, -however, until after the prisoner, feeling very weak and ill, had been -hailed into court and remanded at five hundred dollars’ bail to await -the result of his victim’s injuries. Jurgis was wild about this, -because a different magistrate had chanced to be on the bench, and he -had stated that he had never been arrested before, and also that he had -been attacked first—and if only someone had been there to speak a good -word for him, he could have been let off at once. - -But Harper explained that he had been downtown, and had not got the -message. “What’s happened to you?” he asked. - -“I’ve been doing a fellow up,” said Jurgis, “and I’ve got to get five -hundred dollars’ bail.” - -“I can arrange that all right,” said the other—“though it may cost you -a few dollars, of course. But what was the trouble?” - -“It was a man that did me a mean trick once,” answered Jurgis. - -“Who is he?” - -“He’s a foreman in Brown’s or used to be. His name’s Connor.” - -And the other gave a start. “Connor!” he cried. “Not Phil Connor!” - -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s the fellow. Why?” - -“Good God!” exclaimed the other, “then you’re in for it, old man! _I_ -can’t help you!” - -“Not help me! Why not?” - -“Why, he’s one of Scully’s biggest men—he’s a member of the War-Whoop -League, and they talked of sending him to the legislature! Phil Connor! -Great heavens!” - -Jurgis sat dumb with dismay. - -“Why, he can send you to Joliet, if he wants to!” declared the other. - -“Can’t I have Scully get me off before he finds out about it?” asked -Jurgis, at length. - -“But Scully’s out of town,” the other answered. “I don’t even know -where he is—he’s run away to dodge the strike.” - -That was a pretty mess, indeed. Poor Jurgis sat half-dazed. His pull -had run up against a bigger pull, and he was down and out! “But what am -I going to do?” he asked, weakly. - -“How should I know?” said the other. “I shouldn’t even dare to get bail -for you—why, I might ruin myself for life!” - -Again there was silence. “Can’t you do it for me,” Jurgis asked, “and -pretend that you didn’t know who I’d hit?” - -“But what good would that do you when you came to stand trial?” asked -Harper. Then he sat buried in thought for a minute or two. “There’s -nothing—unless it’s this,” he said. “I could have your bail reduced; -and then if you had the money you could pay it and skip.” - -“How much will it be?” Jurgis asked, after he had had this explained -more in detail. - -“I don’t know,” said the other. “How much do you own?” - -“I’ve got about three hundred dollars,” was the answer. - -“Well,” was Harper’s reply, “I’m not sure, but I’ll try and get you off -for that. I’ll take the risk for friendship’s sake—for I’d hate to see -you sent to state’s prison for a year or two.” - -And so finally Jurgis ripped out his bankbook—which was sewed up in his -trousers—and signed an order, which “Bush” Harper wrote, for all the -money to be paid out. Then the latter went and got it, and hurried to -the court, and explained to the magistrate that Jurgis was a decent -fellow and a friend of Scully’s, who had been attacked by a -strike-breaker. So the bail was reduced to three hundred dollars, and -Harper went on it himself; he did not tell this to Jurgis, however—nor -did he tell him that when the time for trial came it would be an easy -matter for him to avoid the forfeiting of the bail, and pocket the -three hundred dollars as his reward for the risk of offending Mike -Scully! All that he told Jurgis was that he was now free, and that the -best thing he could do was to clear out as quickly as possible; and so -Jurgis overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, took the dollar and -fourteen cents that was left him out of all his bank account, and put -it with the two dollars and quarter that was left from his last night’s -celebration, and boarded a streetcar and got off at the other end of -Chicago. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -Poor Jurgis was now an outcast and a tramp once more. He was -crippled—he was as literally crippled as any wild animal which has lost -its claws, or been torn out of its shell. He had been shorn, at one -cut, of all those mysterious weapons whereby he had been able to make a -living easily and to escape the consequences of his actions. He could -no longer command a job when he wanted it; he could no longer steal -with impunity—he must take his chances with the common herd. Nay worse, -he dared not mingle with the herd—he must hide himself, for he was one -marked out for destruction. His old companions would betray him, for -the sake of the influence they would gain thereby; and he would be made -to suffer, not merely for the offense he had committed, but for others -which would be laid at his door, just as had been done for some poor -devil on the occasion of that assault upon the “country customer” by -him and Duane. - -And also he labored under another handicap now. He had acquired new -standards of living, which were not easily to be altered. When he had -been out of work before, he had been content if he could sleep in a -doorway or under a truck out of the rain, and if he could get fifteen -cents a day for saloon lunches. But now he desired all sorts of other -things, and suffered because he had to do without them. He must have a -drink now and then, a drink for its own sake, and apart from the food -that came with it. The craving for it was strong enough to master every -other consideration—he would have it, though it were his last nickel -and he had to starve the balance of the day in consequence. - -Jurgis became once more a besieger of factory gates. But never since he -had been in Chicago had he stood less chance of getting a job than just -then. For one thing, there was the economic crisis, the million or two -of men who had been out of work in the spring and summer, and were not -yet all back, by any means. And then there was the strike, with seventy -thousand men and women all over the country idle for a couple of -months—twenty thousand in Chicago, and many of them now seeking work -throughout the city. It did not remedy matters that a few days later -the strike was given up and about half the strikers went back to work; -for every one taken on, there was a “scab” who gave up and fled. The -ten or fifteen thousand “green” Negroes, foreigners, and criminals were -now being turned loose to shift for themselves. Everywhere Jurgis went -he kept meeting them, and he was in an agony of fear lest some one of -them should know that he was “wanted.” He would have left Chicago, only -by the time he had realized his danger he was almost penniless; and it -would be better to go to jail than to be caught out in the country in -the winter time. - -At the end of about ten days Jurgis had only a few pennies left; and he -had not yet found a job—not even a day’s work at anything, not a chance -to carry a satchel. Once again, as when he had come out of the -hospital, he was bound hand and foot, and facing the grisly phantom of -starvation. Raw, naked terror possessed him, a maddening passion that -would never leave him, and that wore him down more quickly than the -actual want of food. He was going to die of hunger! The fiend reached -out its scaly arms for him—it touched him, its breath came into his -face; and he would cry out for the awfulness of it, he would wake up in -the night, shuddering, and bathed in perspiration, and start up and -flee. He would walk, begging for work, until he was exhausted; he could -not remain still—he would wander on, gaunt and haggard, gazing about -him with restless eyes. Everywhere he went, from one end of the vast -city to the other, there were hundreds of others like him; everywhere -was the sight of plenty and the merciless hand of authority waving them -away. There is one kind of prison where the man is behind bars, and -everything that he desires is outside; and there is another kind where -the things are behind the bars, and the man is outside. - -When he was down to his last quarter, Jurgis learned that before the -bakeshops closed at night they sold out what was left at half price, -and after that he would go and get two loaves of stale bread for a -nickel, and break them up and stuff his pockets with them, munching a -bit from time to time. He would not spend a penny save for this; and, -after two or three days more, he even became sparing of the bread, and -would stop and peer into the ash barrels as he walked along the -streets, and now and then rake out a bit of something, shake it free -from dust, and count himself just so many minutes further from the end. - -So for several days he had been going about, ravenous all the time, and -growing weaker and weaker, and then one morning he had a hideous -experience, that almost broke his heart. He was passing down a street -lined with warehouses, and a boss offered him a job, and then, after he -had started to work, turned him off because he was not strong enough. -And he stood by and saw another man put into his place, and then picked -up his coat, and walked off, doing all that he could to keep from -breaking down and crying like a baby. He was lost! He was doomed! There -was no hope for him! But then, with a sudden rush, his fear gave place -to rage. He fell to cursing. He would come back there after dark, and -he would show that scoundrel whether he was good for anything or not! - -He was still muttering this when suddenly, at the corner, he came upon -a green-grocery, with a tray full of cabbages in front of it. Jurgis, -after one swift glance about him, stooped and seized the biggest of -them, and darted round the corner with it. There was a hue and cry, and -a score of men and boys started in chase of him; but he came to an -alley, and then to another branching off from it and leading him into -another street, where he fell into a walk, and slipped his cabbage -under his coat and went off unsuspected in the crowd. When he had -gotten a safe distance away he sat down and devoured half the cabbage -raw, stowing the balance away in his pockets till the next day. - -Just about this time one of the Chicago newspapers, which made much of -the “common people,” opened a “free-soup kitchen” for the benefit of -the unemployed. Some people said that they did this for the sake of the -advertising it gave them, and some others said that their motive was a -fear lest all their readers should be starved off; but whatever the -reason, the soup was thick and hot, and there was a bowl for every man, -all night long. When Jurgis heard of this, from a fellow “hobo,” he -vowed that he would have half a dozen bowls before morning; but, as it -proved, he was lucky to get one, for there was a line of men two blocks -long before the stand, and there was just as long a line when the place -was finally closed up. - -This depot was within the danger line for Jurgis—in the “Lêvée” -district, where he was known; but he went there, all the same, for he -was desperate, and beginning to think of even the Bridewell as a place -of refuge. So far the weather had been fair, and he had slept out every -night in a vacant lot; but now there fell suddenly a shadow of the -advancing winter, a chill wind from the north and a driving storm of -rain. That day Jurgis bought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, -and at night he spent his last two pennies in a “stale-beer dive.” This -was a place kept by a Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs of -beer that lay in barrels set outside of the saloons; and after he had -doctored it with chemicals to make it “fizz,” he sold it for two cents -a can, the purchase of a can including the privilege of sleeping the -night through upon the floor, with a mass of degraded outcasts, men and -women. - -All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, because he was -always contrasting them with the opportunities he had lost. For -instance, just now it was election time again—within five or six weeks -the voters of the country would select a President; and he heard the -wretches with whom he associated discussing it, and saw the streets of -the city decorated with placards and banners—and what words could -describe the pangs of grief and despair that shot through him? - -For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He had begged -all day, for his very life, and found not a soul to heed him, until -toward evening he saw an old lady getting off a streetcar and helped -her down with her umbrellas and bundles and then told her his -“hard-luck story,” and after answering all her suspicious questions -satisfactorily, was taken to a restaurant and saw a quarter paid down -for a meal. And so he had soup and bread, and boiled beef and potatoes -and beans, and pie and coffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight -as a football. And then, through the rain and the darkness, far down -the street he saw red lights flaring and heard the thumping of a bass -drum; and his heart gave a leap, and he made for the place on the -run—knowing without the asking that it meant a political meeting. - -The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers -termed “apathy.” For some reason the people refused to get excited over -the struggle, and it was almost impossible to get them to come to -meetings, or to make any noise when they did come. Those which had been -held in Chicago so far had proven most dismal failures, and tonight, -the speaker being no less a personage than a candidate for the -vice-presidency of the nation, the political managers had been -trembling with anxiety. But a merciful providence had sent this storm -of cold rain—and now all it was necessary to do was to set off a few -fireworks, and thump awhile on a drum, and all the homeless wretches -from a mile around would pour in and fill the hall! And then on the -morrow the newspapers would have a chance to report the tremendous -ovation, and to add that it had been no “silk-stocking” audience, -either, proving clearly that the high tariff sentiments of the -distinguished candidate were pleasing to the wage-earners of the -nation. - -So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decorated with -flags and bunting; and after the chairman had made his little speech, -and the orator of the evening rose up, amid an uproar from the -band—only fancy the emotions of Jurgis upon making the discovery that -the personage was none other than the famous and eloquent Senator -Spareshanks, who had addressed the “Doyle Republican Association” at -the stockyards, and helped to elect Mike Scully’s tenpin setter to the -Chicago Board of Aldermen! - -In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears into -Jurgis’s eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon those golden -hours, when he, too, had a place beneath the shadow of the plum tree! -When he, too, had been of the elect, through whom the country is -governed—when he had had a bung in the campaign barrel for his own! And -this was another election in which the Republicans had all the money; -and but for that one hideous accident he might have had a share of it, -instead of being where he was! - -The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; an -ingenious device whereby the workingman permitted the manufacturer to -charge him higher prices, in order that he might receive higher wages; -thus taking his money out of his pocket with one hand, and putting a -part of it back with the other. To the senator this unique arrangement -had somehow become identified with the higher verities of the universe. -It was because of it that Columbia was the gem of the ocean; and all -her future triumphs, her power and good repute among the nations, -depended upon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up the -hands of those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of this heroic -company was “the Grand Old Party”— - -And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violent -start. Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperate effort to -understand what the senator was saying—to comprehend the extent of -American prosperity, the enormous expansion of American commerce, and -the Republic’s future in the Pacific and in South America, and wherever -else the oppressed were groaning. The reason for it was that he wanted -to keep awake. He knew that if he allowed himself to fall asleep he -would begin to snore loudly; and so he must listen—he must be -interested! But he had eaten such a big dinner, and he was so -exhausted, and the hall was so warm, and his seat was so comfortable! -The senator’s gaunt form began to grow dim and hazy, to tower before -him and dance about, with figures of exports and imports. Once his -neighbor gave him a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up with a start -and tried to look innocent; but then he was at it again, and men began -to stare at him with annoyance, and to call out in vexation. Finally -one of them called a policeman, who came and grabbed Jurgis by the -collar, and jerked him to his feet, bewildered and terrified. Some of -the audience turned to see the commotion, and Senator Spareshanks -faltered in his speech; but a voice shouted cheerily: “We’re just -firing a bum! Go ahead, old sport!” And so the crowd roared, and the -senator smiled genially, and went on; and in a few seconds poor Jurgis -found himself landed out in the rain, with a kick and a string of -curses. - -He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself. He was -not hurt, and he was not arrested—more than he had any right to expect. -He swore at himself and his luck for a while, and then turned his -thoughts to practical matters. He had no money, and no place to sleep; -he must begin begging again. - -He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the touch -of the icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was a lady, well -dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turned and walked beside -her. “Please, ma’am,” he began, “could you lend me the price of a -night’s lodging? I’m a poor working-man—” - -Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamp he had -caught sight of the lady’s face. He knew her. - -It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding feast! -Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced with such a -queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster! Jurgis had only seen -her once or twice afterward, for Juozas had thrown her over for another -girl, and Alena had gone away from Packingtown, no one knew where. And -now he met her here! - -She was as much surprised as he was. “Jurgis Rudkus!” she gasped. “And -what in the world is the matter with you?” - -“I—I’ve had hard luck,” he stammered. “I’m out of work, and I’ve no -home and no money. And you, Alena—are you married?” - -“No,” she answered, “I’m not married, but I’ve got a good place.” - -They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer. Finally -Alena spoke again. “Jurgis,” she said, “I’d help you if I could, upon -my word I would, but it happens that I’ve come out without my purse, -and I honestly haven’t a penny with me: I can do something better for -you, though—I can tell you how to get help. I can tell you where Marija -is.” - -Jurgis gave a start. “Marija!” he exclaimed. - -“Yes,” said Alena; “and she’ll help you. She’s got a place, and she’s -doing well; she’ll be glad to see you.” - -It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left Packingtown, -feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had been from Marija and -Elzbieta that he was escaping. But now, at the mere mention of them, -his whole being cried out with joy. He wanted to see them; he wanted to -go home! They would help him—they would be kind to him. In a flash he -had thought over the situation. He had a good excuse for running -away—his grief at the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse -for not returning—the fact that they had left Packingtown. “All right,” -he said, “I’ll go.” - -So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, “There’s no need to -give you my address, because Marija knows it.” And Jurgis set out, -without further ado. He found a large brownstone house of aristocratic -appearance, and rang the basement bell. A young colored girl came to -the door, opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously. - -“What do you want?” she demanded. - -“Does Marija Berczynskas live here?” he inquired. - -“I dunno,” said the girl. “What you want wid her?” - -“I want to see her,” said he; “she’s a relative of mine.” - -The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, “Come -in.” Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: “I’ll go -see. What’s yo’ name?” - -“Tell her it’s Jurgis,” he answered, and the girl went upstairs. She -came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, “Dey ain’t no -sich person here.” - -Jurgis’s heart went down into his boots. “I was told this was where she -lived!” he cried. But the girl only shook her head. “De lady says dey -ain’t no sich person here,” she said. - -And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. Then he -turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however, there came a -knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgis heard the shuffling -of feet, and then heard her give a cry; and the next moment she sprang -back, and past him, her eyes shining white with terror, and bounded up -the stairway, screaming at the top of her lungs: “_Police! Police! -We’re pinched!_” - -Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated forms -rushing upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her cries had been the -signal for a wild uproar above; the house was full of people, and as he -entered the hallway he saw them rushing hither and thither, crying and -screaming with alarm. There were men and women, the latter clad for the -most part in wrappers, the former in all stages of _déshabille_. At one -side Jurgis caught a glimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered -chairs, and tables covered with trays and glasses. There were playing -cards scattered all over the floor—one of the tables had been upset, -and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents running out upon -the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, and two men who -were supporting her; and there were a dozen others crowding toward the -front door. - -Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon it, -causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout woman, with -painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came running down the stairs, -panting breathlessly: “To the rear! Quick!” - -She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the kitchen -she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, disclosing a -dark passageway. “Go in!” she cried to the crowd, which now amounted to -twenty or thirty, and they began to pass through. Scarcely had the last -one disappeared, however, before there were cries from in front, and -then the panic-stricken throng poured out again, exclaiming: “They’re -there too! We’re trapped!” - -“Upstairs!” cried the woman, and there was another rush of the mob, -women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be first. One -flight, two, three—and then there was a ladder to the roof, with a -crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man at the top, straining and -struggling to lift the trap door. It was not to be stirred, however, -and when the woman shouted up to unhook it, he answered: “It’s already -unhooked. There’s somebody sitting on it!” - -And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: “You might as well -quit, you people. We mean business, this time.” - -So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came -up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims. Of the latter -the men were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking. The -women took it as a joke, as if they were used to it—though if they had -been pale, one could not have told, for the paint on their cheeks. One -black-eyed young girl perched herself upon the top of the balustrade, -and began to kick with her slippered foot at the helmets of the -policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her -down. On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in -the hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were -noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who -wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned -out all the other sounds in the hall—and Jurgis took a glance at her, -and then gave a start, and a cry, “Marija!” - -She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half sprang -to her feet in amazement. “Jurgis!” she gasped. - -For a second or two they stood staring at each other. “How did you come -here?” Marija exclaimed. - -“I came to see you,” he answered. - -“When?” - -“Just now.” - -“But how did you know—who told you I was here?” - -“Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street.” - -Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The rest of -the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to -him. “And you?” Jurgis asked. “You live here?” - -“Yes,” said Marija, “I live here.” Then suddenly came a hail from -below: “Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You’d best -begin, or you’ll be sorry—it’s raining outside.” - -“Br-r-r!” shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the -various doors which lined the hallway. - -“Come,” said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a tiny -place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing stand -and some dresses hanging behind the door. There were clothes scattered -about on the floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere—boxes of rouge -and bottles of perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the -dresser, and a pair of slippers and a clock and a whisky bottle on a -chair. - -Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she -proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble -to close the door. He had by this time divined what sort of a place he -was in; and he had seen a great deal of the world since he had left -home, and was not easy to shock—and yet it gave him a painful start -that Marija should do this. They had always been decent people at home, -and it seemed to him that the memory of old times ought to have ruled -her. But then he laughed at himself for a fool. What was he, to be -pretending to decency! - -“How long have you been living here?” he asked. - -“Nearly a year,” she answered. - -“Why did you come?” - -“I had to live,” she said; “and I couldn’t see the children starve.” - -He paused for a moment, watching her. “You were out of work?” he asked, -finally. - -“I got sick,” she replied, “and after that I had no money. And then -Stanislovas died—” - -“Stanislovas dead!” - -“Yes,” said Marija, “I forgot. You didn’t know about it.” - -“How did he die?” - -“Rats killed him,” she answered. - -Jurgis gave a gasp. “_Rats_ killed him!” - -“Yes,” said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes as she -spoke. “He was working in an oil factory—at least he was hired by the -men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on a long pole; and he’d -drink a little out of each can, and one day he drank too much, and fell -asleep in a corner, and got locked up in the place all night. When they -found him the rats had killed him and eaten him nearly all up.” - -Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up her shoes. -There was a long silence. - -Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. “Hurry up, there,” he said. - -“As quick as I can,” said Marija, and she stood up and began putting on -her corsets with feverish haste. - -“Are the rest of the people alive?” asked Jurgis, finally. - -“Yes,” she said. - -“Where are they?” - -“They live not far from here. They’re all right now.” - -“They are working?” he inquired. - -“Elzbieta is,” said Marija, “when she can. I take care of them most of -the time—I’m making plenty of money now.” - -Jurgis was silent for a moment. “Do they know you live here—how you -live?” he asked. - -“Elzbieta knows,” answered Marija. “I couldn’t lie to her. And maybe -the children have found out by this time. It’s nothing to be ashamed -of—we can’t help it.” - -“And Tamoszius?” he asked. “Does _he_ know?” - -Marija shrugged her shoulders. “How do I know?” she said. “I haven’t -seen him for over a year. He got blood poisoning and lost one finger, -and couldn’t play the violin any more; and then he went away.” - -Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress. Jurgis -sat staring at her. He could hardly believe that she was the same woman -he had known in the old days; she was so quiet—so hard! It struck fear -to his heart to watch her. - -Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. “You look as if you had been -having a rough time of it yourself,” she said. - -“I have,” he answered. “I haven’t a cent in my pockets, and nothing to -do.” - -“Where have you been?” - -“All over. I’ve been hoboing it. Then I went back to the yards—just -before the strike.” He paused for a moment, hesitating. “I asked for -you,” he added. “I found you had gone away, no one knew where. Perhaps -you think I did you a dirty trick running away as I did, Marija—” - -“No,” she answered, “I don’t blame you. We never have—any of us. You -did your best—the job was too much for us.” She paused a moment, then -added: “We were too ignorant—that was the trouble. We didn’t stand any -chance. If I’d known what I know now we’d have won out.” - -“You’d have come here?” said Jurgis. - -“Yes,” she answered; “but that’s not what I meant. I meant you—how -differently you would have behaved—about Ona.” - -Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it. - -“When people are starving,” the other continued, “and they have -anything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess you -realize it now when it’s too late. Ona could have taken care of us all, -in the beginning.” Marija spoke without emotion, as one who had come to -regard things from the business point of view. - -“I—yes, I guess so,” Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did not add that -he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman’s job, for the -satisfaction of knocking down “Phil” Connor a second time. - -The policeman came to the door again just then. “Come on, now,” he -said. “Lively!” - -“All right,” said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big enough to -be a drum major’s, and full of ostrich feathers. She went out into the -hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman remaining to look under the bed -and behind the door. - -“What’s going to come of this?” Jurgis asked, as they started down the -steps. - -“The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing—it happens to us every now and then. -The madame’s having some sort of time with the police; I don’t know -what it is, but maybe they’ll come to terms before morning. Anyhow, -they won’t do anything to you. They always let the men off.” - -“Maybe so,” he responded, “but not me—I’m afraid I’m in for it.” - -“How do you mean?” - -“I’m wanted by the police,” he said, lowering his voice, though of -course their conversation was in Lithuanian. “They’ll send me up for a -year or two, I’m afraid.” - -“Hell!” said Marija. “That’s too bad. I’ll see if I can’t get you off.” - -Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now massed, -she sought out the stout personage with the diamond earrings, and had a -few whispered words with her. The latter then approached the police -sergeant who was in charge of the raid. “Billy,” she said, pointing to -Jurgis, “there’s a fellow who came in to see his sister. He’d just got -in the door when you knocked. You aren’t taking hoboes, are you?” - -The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. “Sorry,” he said, “but the -orders are every one but the servants.” - -So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodging behind -each other like sheep that have smelled a wolf. There were old men and -young men, college boys and gray-beards old enough to be their -grandfathers; some of them wore evening dress—there was no one among -them save Jurgis who showed any signs of poverty. - -When the roundup was completed, the doors were opened and the party -marched out. Three patrol wagons were drawn up at the curb, and the -whole neighborhood had turned out to see the sport; there was much -chaffing, and a universal craning of necks. The women stared about them -with defiant eyes, or laughed and joked, while the men kept their heads -bowed, and their hats pulled over their faces. They were crowded into -the patrol wagons as if into streetcars, and then off they went amid a -din of cheers. At the station house Jurgis gave a Polish name and was -put into a cell with half a dozen others; and while these sat and -talked in whispers, he lay down in a corner and gave himself up to his -thoughts. - -Jurgis had looked into the deepest reaches of the social pit, and grown -used to the sights in them. Yet when he had thought of all humanity as -vile and hideous, he had somehow always excepted his own family that he -had loved; and now this sudden horrible discovery—Marija a whore, and -Elzbieta and the children living off her shame! Jurgis might argue with -himself all he chose, that he had done worse, and was a fool for -caring—but still he could not get over the shock of that sudden -unveiling, he could not help being sunk in grief because of it. The -depths of him were troubled and shaken, memories were stirred in him -that had been sleeping so long he had counted them dead. Memories of -the old life—his old hopes and his old yearnings, his old dreams of -decency and independence! He saw Ona again, he heard her gentle voice -pleading with him. He saw little Antanas, whom he had meant to make a -man. He saw his trembling old father, who had blessed them all with his -wonderful love. He lived again through that day of horror when he had -discovered Ona’s shame—God, how he had suffered, what a madman he had -been! How dreadful it had all seemed to him; and now, today, he had sat -and listened, and half agreed when Marija told him he had been a fool! -Yes—told him that he ought to have sold his wife’s honor and lived by -it!—And then there was Stanislovas and his awful fate—that brief story -which Marija had narrated so calmly, with such dull indifference! The -poor little fellow, with his frostbitten fingers and his terror of the -snow—his wailing voice rang in Jurgis’s ears, as he lay there in the -darkness, until the sweat started on his forehead. Now and then he -would quiver with a sudden spasm of horror, at the picture of little -Stanislovas shut up in the deserted building and fighting for his life -with the rats! - -All these emotions had become strangers to the soul of Jurgis; it was -so long since they had troubled him that he had ceased to think they -might ever trouble him again. Helpless, trapped, as he was, what good -did they do him—why should he ever have allowed them to torment him? It -had been the task of his recent life to fight them down, to crush them -out of him; never in his life would he have suffered from them again, -save that they had caught him unawares, and overwhelmed him before he -could protect himself. He heard the old voices of his soul, he saw its -old ghosts beckoning to him, stretching out their arms to him! But they -were far-off and shadowy, and the gulf between them was black and -bottomless; they would fade away into the mists of the past once more. -Their voices would die, and never again would he hear them—and so the -last faint spark of manhood in his soul would flicker out. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -After breakfast Jurgis was driven to the court, which was crowded with -the prisoners and those who had come out of curiosity or in the hope of -recognizing one of the men and getting a case for blackmail. The men -were called up first, and reprimanded in a bunch, and then dismissed; -but, Jurgis, to his terror, was called separately, as being a -suspicious-looking case. It was in this very same court that he had -been tried, that time when his sentence had been “suspended”; it was -the same judge, and the same clerk. The latter now stared at Jurgis, as -if he half thought that he knew him; but the judge had no -suspicions—just then his thoughts were upon a telephone message he was -expecting from a friend of the police captain of the district, telling -what disposition he should make of the case of “Polly” Simpson, as the -“madame” of the house was known. Meantime, he listened to the story of -how Jurgis had been looking for his sister, and advised him dryly to -keep his sister in a better place; then he let him go, and proceeded to -fine each of the girls five dollars, which fines were paid in a bunch -from a wad of bills which Madame Polly extracted from her stocking. - -Jurgis waited outside and walked home with Marija. The police had left -the house, and already there were a few visitors; by evening the place -would be running again, exactly as if nothing had happened. Meantime, -Marija took Jurgis upstairs to her room, and they sat and talked. By -daylight, Jurgis was able to observe that the color on her cheeks was -not the old natural one of abounding health; her complexion was in -reality a parchment yellow, and there were black rings under her eyes. - -“Have you been sick?” he asked. - -“Sick?” she said. “Hell!” (Marija had learned to scatter her -conversation with as many oaths as a longshoreman or a mule driver.) -“How can I ever be anything but sick, at this life?” - -She fell silent for a moment, staring ahead of her gloomily. “It’s -morphine,” she said, at last. “I seem to take more of it every day.” - -“What’s that for?” he asked. - -“It’s the way of it; I don’t know why. If it isn’t that, it’s drink. If -the girls didn’t booze they couldn’t stand it any time at all. And the -madame always gives them dope when they first come, and they learn to -like it; or else they take it for headaches and such things, and get -the habit that way. I’ve got it, I know; I’ve tried to quit, but I -never will while I’m here.” - -“How long are you going to stay?” he asked. - -“I don’t know,” she said. “Always, I guess. What else could I do?” - -“Don’t you save any money?” - -“Save!” said Marija. “Good Lord, no! I get enough, I suppose, but it -all goes. I get a half share, two dollars and a half for each customer, -and sometimes I make twenty-five or thirty dollars a night, and you’d -think I ought to save something out of that! But then I am charged for -my room and my meals—and such prices as you never heard of; and then -for extras, and drinks—for everything I get, and some I don’t. My -laundry bill is nearly twenty dollars each week alone—think of that! -Yet what can I do? I either have to stand it or quit, and it would be -the same anywhere else. It’s all I can do to save the fifteen dollars I -give Elzbieta each week, so the children can go to school.” - -Marija sat brooding in silence for a while; then, seeing that Jurgis -was interested, she went on: “That’s the way they keep the girls—they -let them run up debts, so they can’t get away. A young girl comes from -abroad, and she doesn’t know a word of English, and she gets into a -place like this, and when she wants to go the madame shows her that she -is a couple of hundred dollars in debt, and takes all her clothes away, -and threatens to have her arrested if she doesn’t stay and do as she’s -told. So she stays, and the longer she stays, the more in debt she -gets. Often, too, they are girls that didn’t know what they were coming -to, that had hired out for housework. Did you notice that little French -girl with the yellow hair, that stood next to me in the court?” - -Jurgis answered in the affirmative. - -“Well, she came to America about a year ago. She was a store clerk, and -she hired herself to a man to be sent here to work in a factory. There -were six of them, all together, and they were brought to a house just -down the street from here, and this girl was put into a room alone, and -they gave her some dope in her food, and when she came to she found -that she had been ruined. She cried, and screamed, and tore her hair, -but she had nothing but a wrapper, and couldn’t get away, and they kept -her half insensible with drugs all the time, until she gave up. She -never got outside of that place for ten months, and then they sent her -away, because she didn’t suit. I guess they’ll put her out of here, -too—she’s getting to have crazy fits, from drinking absinthe. Only one -of the girls that came out with her got away, and she jumped out of a -second-story window one night. There was a great fuss about that—maybe -you heard of it.” - -“I did,” said Jurgis, “I heard of it afterward.” (It had happened in -the place where he and Duane had taken refuge from their “country -customer.” The girl had become insane, fortunately for the police.) - -“There’s lots of money in it,” said Marija—“they get as much as forty -dollars a head for girls, and they bring them from all over. There are -seventeen in this place, and nine different countries among them. In -some places you might find even more. We have half a dozen French -girls—I suppose it’s because the madame speaks the language. French -girls are bad, too, the worst of all, except for the Japanese. There’s -a place next door that’s full of Japanese women, but I wouldn’t live in -the same house with one of them.” - -Marija paused for a moment or two, and then she added: “Most of the -women here are pretty decent—you’d be surprised. I used to think they -did it because they liked to; but fancy a woman selling herself to -every kind of man that comes, old or young, black or white—and doing it -because she likes to!” - -“Some of them say they do,” said Jurgis. - -“I know,” said she; “they say anything. They’re in, and they know they -can’t get out. But they didn’t like it when they began—you’d find -out—it’s always misery! There’s a little Jewish girl here who used to -run errands for a milliner, and got sick and lost her place; and she -was four days on the streets without a mouthful of food, and then she -went to a place just around the corner and offered herself, and they -made her give up her clothes before they would give her a bite to eat!” - -Marija sat for a minute or two, brooding somberly. “Tell me about -yourself, Jurgis,” she said, suddenly. “Where have you been?” - -So he told her the long story of his adventures since his flight from -home; his life as a tramp, and his work in the freight tunnels, and the -accident; and then of Jack Duane, and of his political career in the -stockyards, and his downfall and subsequent failures. Marija listened -with sympathy; it was easy to believe the tale of his late starvation, -for his face showed it all. “You found me just in the nick of time,” -she said. “I’ll stand by you—I’ll help you till you can get some work.” - -“I don’t like to let you—” he began. - -“Why not? Because I’m here?” - -“No, not that,” he said. “But I went off and left you—” - -“Nonsense!” said Marija. “Don’t think about it. I don’t blame you.” - -“You must be hungry,” she said, after a minute or two. “You stay here -to lunch—I’ll have something up in the room.” - -She pressed a button, and a colored woman came to the door and took her -order. “It’s nice to have somebody to wait on you,” she observed, with -a laugh, as she lay back on the bed. - -As the prison breakfast had not been liberal, Jurgis had a good -appetite, and they had a little feast together, talking meanwhile of -Elzbieta and the children and old times. Shortly before they were -through, there came another colored girl, with the message that the -“madame” wanted Marija—“Lithuanian Mary,” as they called her here. - -“That means you have to go,” she said to Jurgis. - -So he got up, and she gave him the new address of the family, a -tenement over in the Ghetto district. “You go there,” she said. -“They’ll be glad to see you.” - -But Jurgis stood hesitating. - -“I—I don’t like to,” he said. “Honest, Marija, why don’t you just give -me a little money and let me look for work first?” - -“How do you need money?” was her reply. “All you want is something to -eat and a place to sleep, isn’t it?” - -“Yes,” he said; “but then I don’t like to go there after I left -them—and while I have nothing to do, and while you—you—” - -“Go on!” said Marija, giving him a push. “What are you talking?—I won’t -give you money,” she added, as she followed him to the door, “because -you’ll drink it up, and do yourself harm. Here’s a quarter for you now, -and go along, and they’ll be so glad to have you back, you won’t have -time to feel ashamed. Good-by!” - -So Jurgis went out, and walked down the street to think it over. He -decided that he would first try to get work, and so he put in the rest -of the day wandering here and there among factories and warehouses -without success. Then, when it was nearly dark, he concluded to go -home, and set out; but he came to a restaurant, and went in and spent -his quarter for a meal; and when he came out he changed his mind—the -night was pleasant, and he would sleep somewhere outside, and put in -the morrow hunting, and so have one more chance of a job. So he started -away again, when suddenly he chanced to look about him, and found that -he was walking down the same street and past the same hall where he had -listened to the political speech the night before. There was no red -fire and no band now, but there was a sign out, announcing a meeting, -and a stream of people pouring in through the entrance. In a flash -Jurgis had decided that he would chance it once more, and sit down and -rest while making up his mind what to do. There was no one taking -tickets, so it must be a free show again. - -He entered. There were no decorations in the hall this time; but there -was quite a crowd upon the platform, and almost every seat in the place -was filled. He took one of the last, far in the rear, and straightway -forgot all about his surroundings. Would Elzbieta think that he had -come to sponge off her, or would she understand that he meant to get to -work again and do his share? Would she be decent to him, or would she -scold him? If only he could get some sort of a job before he went—if -that last boss had only been willing to try him! - -—Then suddenly Jurgis looked up. A tremendous roar had burst from the -throats of the crowd, which by this time had packed the hall to the -very doors. Men and women were standing up, waving handkerchiefs, -shouting, yelling. Evidently the speaker had arrived, thought Jurgis; -what fools they were making of themselves! What were they expecting to -get out of it anyhow—what had they to do with elections, with governing -the country? Jurgis had been behind the scenes in politics. - -He went back to his thoughts, but with one further fact to reckon -with—that he was caught here. The hall was now filled to the doors; and -after the meeting it would be too late for him to go home, so he would -have to make the best of it outside. Perhaps it would be better to go -home in the morning, anyway, for the children would be at school, and -he and Elzbieta could have a quiet explanation. She always had been a -reasonable person; and he really did mean to do right. He would manage -to persuade her of it—and besides, Marija was willing, and Marija was -furnishing the money. If Elzbieta were ugly, he would tell her that in -so many words. - -So Jurgis went on meditating; until finally, when he had been an hour -or two in the hall, there began to prepare itself a repetition of the -dismal catastrophe of the night before. Speaking had been going on all -the time, and the audience was clapping its hands and shouting, -thrilling with excitement; and little by little the sounds were -beginning to blur in Jurgis’s ears, and his thoughts were beginning to -run together, and his head to wobble and nod. He caught himself many -times, as usual, and made desperate resolutions; but the hall was hot -and close, and his long walk and his dinner were too much for him—in -the end his head sank forward and he went off again. - -And then again someone nudged him, and he sat up with his old terrified -start! He had been snoring again, of course! And now what? He fixed his -eyes ahead of him, with painful intensity, staring at the platform as -if nothing else ever had interested him, or ever could interest him, -all his life. He imagined the angry exclamations, the hostile glances; -he imagined the policeman striding toward him—reaching for his neck. Or -was he to have one more chance? Were they going to let him alone this -time? He sat trembling; waiting— - -And then suddenly came a voice in his ear, a woman’s voice, gentle and -sweet, “If you would try to listen, comrade, perhaps you would be -interested.” - -Jurgis was more startled by that than he would have been by the touch -of a policeman. He still kept his eyes fixed ahead, and did not stir; -but his heart gave a great leap. Comrade! Who was it that called him -“comrade”? - -He waited long, long; and at last, when he was sure that he was no -longer watched, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eyes at the -woman who sat beside him. She was young and beautiful; she wore fine -clothes, and was what is called a “lady.” And she called him “comrade”! - -He turned a little, carefully, so that he could see her better; then he -began to watch her, fascinated. She had apparently forgotten all about -him, and was looking toward the platform. A man was speaking -there—Jurgis heard his voice vaguely; but all his thoughts were for -this woman’s face. A feeling of alarm stole over him as he stared at -her. It made his flesh creep. What was the matter with her, what could -be going on, to affect any one like that? She sat as one turned to -stone, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, so tightly that he could -see the cords standing out in her wrists. There was a look of -excitement upon her face, of tense effort, as of one struggling -mightily, or witnessing a struggle. There was a faint quivering of her -nostrils; and now and then she would moisten her lips with feverish -haste. Her bosom rose and fell as she breathed, and her excitement -seemed to mount higher and higher, and then to sink away again, like a -boat tossing upon ocean surges. What was it? What was the matter? It -must be something that the man was saying, up there on the platform. -What sort of a man was he? And what sort of thing was this, anyhow?—So -all at once it occurred to Jurgis to look at the speaker. - -It was like coming suddenly upon some wild sight of nature—a mountain -forest lashed by a tempest, a ship tossed about upon a stormy sea. -Jurgis had an unpleasant sensation, a sense of confusion, of disorder, -of wild and meaningless uproar. The man was tall and gaunt, as haggard -as his auditor himself; a thin black beard covered half of his face, -and one could see only two black hollows where the eyes were. He was -speaking rapidly, in great excitement; he used many gestures—as he -spoke he moved here and there upon the stage, reaching with his long -arms as if to seize each person in his audience. His voice was deep, -like an organ; it was some time, however, before Jurgis thought of the -voice—he was too much occupied with his eyes to think of what the man -was saying. But suddenly it seemed as if the speaker had begun pointing -straight at him, as if he had singled him out particularly for his -remarks; and so Jurgis became suddenly aware of his voice, trembling, -vibrant with emotion, with pain and longing, with a burden of things -unutterable, not to be compassed by words. To hear it was to be -suddenly arrested, to be gripped, transfixed. - -“You listen to these things,” the man was saying, “and you say, ‘Yes, -they are true, but they have been that way always.’ Or you say, ‘Maybe -it will come, but not in my time—it will not help me.’ And so you -return to your daily round of toil, you go back to be ground up for -profits in the world-wide mill of economic might! To toil long hours -for another’s advantage; to live in mean and squalid homes, to work in -dangerous and unhealthful places; to wrestle with the specters of -hunger and privation, to take your chances of accident, disease, and -death. And each day the struggle becomes fiercer, the pace more cruel; -each day you have to toil a little harder, and feel the iron hand of -circumstance close upon you a little tighter. Months pass, years -maybe—and then you come again; and again I am here to plead with you, -to know if want and misery have yet done their work with you, if -injustice and oppression have yet opened your eyes! I shall still be -waiting—there is nothing else that I can do. There is no wilderness -where I can hide from these things, there is no haven where I can -escape them; though I travel to the ends of the earth, I find the same -accursed system—I find that all the fair and noble impulses of -humanity, the dreams of poets and the agonies of martyrs, are shackled -and bound in the service of organized and predatory Greed! And -therefore I cannot rest, I cannot be silent; therefore I cast aside -comfort and happiness, health and good repute—and go out into the world -and cry out the pain of my spirit! Therefore I am not to be silenced by -poverty and sickness, not by hatred and obloquy, by threats and -ridicule—not by prison and persecution, if they should come—not by any -power that is upon the earth or above the earth, that was, or is, or -ever can be created. If I fail tonight, I can only try tomorrow; -knowing that the fault must be mine—that if once the vision of my soul -were spoken upon earth, if once the anguish of its defeat were uttered -in human speech, it would break the stoutest barriers of prejudice, it -would shake the most sluggish soul to action! It would abash the most -cynical, it would terrify the most selfish; and the voice of mockery -would be silenced, and fraud and falsehood would slink back into their -dens, and the truth would stand forth alone! For I speak with the voice -of the millions who are voiceless! Of them that are oppressed and have -no comforter! Of the disinherited of life, for whom there is no respite -and no deliverance, to whom the world is a prison, a dungeon of -torture, a tomb! With the voice of the little child who toils tonight -in a Southern cotton mill, staggering with exhaustion, numb with agony, -and knowing no hope but the grave! Of the mother who sews by -candlelight in her tenement garret, weary and weeping, smitten with the -mortal hunger of her babes! Of the man who lies upon a bed of rags, -wrestling in his last sickness and leaving his loved ones to perish! Of -the young girl who, somewhere at this moment, is walking the streets of -this horrible city, beaten and starving, and making her choice between -the brothel and the lake! With the voice of those, whoever and wherever -they may be, who are caught beneath the wheels of the Juggernaut of -Greed! With the voice of humanity, calling for deliverance! Of the -everlasting soul of Man, arising from the dust; breaking its way out of -its prison—rending the bands of oppression and ignorance—groping its -way to the light!” - -The speaker paused. There was an instant of silence, while men caught -their breaths, and then like a single sound there came a cry from a -thousand people. Through it all Jurgis sat still, motionless and rigid, -his eyes fixed upon the speaker; he was trembling, smitten with wonder. - -Suddenly the man raised his hands, and silence fell, and he began -again. - -“I plead with you,” he said, “whoever you may be, provided that you -care about the truth; but most of all I plead with working-man, with -those to whom the evils I portray are not mere matters of sentiment, to -be dallied and toyed with, and then perhaps put aside and forgotten—to -whom they are the grim and relentless realities of the daily grind, the -chains upon their limbs, the lash upon their backs, the iron in their -souls. To you, working-men! To you, the toilers, who have made this -land, and have no voice in its councils! To you, whose lot it is to sow -that others may reap, to labor and obey, and ask no more than the wages -of a beast of burden, the food and shelter to keep you alive from day -to day. It is to you that I come with my message of salvation, it is to -you that I appeal. I know how much it is to ask of you—I know, for I -have been in your place, I have lived your life, and there is no man -before me here tonight who knows it better. I have known what it is to -be a street-waif, a bootblack, living upon a crust of bread and -sleeping in cellar stairways and under empty wagons. I have known what -it is to dare and to aspire, to dream mighty dreams and to see them -perish—to see all the fair flowers of my spirit trampled into the mire -by the wild-beast powers of my life. I know what is the price that a -working-man pays for knowledge—I have paid for it with food and sleep, -with agony of body and mind, with health, almost with life itself; and -so, when I come to you with a story of hope and freedom, with the -vision of a new earth to be created, of a new labor to be dared, I am -not surprised that I find you sordid and material, sluggish and -incredulous. That I do not despair is because I know also the forces -that are driving behind you—because I know the raging lash of poverty, -the sting of contempt and mastership, ‘the insolence of office and the -spurns.’ Because I feel sure that in the crowd that has come to me -tonight, no matter how many may be dull and heedless, no matter how -many may have come out of idle curiosity, or in order to ridicule—there -will be some one man whom pain and suffering have made desperate, whom -some chance vision of wrong and horror has startled and shocked into -attention. And to him my words will come like a sudden flash of -lightning to one who travels in darkness—revealing the way before him, -the perils and the obstacles—solving all problems, making all -difficulties clear! The scales will fall from his eyes, the shackles -will be torn from his limbs—he will leap up with a cry of thankfulness, -he will stride forth a free man at last! A man delivered from his -self-created slavery! A man who will never more be trapped—whom no -blandishments will cajole, whom no threats will frighten; who from -tonight on will move forward, and not backward, who will study and -understand, who will gird on his sword and take his place in the army -of his comrades and brothers. Who will carry the good tidings to -others, as I have carried them to him—priceless gift of liberty and -light that is neither mine nor his, but is the heritage of the soul of -man! Working-men, working-men—comrades! open your eyes and look about -you! You have lived so long in the toil and heat that your senses are -dulled, your souls are numbed; but realize once in your lives this -world in which you dwell—tear off the rags of its customs and -conventions—behold it as it is, in all its hideous nakedness! Realize -it, _realize it!_ Realize that out upon the plains of Manchuria tonight -two hostile armies are facing each other—that now, while we are seated -here, a million human beings may be hurled at each other’s throats, -striving with the fury of maniacs to tear each other to pieces! And -this in the twentieth century, nineteen hundred years since the Prince -of Peace was born on earth! Nineteen hundred years that his words have -been preached as divine, and here two armies of men are rending and -tearing each other like the wild beasts of the forest! Philosophers -have reasoned, prophets have denounced, poets have wept and pleaded—and -still this hideous Monster roams at large! We have schools and -colleges, newspapers and books; we have searched the heavens and the -earth, we have weighed and probed and reasoned—and all to equip men to -destroy each other! We call it War, and pass it by—but do not put me -off with platitudes and conventions—come with me, come with me—_realize -it!_ See the bodies of men pierced by bullets, blown into pieces by -bursting shells! Hear the crunching of the bayonet, plunged into human -flesh; hear the groans and shrieks of agony, see the faces of men -crazed by pain, turned into fiends by fury and hate! Put your hand upon -that piece of flesh—it is hot and quivering—just now it was a part of a -man! This blood is still steaming—it was driven by a human heart! -Almighty God! and this goes on—it is systematic, organized, -premeditated! And we know it, and read of it, and take it for granted; -our papers tell of it, and the presses are not stopped—our churches -know of it, and do not close their doors—the people behold it, and do -not rise up in horror and revolution! - -“Or perhaps Manchuria is too far away for you—come home with me then, -come here to Chicago. Here in this city to-night ten thousand women are -shut up in foul pens, and driven by hunger to sell their bodies to -live. And we know it, we make it a jest! And these women are made in -the image of your mothers, they may be your sisters, your daughters; -the child whom you left at home tonight, whose laughing eyes will greet -you in the morning—that fate may be waiting for her! To-night in -Chicago there are ten thousand men, homeless and wretched, willing to -work and begging for a chance, yet starving, and fronting in terror the -awful winter cold! Tonight in Chicago there are a hundred thousand -children wearing out their strength and blasting their lives in the -effort to earn their bread! There are a hundred thousand mothers who -are living in misery and squalor, struggling to earn enough to feed -their little ones! There are a hundred thousand old people, cast off -and helpless, waiting for death to take them from their torments! There -are a million people, men and women and children, who share the curse -of the wage-slave; who toil every hour they can stand and see, for just -enough to keep them alive; who are condemned till the end of their days -to monotony and weariness, to hunger and misery, to heat and cold, to -dirt and disease, to ignorance and drunkenness and vice! And then turn -over the page with me, and gaze upon the other side of the picture. -There are a thousand—ten thousand, maybe—who are the masters of these -slaves, who own their toil. They do nothing to earn what they receive, -they do not even have to ask for it—it comes to them of itself, their -only care is to dispose of it. They live in palaces, they riot in -luxury and extravagance—such as no words can describe, as makes the -imagination reel and stagger, makes the soul grow sick and faint. They -spend hundreds of dollars for a pair of shoes, a handkerchief, a -garter; they spend millions for horses and automobiles and yachts, for -palaces and banquets, for little shiny stones with which to deck their -bodies. Their life is a contest among themselves for supremacy in -ostentation and recklessness, in the destroying of useful and necessary -things, in the wasting of the labor and the lives of their fellow -creatures, the toil and anguish of the nations, the sweat and tears and -blood of the human race! It is all theirs—it comes to them; just as all -the springs pour into streamlets, and the streamlets into rivers, and -the rivers into the oceans—so, automatically and inevitably, all the -wealth of society comes to them. The farmer tills the soil, the miner -digs in the earth, the weaver tends the loom, the mason carves the -stone; the clever man invents, the shrewd man directs, the wise man -studies, the inspired man sings—and all the result, the products of the -labor of brain and muscle, are gathered into one stupendous stream and -poured into their laps! The whole of society is in their grip, the -whole labor of the world lies at their mercy—and like fierce wolves -they rend and destroy, like ravening vultures they devour and tear! The -whole power of mankind belongs to them, forever and beyond recall—do -what it can, strive as it will, humanity lives for them and dies for -them! They own not merely the labor of society, they have bought the -governments; and everywhere they use their raped and stolen power to -intrench themselves in their privileges, to dig wider and deeper the -channels through which the river of profits flows to them!—And you, -workingmen, workingmen! You have been brought up to it, you plod on -like beasts of burden, thinking only of the day and its pain—yet is -there a man among you who can believe that such a system will continue -forever—is there a man here in this audience tonight so hardened and -debased that he dare rise up before me and say that he believes it can -continue forever; that the product of the labor of society, the means -of existence of the human race, will always belong to idlers and -parasites, to be spent for the gratification of vanity and lust—to be -spent for any purpose whatever, to be at the disposal of any individual -will whatever—that somehow, somewhere, the labor of humanity will not -belong to humanity, to be used for the purposes of humanity, to be -controlled by the will of humanity? And if this is ever to be, how is -it to be—what power is there that will bring it about? Will it be the -task of your masters, do you think—will they write the charter of your -liberties? Will they forge you the sword of your deliverance, will they -marshal you the army and lead it to the fray? Will their wealth be -spent for the purpose—will they build colleges and churches to teach -you, will they print papers to herald your progress, and organize -political parties to guide and carry on the struggle? Can you not see -that the task is your task—yours to dream, yours to resolve, yours to -execute? That if ever it is carried out, it will be in the face of -every obstacle that wealth and mastership can oppose—in the face of -ridicule and slander, of hatred and persecution, of the bludgeon and -the jail? That it will be by the power of your naked bosoms, opposed to -the rage of oppression! By the grim and bitter teaching of blind and -merciless affliction! By the painful gropings of the untutored mind, by -the feeble stammerings of the uncultured voice! By the sad and lonely -hunger of the spirit; by seeking and striving and yearning, by -heartache and despairing, by agony and sweat of blood! It will be by -money paid for with hunger, by knowledge stolen from sleep, by thoughts -communicated under the shadow of the gallows! It will be a movement -beginning in the far-off past, a thing obscure and unhonored, a thing -easy to ridicule, easy to despise; a thing unlovely, wearing the aspect -of vengeance and hate—but to you, the working-man, the wage-slave, -calling with a voice insistent, imperious—with a voice that you cannot -escape, wherever upon the earth you may be! With the voice of all your -wrongs, with the voice of all your desires; with the voice of your duty -and your hope—of everything in the world that is worth while to you! -The voice of the poor, demanding that poverty shall cease! The voice of -the oppressed, pronouncing the doom of oppression! The voice of power, -wrought out of suffering—of resolution, crushed out of weakness—of joy -and courage, born in the bottomless pit of anguish and despair! The -voice of Labor, despised and outraged; a mighty giant, lying -prostrate—mountainous, colossal, but blinded, bound, and ignorant of -his strength. And now a dream of resistance haunts him, hope battling -with fear; until suddenly he stirs, and a fetter snaps—and a thrill -shoots through him, to the farthest ends of his huge body, and in a -flash the dream becomes an act! He starts, he lifts himself; and the -bands are shattered, the burdens roll off him—he rises—towering, -gigantic; he springs to his feet, he shouts in his newborn exultation—” - -And the speaker’s voice broke suddenly, with the stress of his -feelings; he stood with his arms stretched out above him, and the power -of his vision seemed to lift him from the floor. The audience came to -its feet with a yell; men waved their arms, laughing aloud in their -excitement. And Jurgis was with them, he was shouting to tear his -throat; shouting because he could not help it, because the stress of -his feeling was more than he could bear. It was not merely the man’s -words, the torrent of his eloquence. It was his presence, it was his -voice: a voice with strange intonations that rang through the chambers -of the soul like the clanging of a bell—that gripped the listener like -a mighty hand about his body, that shook him and startled him with -sudden fright, with a sense of things not of earth, of mysteries never -spoken before, of presences of awe and terror! There was an unfolding -of vistas before him, a breaking of the ground beneath him, an -upheaving, a stirring, a trembling; he felt himself suddenly a mere man -no longer—there were powers within him undreamed of, there were demon -forces contending, age-long wonders struggling to be born; and he sat -oppressed with pain and joy, while a tingling stole down into his -finger tips, and his breath came hard and fast. The sentences of this -man were to Jurgis like the crashing of thunder in his soul; a flood of -emotions surged up in him—all his old hopes and longings, his old -griefs and rages and despairs. All that he had ever felt in his whole -life seemed to come back to him at once, and with one new emotion, -hardly to be described. That he should have suffered such oppressions -and such horrors was bad enough; but that he should have been crushed -and beaten by them, that he should have submitted, and forgotten, and -lived in peace—ah, truly that was a thing not to be put into words, a -thing not to be borne by a human creature, a thing of terror and -madness! “What,” asks the prophet, “is the murder of them that kill the -body, to the murder of them that kill the soul?” And Jurgis was a man -whose soul had been murdered, who had ceased to hope and to -struggle—who had made terms with degradation and despair; and now, -suddenly, in one awful convulsion, the black and hideous fact was made -plain to him! There was a falling in of all the pillars of his soul, -the sky seemed to split above him—he stood there, with his clenched -hands upraised, his eyes bloodshot, and the veins standing out purple -in his face, roaring in the voice of a wild beast, frantic, incoherent, -maniacal. And when he could shout no more he still stood there, -gasping, and whispering hoarsely to himself: “By God! By God! By God!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -The man had gone back to a seat upon the platform, and Jurgis realized -that his speech was over. The applause continued for several minutes; -and then some one started a song, and the crowd took it up, and the -place shook with it. Jurgis had never heard it, and he could not make -out the words, but the wild and wonderful spirit of it seized upon -him—it was the “Marseillaise!” As stanza after stanza of it thundered -forth, he sat with his hands clasped, trembling in every nerve. He had -never been so stirred in his life—it was a miracle that had been -wrought in him. He could not think at all, he was stunned; yet he knew -that in the mighty upheaval that had taken place in his soul, a new man -had been born. He had been torn out of the jaws of destruction, he had -been delivered from the thraldom of despair; the whole world had been -changed for him—he was free, he was free! Even if he were to suffer as -he had before, even if he were to beg and starve, nothing would be the -same to him; he would understand it, and bear it. He would no longer be -the sport of circumstances, he would be a man, with a will and a -purpose; he would have something to fight for, something to die for, if -need be! Here were men who would show him and help him; and he would -have friends and allies, he would dwell in the sight of justice, and -walk arm in arm with power. - -The audience subsided again, and Jurgis sat back. The chairman of the -meeting came forward and began to speak. His voice sounded thin and -futile after the other’s, and to Jurgis it seemed a profanation. Why -should any one else speak, after that miraculous man—why should they -not all sit in silence? The chairman was explaining that a collection -would now be taken up to defray the expenses of the meeting, and for -the benefit of the campaign fund of the party. Jurgis heard; but he had -not a penny to give, and so his thoughts went elsewhere again. - -He kept his eyes fixed on the orator, who sat in an armchair, his head -leaning on his hand and his attitude indicating exhaustion. But -suddenly he stood up again, and Jurgis heard the chairman of the -meeting saying that the speaker would now answer any questions which -the audience might care to put to him. The man came forward, and some -one—a woman—arose and asked about some opinion the speaker had -expressed concerning Tolstoy. Jurgis had never heard of Tolstoy, and -did not care anything about him. Why should any one want to ask such -questions, after an address like that? The thing was not to talk, but -to do; the thing was to get bold of others and rouse them, to organize -them and prepare for the fight! But still the discussion went on, in -ordinary conversational tones, and it brought Jurgis back to the -everyday world. A few minutes ago he had felt like seizing the hand of -the beautiful lady by his side, and kissing it; he had felt like -flinging his arms about the neck of the man on the other side of him. -And now he began to realize again that he was a “hobo,” that he was -ragged and dirty, and smelled bad, and had no place to sleep that -night! - -And so, at last, when the meeting broke up, and the audience started to -leave, poor Jurgis was in an agony of uncertainty. He had not thought -of leaving—he had thought that the vision must last forever, that he -had found comrades and brothers. But now he would go out, and the thing -would fade away, and he would never be able to find it again! He sat in -his seat, frightened and wondering; but others in the same row wanted -to get out, and so he had to stand up and move along. As he was swept -down the aisle he looked from one person to another, wistfully; they -were all excitedly discussing the address—but there was nobody who -offered to discuss it with him. He was near enough to the door to feel -the night air, when desperation seized him. He knew nothing at all -about that speech he had heard, not even the name of the orator; and he -was to go away—no, no, it was preposterous, he must speak to some one; -he must find that man himself and tell him. He would not despise him, -tramp as he was! - -So he stepped into an empty row of seats and watched, and when the -crowd had thinned out, he started toward the platform. The speaker was -gone; but there was a stage door that stood open, with people passing -in and out, and no one on guard. Jurgis summoned up his courage and -went in, and down a hallway, and to the door of a room where many -people were crowded. No one paid any attention to him, and he pushed -in, and in a corner he saw the man he sought. The orator sat in a -chair, with his shoulders sunk together and his eyes half closed; his -face was ghastly pale, almost greenish in hue, and one arm lay limp at -his side. A big man with spectacles on stood near him, and kept pushing -back the crowd, saying, “Stand away a little, please; can’t you see the -comrade is worn out?” - -So Jurgis stood watching, while five or ten minutes passed. Now and -then the man would look up, and address a word or two to those who were -near him; and, at last, on one of these occasions, his glance rested on -Jurgis. There seemed to be a slight hint of inquiry about it, and a -sudden impulse seized the other. He stepped forward. - -“I wanted to thank you, sir!” he began, in breathless haste. “I could -not go away without telling you how much—how glad I am I heard you. I—I -didn’t know anything about it all—” - -The big man with the spectacles, who had moved away, came back at this -moment. “The comrade is too tired to talk to any one—” he began; but -the other held up his hand. - -“Wait,” he said. “He has something to say to me.” And then he looked -into Jurgis’s face. “You want to know more about Socialism?” he asked. - -Jurgis started. “I—I—” he stammered. “Is it Socialism? I didn’t know. I -want to know about what you spoke of—I want to help. I have been -through all that.” - -“Where do you live?” asked the other. - -“I have no home,” said Jurgis, “I am out of work.” - -“You are a foreigner, are you not?” - -“Lithuanian, sir.” - -The man thought for a moment, and then turned to his friend. “Who is -there, Walters?” he asked. “There is Ostrinski—but he is a Pole—” - -“Ostrinski speaks Lithuanian,” said the other. “All right, then; would -you mind seeing if he has gone yet?” - -The other started away, and the speaker looked at Jurgis again. He had -deep, black eyes, and a face full of gentleness and pain. “You must -excuse me, comrade,” he said. “I am just tired out—I have spoken every -day for the last month. I will introduce you to some one who will be -able to help you as well as I could—” - -The messenger had had to go no further than the door, he came back, -followed by a man whom he introduced to Jurgis as “Comrade Ostrinski.” -Comrade Ostrinski was a little man, scarcely up to Jurgis’s shoulder, -wizened and wrinkled, very ugly, and slightly lame. He had on a -long-tailed black coat, worn green at the seams and the buttonholes; -his eyes must have been weak, for he wore green spectacles that gave -him a grotesque appearance. But his handclasp was hearty, and he spoke -in Lithuanian, which warmed Jurgis to him. - -“You want to know about Socialism?” he said. “Surely. Let us go out and -take a stroll, where we can be quiet and talk some.” - -And so Jurgis bade farewell to the master wizard, and went out. -Ostrinski asked where he lived, offering to walk in that direction; and -so he had to explain once more that he was without a home. At the -other’s request he told his story; how he had come to America, and what -had happened to him in the stockyards, and how his family had been -broken up, and how he had become a wanderer. So much the little man -heard, and then he pressed Jurgis’s arm tightly. “You have been through -the mill, comrade!” he said. “We will make a fighter out of you!” - -Then Ostrinski in turn explained his circumstances. He would have asked -Jurgis to his home—but he had only two rooms, and had no bed to offer. -He would have given up his own bed, but his wife was ill. Later on, -when he understood that otherwise Jurgis would have to sleep in a -hallway, he offered him his kitchen floor, a chance which the other was -only too glad to accept. “Perhaps tomorrow we can do better,” said -Ostrinski. “We try not to let a comrade starve.” - -Ostrinski’s home was in the Ghetto district, where he had two rooms in -the basement of a tenement. There was a baby crying as they entered, -and he closed the door leading into the bedroom. He had three young -children, he explained, and a baby had just come. He drew up two chairs -near the kitchen stove, adding that Jurgis must excuse the disorder of -the place, since at such a time one’s domestic arrangements were upset. -Half of the kitchen was given up to a workbench, which was piled with -clothing, and Ostrinski explained that he was a “pants finisher.” He -brought great bundles of clothing here to his home, where he and his -wife worked on them. He made a living at it, but it was getting harder -all the time, because his eyes were failing. What would come when they -gave out he could not tell; there had been no saving anything—a man -could barely keep alive by twelve or fourteen hours’ work a day. The -finishing of pants did not take much skill, and anybody could learn it, -and so the pay was forever getting less. That was the competitive wage -system; and if Jurgis wanted to understand what Socialism was, it was -there he had best begin. The workers were dependent upon a job to exist -from day to day, and so they bid against each other, and no man could -get more than the lowest man would consent to work for. And thus the -mass of the people were always in a life-and-death struggle with -poverty. That was “competition,” so far as it concerned the -wage-earner, the man who had only his labor to sell; to those on top, -the exploiters, it appeared very differently, of course—there were few -of them, and they could combine and dominate, and their power would be -unbreakable. And so all over the world two classes were forming, with -an unbridged chasm between them—the capitalist class, with its enormous -fortunes, and the proletariat, bound into slavery by unseen chains. The -latter were a thousand to one in numbers, but they were ignorant and -helpless, and they would remain at the mercy of their exploiters until -they were organized—until they had become “class-conscious.” It was a -slow and weary process, but it would go on—it was like the movement of -a glacier, once it was started it could never be stopped. Every -Socialist did his share, and lived upon the vision of the “good time -coming,”—when the working class should go to the polls and seize the -powers of government, and put an end to private property in the means -of production. No matter how poor a man was, or how much he suffered, -he could never be really unhappy while he knew of that future; even if -he did not live to see it himself, his children would, and, to a -Socialist, the victory of his class was his victory. Also he had always -the progress to encourage him; here in Chicago, for instance, the -movement was growing by leaps and bounds. Chicago was the industrial -center of the country, and nowhere else were the unions so strong; but -their organizations did the workers little good, for the employers were -organized, also; and so the strikes generally failed, and as fast as -the unions were broken up the men were coming over to the Socialists. - -Ostrinski explained the organization of the party, the machinery by -which the proletariat was educating itself. There were “locals” in -every big city and town, and they were being organized rapidly in the -smaller places; a local had anywhere from six to a thousand members, -and there were fourteen hundred of them in all, with a total of about -twenty-five thousand members, who paid dues to support the -organization. “Local Cook County,” as the city organization was called, -had eighty branch locals, and it alone was spending several thousand -dollars in the campaign. It published a weekly in English, and one each -in Bohemian and German; also there was a monthly published in Chicago, -and a cooperative publishing house, that issued a million and a half of -Socialist books and pamphlets every year. All this was the growth of -the last few years—there had been almost nothing of it when Ostrinski -first came to Chicago. - -Ostrinski was a Pole, about fifty years of age. He had lived in -Silesia, a member of a despised and persecuted race, and had taken part -in the proletarian movement in the early seventies, when Bismarck, -having conquered France, had turned his policy of blood and iron upon -the “International.” Ostrinski himself had twice been in jail, but he -had been young then, and had not cared. He had had more of his share of -the fight, though, for just when Socialism had broken all its barriers -and become the great political force of the empire, he had come to -America, and begun all over again. In America every one had laughed at -the mere idea of Socialism then—in America all men were free. As if -political liberty made wage slavery any the more tolerable! said -Ostrinski. - -The little tailor sat tilted back in his stiff kitchen chair, with his -feet stretched out upon the empty stove, and speaking in low whispers, -so as not to waken those in the next room. To Jurgis he seemed a -scarcely less wonderful person than the speaker at the meeting; he was -poor, the lowest of the low, hunger-driven and miserable—and yet how -much he knew, how much he had dared and achieved, what a hero he had -been! There were others like him, too—thousands like him, and all of -them workingmen! That all this wonderful machinery of progress had been -created by his fellows—Jurgis could not believe it, it seemed too good -to be true. - -That was always the way, said Ostrinski; when a man was first converted -to Socialism he was like a crazy person—he could not understand how -others could fail to see it, and he expected to convert all the world -the first week. After a while he would realize how hard a task it was; -and then it would be fortunate that other new hands kept coming, to -save him from settling down into a rut. Just now Jurgis would have -plenty of chance to vent his excitement, for a presidential campaign -was on, and everybody was talking politics. Ostrinski would take him to -the next meeting of the branch local, and introduce him, and he might -join the party. The dues were five cents a week, but any one who could -not afford this might be excused from paying. The Socialist party was a -really democratic political organization—it was controlled absolutely -by its own membership, and had no bosses. All of these things Ostrinski -explained, as also the principles of the party. You might say that -there was really but one Socialist principle—that of “no compromise,” -which was the essence of the proletarian movement all over the world. -When a Socialist was elected to office he voted with old party -legislators for any measure that was likely to be of help to the -working class, but he never forgot that these concessions, whatever -they might be, were trifles compared with the great purpose—the -organizing of the working class for the revolution. So far, the rule in -America had been that one Socialist made another Socialist once every -two years; and if they should maintain the same rate they would carry -the country in 1912—though not all of them expected to succeed as -quickly as that. - -The Socialists were organized in every civilized nation; it was an -international political party, said Ostrinski, the greatest the world -had ever known. It numbered thirty million of adherents, and it cast -eight million votes. It had started its first newspaper in Japan, and -elected its first deputy in Argentina; in France it named members of -cabinets, and in Italy and Australia it held the balance of power and -turned out ministries. In Germany, where its vote was more than a third -of the total vote of the empire, all other parties and powers had -united to fight it. It would not do, Ostrinski explained, for the -proletariat of one nation to achieve the victory, for that nation would -be crushed by the military power of the others; and so the Socialist -movement was a world movement, an organization of all mankind to -establish liberty and fraternity. It was the new religion of -humanity—or you might say it was the fulfillment of the old religion, -since it implied but the literal application of all the teachings of -Christ. - -Until long after midnight Jurgis sat lost in the conversation of his -new acquaintance. It was a most wonderful experience to him—an almost -supernatural experience. It was like encountering an inhabitant of the -fourth dimension of space, a being who was free from all one’s own -limitations. For four years, now, Jurgis had been wondering and -blundering in the depths of a wilderness; and here, suddenly, a hand -reached down and seized him, and lifted him out of it, and set him upon -a mountain-top, from which he could survey it all—could see the paths -from which he had wandered, the morasses into which he had stumbled, -the hiding places of the beasts of prey that had fallen upon him. There -were his Packingtown experiences, for instance—what was there about -Packingtown that Ostrinski could not explain! To Jurgis the packers had -been equivalent to fate; Ostrinski showed him that they were the Beef -Trust. They were a gigantic combination of capital, which had crushed -all opposition, and overthrown the laws of the land, and was preying -upon the people. Jurgis recollected how, when he had first come to -Packingtown, he had stood and watched the hog-killing, and thought how -cruel and savage it was, and come away congratulating himself that he -was not a hog; now his new acquaintance showed him that a hog was just -what he had been—one of the packers’ hogs. What they wanted from a hog -was all the profits that could be got out of him; and that was what -they wanted from the workingman, and also that was what they wanted -from the public. What the hog thought of it, and what he suffered, were -not considered; and no more was it with labor, and no more with the -purchaser of meat. That was true everywhere in the world, but it was -especially true in Packingtown; there seemed to be something about the -work of slaughtering that tended to ruthlessness and ferocity—it was -literally the fact that in the methods of the packers a hundred human -lives did not balance a penny of profit. When Jurgis had made himself -familiar with the Socialist literature, as he would very quickly, he -would get glimpses of the Beef Trust from all sorts of aspects, and he -would find it everywhere the same; it was the incarnation of blind and -insensate Greed. It was a monster devouring with a thousand mouths, -trampling with a thousand hoofs; it was the Great Butcher—it was the -spirit of Capitalism made flesh. Upon the ocean of commerce it sailed -as a pirate ship; it had hoisted the black flag and declared war upon -civilization. Bribery and corruption were its everyday methods. In -Chicago the city government was simply one of its branch offices; it -stole billions of gallons of city water openly, it dictated to the -courts the sentences of disorderly strikers, it forbade the mayor to -enforce the building laws against it. In the national capital it had -power to prevent inspection of its product, and to falsify government -reports; it violated the rebate laws, and when an investigation was -threatened it burned its books and sent its criminal agents out of the -country. In the commercial world it was a Juggernaut car; it wiped out -thousands of businesses every year, it drove men to madness and -suicide. It had forced the price of cattle so low as to destroy the -stock-raising industry, an occupation upon which whole states existed; -it had ruined thousands of butchers who had refused to handle its -products. It divided the country into districts, and fixed the price of -meat in all of them; and it owned all the refrigerator cars, and levied -an enormous tribute upon all poultry and eggs and fruit and vegetables. -With the millions of dollars a week that poured in upon it, it was -reaching out for the control of other interests, railroads and trolley -lines, gas and electric light franchises—it already owned the leather -and the grain business of the country. The people were tremendously -stirred up over its encroachments, but nobody had any remedy to -suggest; it was the task of Socialists to teach and organize them, and -prepare them for the time when they were to seize the huge machine -called the Beef Trust, and use it to produce food for human beings and -not to heap up fortunes for a band of pirates. It was long after -midnight when Jurgis lay down upon the floor of Ostrinski’s kitchen; -and yet it was an hour before he could get to sleep, for the glory of -that joyful vision of the people of Packingtown marching in and taking -possession of the Union Stockyards! - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -Jurgis had breakfast with Ostrinski and his family, and then he went -home to Elzbieta. He was no longer shy about it—when he went in, -instead of saying all the things he had been planning to say, he -started to tell Elzbieta about the revolution! At first she thought he -was out of his mind, and it was hours before she could really feel -certain that he was himself. When, however, she had satisfied herself -that he was sane upon all subjects except politics, she troubled -herself no further about it. Jurgis was destined to find that -Elzbieta’s armor was absolutely impervious to Socialism. Her soul had -been baked hard in the fire of adversity, and there was no altering it -now; life to her was the hunt for daily bread, and ideas existed for -her only as they bore upon that. All that interested her in regard to -this new frenzy which had seized hold of her son-in-law was whether or -not it had a tendency to make him sober and industrious; and when she -found he intended to look for work and to contribute his share to the -family fund, she gave him full rein to convince her of anything. A -wonderfully wise little woman was Elzbieta; she could think as quickly -as a hunted rabbit, and in half an hour she had chosen her -life-attitude to the Socialist movement. She agreed in everything with -Jurgis, except the need of his paying his dues; and she would even go -to a meeting with him now and then, and sit and plan her next day’s -dinner amid the storm. - -For a week after he became a convert Jurgis continued to wander about -all day, looking for work; until at last he met with a strange fortune. -He was passing one of Chicago’s innumerable small hotels, and after -some hesitation he concluded to go in. A man he took for the proprietor -was standing in the lobby, and he went up to him and tackled him for a -job. - -“What can you do?” the man asked. - -“Anything, sir,” said Jurgis, and added quickly: “I’ve been out of work -for a long time, sir. I’m an honest man, and I’m strong and willing—” - -The other was eying him narrowly. “Do you drink?” he asked. - -“No, sir,” said Jurgis. - -“Well, I’ve been employing a man as a porter, and he drinks. I’ve -discharged him seven times now, and I’ve about made up my mind that’s -enough. Would you be a porter?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“It’s hard work. You’ll have to clean floors and wash spittoons and -fill lamps and handle trunks—” - -“I’m willing, sir.” - -“All right. I’ll pay you thirty a month and board, and you can begin -now, if you feel like it. You can put on the other fellow’s rig.” - -And so Jurgis fell to work, and toiled like a Trojan till night. Then -he went and told Elzbieta, and also, late as it was, he paid a visit to -Ostrinski to let him know of his good fortune. Here he received a great -surprise, for when he was describing the location of the hotel -Ostrinski interrupted suddenly, “Not Hinds’s!” - -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s the name.” - -To which the other replied, “Then you’ve got the best boss in -Chicago—he’s a state organizer of our party, and one of our best-known -speakers!” - -So the next morning Jurgis went to his employer and told him; and the -man seized him by the hand and shook it. “By Jove!” he cried, “that -lets me out. I didn’t sleep all last night because I had discharged a -good Socialist!” - -So, after that, Jurgis was known to his “boss” as “Comrade Jurgis,” and -in return he was expected to call him “Comrade Hinds.” “Tommy” Hinds, -as he was known to his intimates, was a squat little man, with broad -shoulders and a florid face, decorated with gray side whiskers. He was -the kindest-hearted man that ever lived, and the -liveliest—inexhaustible in his enthusiasm, and talking Socialism all -day and all night. He was a great fellow to jolly along a crowd, and -would keep a meeting in an uproar; when once he got really waked up, -the torrent of his eloquence could be compared with nothing save -Niagara. - -Tommy Hinds had begun life as a blacksmith’s helper, and had run away -to join the Union army, where he had made his first acquaintance with -“graft,” in the shape of rotten muskets and shoddy blankets. To a -musket that broke in a crisis he always attributed the death of his -only brother, and upon worthless blankets he blamed all the agonies of -his own old age. Whenever it rained, the rheumatism would get into his -joints, and then he would screw up his face and mutter: “Capitalism, my -boy, capitalism! ‘_Écrasez l’Infâme!_’” He had one unfailing remedy for -all the evils of this world, and he preached it to every one; no matter -whether the person’s trouble was failure in business, or dyspepsia, or -a quarrelsome mother-in-law, a twinkle would come into his eyes and he -would say, “You know what to do about it—vote the Socialist ticket!” - -Tommy Hinds had set out upon the trail of the Octopus as soon as the -war was over. He had gone into business, and found himself in -competition with the fortunes of those who had been stealing while he -had been fighting. The city government was in their hands and the -railroads were in league with them, and honest business was driven to -the wall; and so Hinds had put all his savings into Chicago real -estate, and set out singlehanded to dam the river of graft. He had been -a reform member of the city council, he had been a Greenbacker, a Labor -Unionist, a Populist, a Bryanite—and after thirty years of fighting, -the year 1896 had served to convince him that the power of concentrated -wealth could never be controlled, but could only be destroyed. He had -published a pamphlet about it, and set out to organize a party of his -own, when a stray Socialist leaflet had revealed to him that others had -been ahead of him. Now for eight years he had been fighting for the -party, anywhere, everywhere—whether it was a G.A.R. reunion, or a -hotel-keepers’ convention, or an Afro-American business-men’s banquet, -or a Bible society picnic, Tommy Hinds would manage to get himself -invited to explain the relations of Socialism to the subject in hand. -After that he would start off upon a tour of his own, ending at some -place between New York and Oregon; and when he came back from there, he -would go out to organize new locals for the state committee; and -finally he would come home to rest—and talk Socialism in Chicago. -Hinds’s hotel was a very hot-bed of the propaganda; all the employees -were party men, and if they were not when they came, they were quite -certain to be before they went away. The proprietor would get into a -discussion with some one in the lobby, and as the conversation grew -animated, others would gather about to listen, until finally every one -in the place would be crowded into a group, and a regular debate would -be under way. This went on every night—when Tommy Hinds was not there -to do it, his clerk did it; and when his clerk was away campaigning, -the assistant attended to it, while Mrs. Hinds sat behind the desk and -did the work. The clerk was an old crony of the proprietor’s, an -awkward, rawboned giant of a man, with a lean, sallow face, a broad -mouth, and whiskers under his chin, the very type and body of a prairie -farmer. He had been that all his life—he had fought the railroads in -Kansas for fifty years, a Granger, a Farmers’ Alliance man, a -“middle-of-the-road” Populist. Finally, Tommy Hinds had revealed to him -the wonderful idea of using the trusts instead of destroying them, and -he had sold his farm and come to Chicago. - -That was Amos Struver; and then there was Harry Adams, the assistant -clerk, a pale, scholarly-looking man, who came from Massachusetts, of -Pilgrim stock. Adams had been a cotton operative in Fall River, and the -continued depression in the industry had worn him and his family out, -and he had emigrated to South Carolina. In Massachusetts the percentage -of white illiteracy is eight-tenths of one per cent, while in South -Carolina it is thirteen and six-tenths per cent; also in South Carolina -there is a property qualification for voters—and for these and other -reasons child labor is the rule, and so the cotton mills were driving -those of Massachusetts out of the business. Adams did not know this, he -only knew that the Southern mills were running; but when he got there -he found that if he was to live, all his family would have to work, and -from six o’clock at night to six o’clock in the morning. So he had set -to work to organize the mill hands, after the fashion in Massachusetts, -and had been discharged; but he had gotten other work, and stuck at it, -and at last there had been a strike for shorter hours, and Harry Adams -had attempted to address a street meeting, which was the end of him. In -the states of the far South the labor of convicts is leased to -contractors, and when there are not convicts enough they have to be -supplied. Harry Adams was sent up by a judge who was a cousin of the -mill owner with whose business he had interfered; and though the life -had nearly killed him, he had been wise enough not to murmur, and at -the end of his term he and his family had left the state of South -Carolina—hell’s back yard, as he called it. He had no money for -carfare, but it was harvest-time, and they walked one day and worked -the next; and so Adams got at last to Chicago, and joined the Socialist -party. He was a studious man, reserved, and nothing of an orator; but -he always had a pile of books under his desk in the hotel, and articles -from his pen were beginning to attract attention in the party press. - -Contrary to what one would have expected, all this radicalism did not -hurt the hotel business; the radicals flocked to it, and the commercial -travelers all found it diverting. Of late, also, the hotel had become a -favorite stopping place for Western cattlemen. Now that the Beef Trust -had adopted the trick of raising prices to induce enormous shipments of -cattle, and then dropping them again and scooping in all they needed, a -stock raiser was very apt to find himself in Chicago without money -enough to pay his freight bill; and so he had to go to a cheap hotel, -and it was no drawback to him if there was an agitator talking in the -lobby. These Western fellows were just “meat” for Tommy Hinds—he would -get a dozen of them around him and paint little pictures of “the -System.” Of course, it was not a week before he had heard Jurgis’s -story, and after that he would not have let his new porter go for the -world. “See here,” he would say, in the middle of an argument, “I’ve -got a fellow right here in my place who’s worked there and seen every -bit of it!” And then Jurgis would drop his work, whatever it was, and -come, and the other would say, “Comrade Jurgis, just tell these -gentlemen what you saw on the killing-beds.” At first this request -caused poor Jurgis the most acute agony, and it was like pulling teeth -to get him to talk; but gradually he found out what was wanted, and in -the end he learned to stand up and speak his piece with enthusiasm. His -employer would sit by and encourage him with exclamations and shakes of -the head; when Jurgis would give the formula for “potted ham,” or tell -about the condemned hogs that were dropped into the “destructors” at -the top and immediately taken out again at the bottom, to be shipped -into another state and made into lard, Tommy Hinds would bang his knee -and cry, “Do you think a man could make up a thing like that out of his -head?” - -And then the hotel-keeper would go on to show how the Socialists had -the only real remedy for such evils, how they alone “meant business” -with the Beef Trust. And when, in answer to this, the victim would say -that the whole country was getting stirred up, that the newspapers were -full of denunciations of it, and the government taking action against -it, Tommy Hinds had a knock-out blow all ready. “Yes,” he would say, -“all that is true—but what do you suppose is the reason for it? Are you -foolish enough to believe that it’s done for the public? There are -other trusts in the country just as illegal and extortionate as the -Beef Trust: there is the Coal Trust, that freezes the poor in -winter—there is the Steel Trust, that doubles the price of every nail -in your shoes—there is the Oil Trust, that keeps you from reading at -night—and why do you suppose it is that all the fury of the press and -the government is directed against the Beef Trust?” And when to this -the victim would reply that there was clamor enough over the Oil Trust, -the other would continue: “Ten years ago Henry D. Lloyd told all the -truth about the Standard Oil Company in his Wealth versus Commonwealth; -and the book was allowed to die, and you hardly ever hear of it. And -now, at last, two magazines have the courage to tackle ‘Standard Oil’ -again, and what happens? The newspapers ridicule the authors, the -churches defend the criminals, and the government—does nothing. And -now, why is it all so different with the Beef Trust?” - -Here the other would generally admit that he was “stuck”; and Tommy -Hinds would explain to him, and it was fun to see his eyes open. “If -you were a Socialist,” the hotel-keeper would say, “you would -understand that the power which really governs the United States today -is the Railroad Trust. It is the Railroad Trust that runs your state -government, wherever you live, and that runs the United States Senate. -And all of the trusts that I have named are railroad trusts—save only -the Beef Trust! The Beef Trust has defied the railroads—it is -plundering them day by day through the Private Car; and so the public -is roused to fury, and the papers clamor for action, and the government -goes on the war-path! And you poor common people watch and applaud the -job, and think it’s all done for you, and never dream that it is really -the grand climax of the century-long battle of commercial -competition—the final death grapple between the chiefs of the Beef -Trust and ‘Standard Oil,’ for the prize of the mastery and ownership of -the United States of America!” - -Such was the new home in which Jurgis lived and worked, and in which -his education was completed. Perhaps you would imagine that he did not -do much work there, but that would be a great mistake. He would have -cut off one hand for Tommy Hinds; and to keep Hinds’s hotel a thing of -beauty was his joy in life. That he had a score of Socialist arguments -chasing through his brain in the meantime did not interfere with this; -on the contrary, Jurgis scrubbed the spittoons and polished the -banisters all the more vehemently because at the same time he was -wrestling inwardly with an imaginary recalcitrant. It would be pleasant -to record that he swore off drinking immediately, and all the rest of -his bad habits with it; but that would hardly be exact. These -revolutionists were not angels; they were men, and men who had come up -from the social pit, and with the mire of it smeared over them. Some of -them drank, and some of them swore, and some of them ate pie with their -knives; there was only one difference between them and all the rest of -the populace—that they were men with a hope, with a cause to fight for -and suffer for. There came times to Jurgis when the vision seemed -far-off and pale, and a glass of beer loomed large in comparison; but -if the glass led to another glass, and to too many glasses, he had -something to spur him to remorse and resolution on the morrow. It was -so evidently a wicked thing to spend one’s pennies for drink, when the -working class was wandering in darkness, and waiting to be delivered; -the price of a glass of beer would buy fifty copies of a leaflet, and -one could hand these out to the unregenerate, and then get drunk upon -the thought of the good that was being accomplished. That was the way -the movement had been made, and it was the only way it would progress; -it availed nothing to know of it, without fighting for it—it was a -thing for all, not for a few! A corollary of this proposition of course -was, that any one who refused to receive the new gospel was personally -responsible for keeping Jurgis from his heart’s desire; and this, alas, -made him uncomfortable as an acquaintance. He met some neighbors with -whom Elzbieta had made friends in her neighborhood, and he set out to -make Socialists of them by wholesale, and several times he all but got -into a fight. - -It was all so painfully obvious to Jurgis! It was so incomprehensible -how a man could fail to see it! Here were all the opportunities of the -country, the land, and the buildings upon the land, the railroads, the -mines, the factories, and the stores, all in the hands of a few private -individuals, called capitalists, for whom the people were obliged to -work for wages. The whole balance of what the people produced went to -heap up the fortunes of these capitalists, to heap, and heap again, and -yet again—and that in spite of the fact that they, and every one about -them, lived in unthinkable luxury! And was it not plain that if the -people cut off the share of those who merely “owned,” the share of -those who worked would be much greater? That was as plain as two and -two makes four; and it was the whole of it, absolutely the whole of it; -and yet there were people who could not see it, who would argue about -everything else in the world. They would tell you that governments -could not manage things as economically as private individuals; they -would repeat and repeat that, and think they were saying something! -They could not see that “economical” management by masters meant simply -that they, the people, were worked harder and ground closer and paid -less! They were wage-earners and servants, at the mercy of exploiters -whose one thought was to get as much out of them as possible; and they -were taking an interest in the process, were anxious lest it should not -be done thoroughly enough! Was it not honestly a trial to listen to an -argument such as that? - -And yet there were things even worse. You would begin talking to some -poor devil who had worked in one shop for the last thirty years, and -had never been able to save a penny; who left home every morning at six -o’clock, to go and tend a machine, and come back at night too tired to -take his clothes off; who had never had a week’s vacation in his life, -had never traveled, never had an adventure, never learned anything, -never hoped anything—and when you started to tell him about Socialism -he would sniff and say, “I’m not interested in that—I’m an -individualist!” And then he would go on to tell you that Socialism was -“paternalism,” and that if it ever had its way the world would stop -progressing. It was enough to make a mule laugh, to hear arguments like -that; and yet it was no laughing matter, as you found out—for how many -millions of such poor deluded wretches there were, whose lives had been -so stunted by capitalism that they no longer knew what freedom was! And -they really thought that it was “individualism” for tens of thousands -of them to herd together and obey the orders of a steel magnate, and -produce hundreds of millions of dollars of wealth for him, and then let -him give them libraries; while for them to take the industry, and run -it to suit themselves, and build their own libraries—that would have -been “Paternalism”! - -Sometimes the agony of such things as this was almost more than Jurgis -could bear; yet there was no way of escape from it, there was nothing -to do but to dig away at the base of this mountain of ignorance and -prejudice. You must keep at the poor fellow; you must hold your temper, -and argue with him, and watch for your chance to stick an idea or two -into his head. And the rest of the time you must sharpen up your -weapons—you must think out new replies to his objections, and provide -yourself with new facts to prove to him the folly of his ways. - -So Jurgis acquired the reading habit. He would carry in his pocket a -tract or a pamphlet which some one had loaned him, and whenever he had -an idle moment during the day he would plod through a paragraph, and -then think about it while he worked. Also he read the newspapers, and -asked questions about them. One of the other porters at Hinds’s was a -sharp little Irishman, who knew everything that Jurgis wanted to know; -and while they were busy he would explain to him the geography of -America, and its history, its constitution and its laws; also he gave -him an idea of the business system of the country, the great railroads -and corporations, and who owned them, and the labor unions, and the big -strikes, and the men who had led them. Then at night, when he could get -off, Jurgis would attend the Socialist meetings. During the campaign -one was not dependent upon the street corner affairs, where the weather -and the quality of the orator were equally uncertain; there were hall -meetings every night, and one could hear speakers of national -prominence. These discussed the political situation from every point of -view, and all that troubled Jurgis was the impossibility of carrying -off but a small part of the treasures they offered him. - -There was a man who was known in the party as the “Little Giant.” The -Lord had used up so much material in the making of his head that there -had not been enough to complete his legs; but he got about on the -platform, and when he shook his raven whiskers the pillars of -capitalism rocked. He had written a veritable encyclopedia upon the -subject, a book that was nearly as big as himself—And then there was a -young author, who came from California, and had been a salmon fisher, -an oyster-pirate, a longshoreman, a sailor; who had tramped the country -and been sent to jail, had lived in the Whitechapel slums, and been to -the Klondike in search of gold. All these things he pictured in his -books, and because he was a man of genius he forced the world to hear -him. Now he was famous, but wherever he went he still preached the -gospel of the poor. And then there was one who was known at the -“millionaire Socialist.” He had made a fortune in business, and spent -nearly all of it in building up a magazine, which the post office -department had tried to suppress, and had driven to Canada. He was a -quiet-mannered man, whom you would have taken for anything in the world -but a Socialist agitator. His speech was simple and informal—he could -not understand why any one should get excited about these things. It -was a process of economic evolution, he said, and he exhibited its laws -and methods. Life was a struggle for existence, and the strong overcame -the weak, and in turn were overcome by the strongest. Those who lost in -the struggle were generally exterminated; but now and then they had -been known to save themselves by combination—which was a new and higher -kind of strength. It was so that the gregarious animals had overcome -the predaceous; it was so, in human history, that the people had -mastered the kings. The workers were simply the citizens of industry, -and the Socialist movement was the expression of their will to survive. -The inevitability of the revolution depended upon this fact, that they -had no choice but to unite or be exterminated; this fact, grim and -inexorable, depended upon no human will, it was the law of the economic -process, of which the editor showed the details with the most marvelous -precision. - -And later on came the evening of the great meeting of the campaign, -when Jurgis heard the two standard-bearers of his party. Ten years -before there had been in Chicago a strike of a hundred and fifty -thousand railroad employees, and thugs had been hired by the railroads -to commit violence, and the President of the United States had sent in -troops to break the strike, by flinging the officers of the union into -jail without trial. The president of the union came out of his cell a -ruined man; but also he came out a Socialist; and now for just ten -years he had been traveling up and down the country, standing face to -face with the people, and pleading with them for justice. He was a man -of electric presence, tall and gaunt, with a face worn thin by struggle -and suffering. The fury of outraged manhood gleamed in it—and the tears -of suffering little children pleaded in his voice. When he spoke he -paced the stage, lithe and eager, like a panther. He leaned over, -reaching out for his audience; he pointed into their souls with an -insistent finger. His voice was husky from much speaking, but the great -auditorium was as still as death, and every one heard him. - -And then, as Jurgis came out from this meeting, some one handed him a -paper which he carried home with him and read; and so he became -acquainted with the “Appeal to Reason.” About twelve years previously a -Colorado real-estate speculator had made up his mind that it was wrong -to gamble in the necessities of life of human beings: and so he had -retired and begun the publication of a Socialist weekly. There had come -a time when he had to set his own type, but he had held on and won out, -and now his publication was an institution. It used a carload of paper -every week, and the mail trains would be hours loading up at the depot -of the little Kansas town. It was a four-page weekly, which sold for -less than half a cent a copy; its regular subscription list was a -quarter of a million, and it went to every crossroads post office in -America. - -The “Appeal” was a “propaganda” paper. It had a manner all its own—it -was full of ginger and spice, of Western slang and hustle: It collected -news of the doings of the “plutes,” and served it up for the benefit of -the “American working-mule.” It would have columns of the deadly -parallel—the million dollars’ worth of diamonds, or the fancy -pet-poodle establishment of a society dame, beside the fate of Mrs. -Murphy of San Francisco, who had starved to death on the streets, or of -John Robinson, just out of the hospital, who had hanged himself in New -York because he could not find work. It collected the stories of graft -and misery from the daily press, and made a little pungent paragraphs -out of them. “Three banks of Bungtown, South Dakota, failed, and more -savings of the workers swallowed up!” “The mayor of Sandy Creek, -Oklahoma, has skipped with a hundred thousand dollars. That’s the kind -of rulers the old partyites give you!” “The president of the Florida -Flying Machine Company is in jail for bigamy. He was a prominent -opponent of Socialism, which he said would break up the home!” The -“Appeal” had what it called its “Army,” about thirty thousand of the -faithful, who did things for it; and it was always exhorting the “Army” -to keep its dander up, and occasionally encouraging it with a prize -competition, for anything from a gold watch to a private yacht or an -eighty-acre farm. Its office helpers were all known to the “Army” by -quaint titles—“Inky Ike,” “the Bald-headed Man,” “the Redheaded Girl,” -“the Bulldog,” “the Office Goat,” and “the One Hoss.” - -But sometimes, again, the “Appeal” would be desperately serious. It -sent a correspondent to Colorado, and printed pages describing the -overthrow of American institutions in that state. In a certain city of -the country it had over forty of its “Army” in the headquarters of the -Telegraph Trust, and no message of importance to Socialists ever went -through that a copy of it did not go to the “Appeal.” It would print -great broadsides during the campaign; one copy that came to Jurgis was -a manifesto addressed to striking workingmen, of which nearly a million -copies had been distributed in the industrial centers, wherever the -employers’ associations had been carrying out their “open shop” -program. “You have lost the strike!” it was headed. “And now what are -you going to do about it?” It was what is called an “incendiary” -appeal—it was written by a man into whose soul the iron had entered. -When this edition appeared, twenty thousand copies were sent to the -stockyards district; and they were taken out and stowed away in the -rear of a little cigar store, and every evening, and on Sundays, the -members of the Packingtown locals would get armfuls and distribute them -on the streets and in the houses. The people of Packingtown had lost -their strike, if ever a people had, and so they read these papers -gladly, and twenty thousand were hardly enough to go round. Jurgis had -resolved not to go near his old home again, but when he heard of this -it was too much for him, and every night for a week he would get on the -car and ride out to the stockyards, and help to undo his work of the -previous year, when he had sent Mike Scully’s ten-pin setter to the -city Board of Aldermen. - -It was quite marvelous to see what a difference twelve months had made -in Packingtown—the eyes of the people were getting opened! The -Socialists were literally sweeping everything before them that -election, and Scully and the Cook County machine were at their wits’ -end for an “issue.” At the very close of the campaign they bethought -themselves of the fact that the strike had been broken by Negroes, and -so they sent for a South Carolina fire-eater, the “pitchfork senator,” -as he was called, a man who took off his coat when he talked to -workingmen, and damned and swore like a Hessian. This meeting they -advertised extensively, and the Socialists advertised it too—with the -result that about a thousand of them were on hand that evening. The -“pitchfork senator” stood their fusillade of questions for about an -hour, and then went home in disgust, and the balance of the meeting was -a strictly party affair. Jurgis, who had insisted upon coming, had the -time of his life that night; he danced about and waved his arms in his -excitement—and at the very climax he broke loose from his friends, and -got out into the aisle, and proceeded to make a speech himself! The -senator had been denying that the Democratic party was corrupt; it was -always the Republicans who bought the votes, he said—and here was -Jurgis shouting furiously, “It’s a lie! It’s a lie!” After which he -went on to tell them how he knew it—that he knew it because he had -bought them himself! And he would have told the “pitchfork senator” all -his experiences, had not Harry Adams and a friend grabbed him about the -neck and shoved him into a seat. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -One of the first things that Jurgis had done after he got a job was to -go and see Marija. She came down into the basement of the house to meet -him, and he stood by the door with his hat in his hand, saying, “I’ve -got work now, and so you can leave here.” - -But Marija only shook her head. There was nothing else for her to do, -she said, and nobody to employ her. She could not keep her past a -secret—girls had tried it, and they were always found out. There were -thousands of men who came to this place, and sooner or later she would -meet one of them. “And besides,” Marija added, “I can’t do anything. -I’m no good—I take dope. What could you do with me?” - -“Can’t you stop?” Jurgis cried. - -“No,” she answered, “I’ll never stop. What’s the use of talking about -it—I’ll stay here till I die, I guess. It’s all I’m fit for.” And that -was all that he could get her to say—there was no use trying. When he -told her he would not let Elzbieta take her money, she answered -indifferently: “Then it’ll be wasted here—that’s all.” Her eyelids -looked heavy and her face was red and swollen; he saw that he was -annoying her, that she only wanted him to go away. So he went, -disappointed and sad. - -Poor Jurgis was not very happy in his home-life. Elzbieta was sick a -good deal now, and the boys were wild and unruly, and very much the -worse for their life upon the streets. But he stuck by the family -nevertheless, for they reminded him of his old happiness; and when -things went wrong he could solace himself with a plunge into the -Socialist movement. Since his life had been caught up into the current -of this great stream, things which had before been the whole of life to -him came to seem of relatively slight importance; his interests were -elsewhere, in the world of ideas. His outward life was commonplace and -uninteresting; he was just a hotel-porter, and expected to remain one -while he lived; but meantime, in the realm of thought, his life was a -perpetual adventure. There was so much to know—so many wonders to be -discovered! Never in all his life did Jurgis forget the day before -election, when there came a telephone message from a friend of Harry -Adams, asking him to bring Jurgis to see him that night; and Jurgis -went, and met one of the minds of the movement. - -The invitation was from a man named Fisher, a Chicago millionaire who -had given up his life to settlement work, and had a little home in the -heart of the city’s slums. He did not belong to the party, but he was -in sympathy with it; and he said that he was to have as his guest that -night the editor of a big Eastern magazine, who wrote against -Socialism, but really did not know what it was. The millionaire -suggested that Adams bring Jurgis along, and then start up the subject -of “pure food,” in which the editor was interested. - -Young Fisher’s home was a little two-story brick house, dingy and -weather-beaten outside, but attractive within. The room that Jurgis saw -was half lined with books, and upon the walls were many pictures, dimly -visible in the soft, yellow light; it was a cold, rainy night, so a log -fire was crackling in the open hearth. Seven or eight people were -gathered about it when Adams and his friend arrived, and Jurgis saw to -his dismay that three of them were ladies. He had never talked to -people of this sort before, and he fell into an agony of embarrassment. -He stood in the doorway clutching his hat tightly in his hands, and -made a deep bow to each of the persons as he was introduced; then, when -he was asked to have a seat, he took a chair in a dark corner, and sat -down upon the edge of it, and wiped the perspiration off his forehead -with his sleeve. He was terrified lest they should expect him to talk. - -There was the host himself, a tall, athletic young man, clad in evening -dress, as also was the editor, a dyspeptic-looking gentleman named -Maynard. There was the former’s frail young wife, and also an elderly -lady, who taught kindergarten in the settlement, and a young college -student, a beautiful girl with an intense and earnest face. She only -spoke once or twice while Jurgis was there—the rest of the time she sat -by the table in the center of the room, resting her chin in her hands -and drinking in the conversation. There were two other men, whom young -Fisher had introduced to Jurgis as Mr. Lucas and Mr. Schliemann; he -heard them address Adams as “Comrade,” and so he knew that they were -Socialists. - -The one called Lucas was a mild and meek-looking little gentleman of -clerical aspect; he had been an itinerant evangelist, it transpired, -and had seen the light and become a prophet of the new dispensation. He -traveled all over the country, living like the apostles of old, upon -hospitality, and preaching upon street-corners when there was no hall. -The other man had been in the midst of a discussion with the editor -when Adams and Jurgis came in; and at the suggestion of the host they -resumed it after the interruption. Jurgis was soon sitting spellbound, -thinking that here was surely the strangest man that had ever lived in -the world. - -Nicholas Schliemann was a Swede, a tall, gaunt person, with hairy hands -and bristling yellow beard; he was a university man, and had been a -professor of philosophy—until, as he said, he had found that he was -selling his character as well as his time. Instead he had come to -America, where he lived in a garret room in this slum district, and -made volcanic energy take the place of fire. He studied the composition -of food-stuffs, and knew exactly how many proteids and carbohydrates -his body needed; and by scientific chewing he said that he tripled the -value of all he ate, so that it cost him eleven cents a day. About the -first of July he would leave Chicago for his vacation, on foot; and -when he struck the harvest fields he would set to work for two dollars -and a half a day, and come home when he had another year’s supply—a -hundred and twenty-five dollars. That was the nearest approach to -independence a man could make “under capitalism,” he explained; he -would never marry, for no sane man would allow himself to fall in love -until after the revolution. - -He sat in a big arm-chair, with his legs crossed, and his head so far -in the shadow that one saw only two glowing lights, reflected from the -fire on the hearth. He spoke simply, and utterly without emotion; with -the manner of a teacher setting forth to a group of scholars an axiom -in geometry, he would enunciate such propositions as made the hair of -an ordinary person rise on end. And when the auditor had asserted his -non-comprehension, he would proceed to elucidate by some new -proposition, yet more appalling. To Jurgis the Herr Dr. Schliemann -assumed the proportions of a thunderstorm or an earthquake. And yet, -strange as it might seem, there was a subtle bond between them, and he -could follow the argument nearly all the time. He was carried over the -difficult places in spite of himself; and he went plunging away in mad -career—a very Mazeppa-ride upon the wild horse Speculation. - -Nicholas Schliemann was familiar with all the universe, and with man as -a small part of it. He understood human institutions, and blew them -about like soap bubbles. It was surprising that so much destructiveness -could be contained in one human mind. Was it government? The purpose of -government was the guarding of property-rights, the perpetuation of -ancient force and modern fraud. Or was it marriage? Marriage and -prostitution were two sides of one shield, the predatory man’s -exploitation of the sex-pleasure. The difference between them was a -difference of class. If a woman had money she might dictate her own -terms: equality, a life contract, and the legitimacy—that is, the -property-rights—of her children. If she had no money, she was a -proletarian, and sold herself for an existence. And then the subject -became Religion, which was the Archfiend’s deadliest weapon. Government -oppressed the body of the wage-slave, but Religion oppressed his mind, -and poisoned the stream of progress at its source. The working-man was -to fix his hopes upon a future life, while his pockets were picked in -this one; he was brought up to frugality, humility, obedience—in short -to all the pseudo-virtues of capitalism. The destiny of civilization -would be decided in one final death struggle between the Red -International and the Black, between Socialism and the Roman Catholic -Church; while here at home, “the stygian midnight of American -evangelicalism—” - -And here the ex-preacher entered the field, and there was a lively -tussle. “Comrade” Lucas was not what is called an educated man; he knew -only the Bible, but it was the Bible interpreted by real experience. -And what was the use, he asked, of confusing Religion with men’s -perversions of it? That the church was in the hands of the merchants at -the moment was obvious enough; but already there were signs of -rebellion, and if Comrade Schliemann could come back a few years from -now— - -“Ah, yes,” said the other, “of course, I have no doubt that in a -hundred years the Vatican will be denying that it ever opposed -Socialism, just as at present it denies that it ever tortured Galileo.” - -“I am not defending the Vatican,” exclaimed Lucas, vehemently. “I am -defending the word of God—which is one long cry of the human spirit for -deliverance from the sway of oppression. Take the twenty-fourth chapter -of the Book of Job, which I am accustomed to quote in my addresses as -‘the Bible upon the Beef Trust’; or take the words of Isaiah—or of the -Master himself! Not the elegant prince of our debauched and vicious -art, not the jeweled idol of our society churches—but the Jesus of the -awful reality, the man of sorrow and pain, the outcast, despised of the -world, who had nowhere to lay his head—” - -“I will grant you Jesus,” interrupted the other. - -“Well, then,” cried Lucas, “and why should Jesus have nothing to do -with his church—why should his words and his life be of no authority -among those who profess to adore him? Here is a man who was the world’s -first revolutionist, the true founder of the Socialist movement; a man -whose whole being was one flame of hatred for wealth, and all that -wealth stands for,—for the pride of wealth, and the luxury of wealth, -and the tyranny of wealth; who was himself a beggar and a tramp, a man -of the people, an associate of saloon-keepers and women of the town; -who again and again, in the most explicit language, denounced wealth -and the holding of wealth: ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures on -earth!’—‘Sell that ye have and give alms!’—‘Blessed are ye poor, for -yours is the kingdom of Heaven!’—‘Woe unto you that are rich, for ye -have received your consolation!’—‘Verily, I say unto you, that a rich -man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of Heaven!’ Who denounced in -unmeasured terms the exploiters of his own time: ‘Woe unto you, scribes -and pharisees, hypocrites!’—‘Woe unto you also, you lawyers!’—‘Ye -serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of -hell?’ Who drove out the business men and brokers from the temple with -a whip! Who was crucified—think of it—for an incendiary and a disturber -of the social order! And this man they have made into the high priest -of property and smug respectability, a divine sanction of all the -horrors and abominations of modern commercial civilization! Jeweled -images are made of him, sensual priests burn incense to him, and modern -pirates of industry bring their dollars, wrung from the toil of -helpless women and children, and build temples to him, and sit in -cushioned seats and listen to his teachings expounded by doctors of -dusty divinity—” - -“Bravo!” cried Schliemann, laughing. But the other was in full -career—he had talked this subject every day for five years, and had -never yet let himself be stopped. “This Jesus of Nazareth!” he cried. -“This class-conscious working-man! This union carpenter! This agitator, -law-breaker, firebrand, anarchist! He, the sovereign lord and master of -a world which grinds the bodies and souls of human beings into -dollars—if he could come into the world this day and see the things -that men have made in his name, would it not blast his soul with -horror? Would he not go mad at the sight of it, he the Prince of Mercy -and Love! That dreadful night when he lay in the Garden of Gethsemane -and writhed in agony until he sweat blood—do you think that he saw -anything worse than he might see tonight upon the plains of Manchuria, -where men march out with a jeweled image of him before them, to do -wholesale murder for the benefit of foul monsters of sensuality and -cruelty? Do you not know that if he were in St. Petersburg now, he -would take the whip with which he drove out the bankers from his -temple—” - -Here the speaker paused an instant for breath. “No, comrade,” said the -other, dryly, “for he was a practical man. He would take pretty little -imitation lemons, such as are now being shipped into Russia, handy for -carrying in the pockets, and strong enough to blow a whole temple out -of sight.” - -Lucas waited until the company had stopped laughing over this; then he -began again: “But look at it from the point of view of practical -politics, comrade. Here is an historical figure whom all men reverence -and love, whom some regard as divine; and who was one of us—who lived -our life, and taught our doctrine. And now shall we leave him in the -hands of his enemies—shall we allow them to stifle and stultify his -example? We have his words, which no one can deny; and shall we not -quote them to the people, and prove to them what he was, and what he -taught, and what he did? No, no, a thousand times no!—we shall use his -authority to turn out the knaves and sluggards from his ministry, and -we shall yet rouse the people to action!—” - -Lucas halted again; and the other stretched out his hand to a paper on -the table. “Here, comrade,” he said, with a laugh, “here is a place for -you to begin. A bishop whose wife has just been robbed of fifty -thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds! And a most unctuous and oily of -bishops! An eminent and scholarly bishop! A philanthropist and friend -of labor bishop—a Civic Federation decoy duck for the chloroforming of -the wage-working-man!” - -To this little passage of arms the rest of the company sat as -spectators. But now Mr. Maynard, the editor, took occasion to remark, -somewhat naïvely, that he had always understood that Socialists had a -cut-and-dried program for the future of civilization; whereas here were -two active members of the party, who, from what he could make out, were -agreed about nothing at all. Would the two, for his enlightenment, try -to ascertain just what they had in common, and why they belonged to the -same party? This resulted, after much debating, in the formulating of -two carefully worded propositions: First, that a Socialist believes in -the common ownership and democratic management of the means of -producing the necessities of life; and, second, that a Socialist -believes that the means by which this is to be brought about is the -class conscious political organization of the wage-earners. Thus far -they were at one; but no farther. To Lucas, the religious zealot, the -co-operative commonwealth was the New Jerusalem, the kingdom of Heaven, -which is “within you.” To the other, Socialism was simply a necessary -step toward a far-distant goal, a step to be tolerated with impatience. -Schliemann called himself a “philosophic anarchist”; and he explained -that an anarchist was one who believed that the end of human existence -was the free development of every personality, unrestricted by laws -save those of its own being. Since the same kind of match would light -every one’s fire and the same-shaped loaf of bread would fill every -one’s stomach, it would be perfectly feasible to submit industry to the -control of a majority vote. There was only one earth, and the quantity -of material things was limited. Of intellectual and moral things, on -the other hand, there was no limit, and one could have more without -another’s having less; hence “Communism in material production, -anarchism in intellectual,” was the formula of modern proletarian -thought. As soon as the birth agony was over, and the wounds of society -had been healed, there would be established a simple system whereby -each man was credited with his labor and debited with his purchases; -and after that the processes of production, exchange, and consumption -would go on automatically, and without our being conscious of them, any -more than a man is conscious of the beating of his heart. And then, -explained Schliemann, society would break up into independent, -self-governing communities of mutually congenial persons; examples of -which at present were clubs, churches, and political parties. After the -revolution, all the intellectual, artistic, and spiritual activities of -men would be cared for by such “free associations”; romantic novelists -would be supported by those who liked to read romantic novels, and -impressionist painters would be supported by those who liked to look at -impressionist pictures—and the same with preachers and scientists, -editors and actors and musicians. If any one wanted to work or paint or -pray, and could find no one to maintain him, he could support himself -by working part of the time. That was the case at present, the only -difference being that the competitive wage system compelled a man to -work all the time to live, while, after the abolition of privilege and -exploitation, any one would be able to support himself by an hour’s -work a day. Also the artist’s audience of the present was a small -minority of people, all debased and vulgarized by the effort it had -cost them to win in the commercial battle, of the intellectual and -artistic activities which would result when the whole of mankind was -set free from the nightmare of competition, we could at present form no -conception whatever. - -And then the editor wanted to know upon what ground Dr. Schliemann -asserted that it might be possible for a society to exist upon an -hour’s toil by each of its members. “Just what,” answered the other, -“would be the productive capacity of society if the present resources -of science were utilized, we have no means of ascertaining; but we may -be sure it would exceed anything that would sound reasonable to minds -inured to the ferocious barbarities of capitalism. After the triumph of -the international proletariat, war would of course be inconceivable; -and who can figure the cost of war to humanity—not merely the value of -the lives and the material that it destroys, not merely the cost of -keeping millions of men in idleness, of arming and equipping them for -battle and parade, but the drain upon the vital energies of society by -the war attitude and the war terror, the brutality and ignorance, the -drunkenness, prostitution, and crime it entails, the industrial -impotence and the moral deadness? Do you think that it would be too -much to say that two hours of the working time of every efficient -member of a community goes to feed the red fiend of war?” - -And then Schliemann went on to outline some of the wastes of -competition: the losses of industrial warfare; the ceaseless worry and -friction; the vices—such as drink, for instance, the use of which had -nearly doubled in twenty years, as a consequence of the intensification -of the economic struggle; the idle and unproductive members of the -community, the frivolous rich and the pauperized poor; the law and the -whole machinery of repression; the wastes of social ostentation, the -milliners and tailors, the hairdressers, dancing masters, chefs and -lackeys. “You understand,” he said, “that in a society dominated by the -fact of commercial competition, money is necessarily the test of -prowess, and wastefulness the sole criterion of power. So we have, at -the present moment, a society with, say, thirty per cent of the -population occupied in producing useless articles, and one per cent -occupied in destroying them. And this is not all; for the servants and -panders of the parasites are also parasites, the milliners and the -jewelers and the lackeys have also to be supported by the useful -members of the community. And bear in mind also that this monstrous -disease affects not merely the idlers and their menials, its poison -penetrates the whole social body. Beneath the hundred thousand women of -the elite are a million middle-class women, miserable because they are -not of the elite, and trying to appear of it in public; and beneath -them, in turn, are five million farmers’ wives reading ‘fashion papers’ -and trimming bonnets, and shop-girls and serving-maids selling -themselves into brothels for cheap jewelry and imitation seal-skin -robes. And then consider that, added to this competition in display, -you have, like oil on the flames, a whole system of competition in -selling! You have manufacturers contriving tens of thousands of -catchpenny devices, storekeepers displaying them, and newspapers and -magazines filled up with advertisements of them!” - -“And don’t forget the wastes of fraud,” put in young Fisher. - -“When one comes to the ultra-modern profession of advertising,” -responded Schliemann—“the science of persuading people to buy what they -do not want—he is in the very center of the ghastly charnel house of -capitalist destructiveness, and he scarcely knows which of a dozen -horrors to point out first. But consider the waste in time and energy -incidental to making ten thousand varieties of a thing for purposes of -ostentation and snobbishness, where one variety would do for use! -Consider all the waste incidental to the manufacture of cheap qualities -of goods, of goods made to sell and deceive the ignorant; consider the -wastes of adulteration,—the shoddy clothing, the cotton blankets, the -unstable tenements, the ground-cork life-preservers, the adulterated -milk, the aniline soda water, the potato-flour sausages—” - -“And consider the moral aspects of the thing,” put in the ex-preacher. - -“Precisely,” said Schliemann; “the low knavery and the ferocious -cruelty incidental to them, the plotting and the lying and the bribing, -the blustering and bragging, the screaming egotism, the hurrying and -worrying. Of course, imitation and adulteration are the essence of -competition—they are but another form of the phrase ‘to buy in the -cheapest market and sell in the dearest.’ A government official has -stated that the nation suffers a loss of a billion and a quarter -dollars a year through adulterated foods; which means, of course, not -only materials wasted that might have been useful outside of the human -stomach, but doctors and nurses for people who would otherwise have -been well, and undertakers for the whole human race ten or twenty years -before the proper time. Then again, consider the waste of time and -energy required to sell these things in a dozen stores, where one would -do. There are a million or two of business firms in the country, and -five or ten times as many clerks; and consider the handling and -rehandling, the accounting and reaccounting, the planning and worrying, -the balancing of petty profit and loss. Consider the whole machinery of -the civil law made necessary by these processes; the libraries of -ponderous tomes, the courts and juries to interpret them, the lawyers -studying to circumvent them, the pettifogging and chicanery, the -hatreds and lies! Consider the wastes incidental to the blind and -haphazard production of commodities—the factories closed, the workers -idle, the goods spoiling in storage; consider the activities of the -stock manipulator, the paralyzing of whole industries, the -overstimulation of others, for speculative purposes; the assignments -and bank failures, the crises and panics, the deserted towns and the -starving populations! Consider the energies wasted in the seeking of -markets, the sterile trades, such as drummer, solicitor, bill-poster, -advertising agent. Consider the wastes incidental to the crowding into -cities, made necessary by competition and by monopoly railroad rates; -consider the slums, the bad air, the disease and the waste of vital -energies; consider the office buildings, the waste of time and material -in the piling of story upon story, and the burrowing underground! Then -take the whole business of insurance, the enormous mass of -administrative and clerical labor it involves, and all utter waste—” - -“I do not follow that,” said the editor. “The Cooperative Commonwealth -is a universal automatic insurance company and savings bank for all its -members. Capital being the property of all, injury to it is shared by -all and made up by all. The bank is the universal government -credit-account, the ledger in which every individual’s earnings and -spendings are balanced. There is also a universal government bulletin, -in which are listed and precisely described everything which the -commonwealth has for sale. As no one makes any profit by the sale, -there is no longer any stimulus to extravagance, and no -misrepresentation; no cheating, no adulteration or imitation, no -bribery or ‘grafting.’” - -“How is the price of an article determined?” - -“The price is the labor it has cost to make and deliver it, and it is -determined by the first principles of arithmetic. The million workers -in the nation’s wheat fields have worked a hundred days each, and the -total product of the labor is a billion bushels, so the value of a -bushel of wheat is the tenth part of a farm labor-day. If we employ an -arbitrary symbol, and pay, say, five dollars a day for farm work, then -the cost of a bushel of wheat is fifty cents.” - -“You say ‘for farm work,’” said Mr. Maynard. “Then labor is not to be -paid alike?” - -“Manifestly not, since some work is easy and some hard, and we should -have millions of rural mail carriers, and no coal miners. Of course the -wages may be left the same, and the hours varied; one or the other will -have to be varied continually, according as a greater or less number of -workers is needed in any particular industry. That is precisely what is -done at present, except that the transfer of the workers is -accomplished blindly and imperfectly, by rumors and advertisements, -instead of instantly and completely, by a universal government -bulletin.” - -“How about those occupations in which time is difficult to calculate? -What is the labor cost of a book?” - -“Obviously it is the labor cost of the paper, printing, and binding of -it—about a fifth of its present cost.” - -“And the author?” - -“I have already said that the state could not control intellectual -production. The state might say that it had taken a year to write the -book, and the author might say it had taken thirty. Goethe said that -every _bon mot_ of his had cost a purse of gold. What I outline here is -a national, or rather international, system for the providing of the -material needs of men. Since a man has intellectual needs also, he will -work longer, earn more, and provide for them to his own taste and in -his own way. I live on the same earth as the majority, I wear the same -kind of shoes and sleep in the same kind of bed; but I do not think the -same kind of thoughts, and I do not wish to pay for such thinkers as -the majority selects. I wish such things to be left to free effort, as -at present. If people want to listen to a certain preacher, they get -together and contribute what they please, and pay for a church and -support the preacher, and then listen to him; I, who do not want to -listen to him, stay away, and it costs me nothing. In the same way -there are magazines about Egyptian coins, and Catholic saints, and -flying machines, and athletic records, and I know nothing about any of -them. On the other hand, if wage slavery were abolished, and I could -earn some spare money without paying tribute to an exploiting -capitalist, then there would be a magazine for the purpose of -interpreting and popularizing the gospel of Friedrich Nietzsche, the -prophet of Evolution, and also of Horace Fletcher, the inventor of the -noble science of clean eating; and incidentally, perhaps, for the -discouraging of long skirts, and the scientific breeding of men and -women, and the establishing of divorce by mutual consent.” - -Dr. Schliemann paused for a moment. “That was a lecture,” he said with -a laugh, “and yet I am only begun!” - -“What else is there?” asked Maynard. - -“I have pointed out some of the negative wastes of competition,” -answered the other. “I have hardly mentioned the positive economies of -co-operation. Allowing five to a family, there are fifteen million -families in this country; and at least ten million of these live -separately, the domestic drudge being either the wife or a wage slave. -Now set aside the modern system of pneumatic house-cleaning, and the -economies of co-operative cooking; and consider one single item, the -washing of dishes. Surely it is moderate to say that the dish-washing -for a family of five takes half an hour a day; with ten hours as a -day’s work, it takes, therefore, half a million able-bodied -persons—mostly women to do the dish-washing of the country. And note -that this is most filthy and deadening and brutalizing work; that it is -a cause of anemia, nervousness, ugliness, and ill-temper; of -prostitution, suicide, and insanity; of drunken husbands and degenerate -children—for all of which things the community has naturally to pay. -And now consider that in each of my little free communities there would -be a machine which would wash and dry the dishes, and do it, not merely -to the eye and the touch, but scientifically—sterilizing them—and do it -at a saving of all the drudgery and nine-tenths of the time! All of -these things you may find in the books of Mrs. Gilman; and then take -Kropotkin’s Fields, Factories, and Workshops, and read about the new -science of agriculture, which has been built up in the last ten years; -by which, with made soils and intensive culture, a gardener can raise -ten or twelve crops in a season, and two hundred tons of vegetables -upon a single acre; by which the population of the whole globe could be -supported on the soil now cultivated in the United States alone! It is -impossible to apply such methods now, owing to the ignorance and -poverty of our scattered farming population; but imagine the problem of -providing the food supply of our nation once taken in hand -systematically and rationally, by scientists! All the poor and rocky -land set apart for a national timber reserve, in which our children -play, and our young men hunt, and our poets dwell! The most favorable -climate and soil for each product selected; the exact requirements of -the community known, and the acreage figured accordingly; the most -improved machinery employed, under the direction of expert agricultural -chemists! I was brought up on a farm, and I know the awful deadliness -of farm work; and I like to picture it all as it will be after the -revolution. To picture the great potato-planting machine, drawn by four -horses, or an electric motor, ploughing the furrow, cutting and -dropping and covering the potatoes, and planting a score of acres a -day! To picture the great potato-digging machine, run by electricity, -perhaps, and moving across a thousand-acre field, scooping up earth and -potatoes, and dropping the latter into sacks! To every other kind of -vegetable and fruit handled in the same way—apples and oranges picked -by machinery, cows milked by electricity—things which are already done, -as you may know. To picture the harvest fields of the future, to which -millions of happy men and women come for a summer holiday, brought by -special trains, the exactly needful number to each place! And to -contrast all this with our present agonizing system of independent -small farming,—a stunted, haggard, ignorant man, mated with a yellow, -lean, and sad-eyed drudge, and toiling from four o’clock in the morning -until nine at night, working the children as soon as they are able to -walk, scratching the soil with its primitive tools, and shut out from -all knowledge and hope, from all their benefits of science and -invention, and all the joys of the spirit—held to a bare existence by -competition in labor, and boasting of his freedom because he is too -blind to see his chains!” - -Dr. Schliemann paused a moment. “And then,” he continued, “place beside -this fact of an unlimited food supply, the newest discovery of -physiologists, that most of the ills of the human system are due to -overfeeding! And then again, it has been proven that meat is -unnecessary as a food; and meat is obviously more difficult to produce -than vegetable food, less pleasant to prepare and handle, and more -likely to be unclean. But what of that, so long as it tickles the -palate more strongly?” - -“How would Socialism change that?” asked the girl-student, quickly. It -was the first time she had spoken. - -“So long as we have wage slavery,” answered Schliemann, “it matters not -in the least how debasing and repulsive a task may be, it is easy to -find people to perform it. But just as soon as labor is set free, then -the price of such work will begin to rise. So one by one the old, -dingy, and unsanitary factories will come down—it will be cheaper to -build new; and so the steamships will be provided with stoking -machinery, and so the dangerous trades will be made safe, or -substitutes will be found for their products. In exactly the same way, -as the citizens of our Industrial Republic become refined, year by year -the cost of slaughterhouse products will increase; until eventually -those who want to eat meat will have to do their own killing—and how -long do you think the custom would survive then?—To go on to another -item—one of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy -is political corruption; and one of the consequences of civic -administration by ignorant and vicious politicians, is that preventable -diseases kill off half our population. And even if science were allowed -to try, it could do little, because the majority of human beings are -not yet human beings at all, but simply machines for the creating of -wealth for others. They are penned up in filthy houses and left to rot -and stew in misery, and the conditions of their life make them ill -faster than all the doctors in the world could heal them; and so, of -course, they remain as centers of contagion, poisoning the lives of all -of us, and making happiness impossible for even the most selfish. For -this reason I would seriously maintain that all the medical and -surgical discoveries that science can make in the future will be of -less importance than the application of the knowledge we already -possess, when the disinherited of the earth have established their -right to a human existence.” - -And here the Herr Doctor relapsed into silence again. Jurgis had -noticed that the beautiful young girl who sat by the center-table was -listening with something of the same look that he himself had worn, the -time when he had first discovered Socialism. Jurgis would have liked to -talk to her, he felt sure that she would have understood him. Later on -in the evening, when the group broke up, he heard Mrs. Fisher say to -her, in a low voice, “I wonder if Mr. Maynard will still write the same -things about Socialism”; to which she answered, “I don’t know—but if he -does we shall know that he is a knave!” - - -And only a few hours after this came election day—when the long -campaign was over, and the whole country seemed to stand still and hold -its breath, awaiting the issue. Jurgis and the rest of the staff of -Hinds’s Hotel could hardly stop to finish their dinner, before they -hurried off to the big hall which the party had hired for that evening. - -But already there were people waiting, and already the telegraph -instrument on the stage had begun clicking off the returns. When the -final accounts were made up, the Socialist vote proved to be over four -hundred thousand—an increase of something like three hundred and fifty -per cent in four years. And that was doing well; but the party was -dependent for its early returns upon messages from the locals, and -naturally those locals which had been most successful were the ones -which felt most like reporting; and so that night every one in the hall -believed that the vote was going to be six, or seven, or even eight -hundred thousand. Just such an incredible increase had actually been -made in Chicago, and in the state; the vote of the city had been 6,700 -in 1900, and now it was 47,000; that of Illinois had been 9,600, and -now it was 69,000! So, as the evening waxed, and the crowd piled in, -the meeting was a sight to be seen. Bulletins would be read, and the -people would shout themselves hoarse—and then some one would make a -speech, and there would be more shouting; and then a brief silence, and -more bulletins. There would come messages from the secretaries of -neighboring states, reporting their achievements; the vote of Indiana -had gone from 2,300 to 12,000, of Wisconsin from 7,000 to 28,000; of -Ohio from 4,800 to 36,000! There were telegrams to the national office -from enthusiastic individuals in little towns which had made amazing -and unprecedented increases in a single year: Benedict, Kansas, from 26 -to 260; Henderson, Kentucky, from 19 to 111; Holland, Michigan, from 14 -to 208; Cleo, Oklahoma, from 0 to 104; Martin’s Ferry, Ohio, from 0 to -296—and many more of the same kind. There were literally hundreds of -such towns; there would be reports from half a dozen of them in a -single batch of telegrams. And the men who read the despatches off to -the audience were old campaigners, who had been to the places and -helped to make the vote, and could make appropriate comments: Quincy, -Illinois, from 189 to 831—that was where the mayor had arrested a -Socialist speaker! Crawford County, Kansas, from 285 to 1,975; that was -the home of the “Appeal to Reason”! Battle Creek, Michigan, from 4,261 -to 10,184; that was the answer of labor to the Citizens’ Alliance -Movement! - -And then there were official returns from the various precincts and -wards of the city itself! Whether it was a factory district or one of -the “silk-stocking” wards seemed to make no particular difference in -the increase; but one of the things which surprised the party leaders -most was the tremendous vote that came rolling in from the stockyards. -Packingtown comprised three wards of the city, and the vote in the -spring of 1903 had been 500, and in the fall of the same year, 1,600. -Now, only one year later, it was over 6,300—and the Democratic vote -only 8,800! There were other wards in which the Democratic vote had -been actually surpassed, and in two districts, members of the state -legislature had been elected. Thus Chicago now led the country; it had -set a new standard for the party, it had shown the workingmen the way! - -—So spoke an orator upon the platform; and two thousand pairs of eyes -were fixed upon him, and two thousand voices were cheering his every -sentence. The orator had been the head of the city’s relief bureau in -the stockyards, until the sight of misery and corruption had made him -sick. He was young, hungry-looking, full of fire; and as he swung his -long arms and beat up the crowd, to Jurgis he seemed the very spirit of -the revolution. “Organize! Organize! Organize!”—that was his cry. He -was afraid of this tremendous vote, which his party had not expected, -and which it had not earned. “These men are not Socialists!” he cried. -“This election will pass, and the excitement will die, and people will -forget about it; and if you forget about it, too, if you sink back and -rest upon your oars, we shall lose this vote that we have polled -to-day, and our enemies will laugh us to scorn! It rests with you to -take your resolution—now, in the flush of victory, to find these men -who have voted for us, and bring them to our meetings, and organize -them and bind them to us! We shall not find all our campaigns as easy -as this one. Everywhere in the country tonight the old party -politicians are studying this vote, and setting their sails by it; and -nowhere will they be quicker or more cunning than here in our own city. -Fifty thousand Socialist votes in Chicago means a municipal-ownership -Democracy in the spring! And then they will fool the voters once more, -and all the powers of plunder and corruption will be swept into office -again! But whatever they may do when they get in, there is one thing -they will not do, and that will be the thing for which they were -elected! They will not give the people of our city municipal -ownership—they will not mean to do it, they will not try to do it; all -that they will do is give our party in Chicago the greatest opportunity -that has ever come to Socialism in America! We shall have the sham -reformers self-stultified and self-convicted; we shall have the radical -Democracy left without a lie with which to cover its nakedness! And -then will begin the rush that will never be checked, the tide that will -never turn till it has reached its flood—that will be irresistible, -overwhelming—the rallying of the outraged workingmen of Chicago to our -standard! And we shall organize them, we shall drill them, we shall -marshal them for the victory! We shall bear down the opposition, we -shall sweep if before us—and _Chicago will be ours!_ Chicago will be -ours! CHICAGO WILL BE OURS!” - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 140-0.txt or 140-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/140/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Jungle</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Upton Sinclair</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June, 1994 [eBook #140]<br /> -[Most recently updated: January 17, 2021]</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Meltzer, Christy Phillips, Scott Coulter, Leroy Smith and David Widger</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE ***</div> - -<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> -</div> - -<h1>The Jungle</h1> - -<h2 class="no-break">by Upton Sinclair</h2> - -<h3>(1906)</h3> - -<p class="center"> -<br /><br /><br /> -TO THE WORKINGMEN OF AMERICA -</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>Contents</h2> - -<table summary="" style=""> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p> -It was four o’clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began to -arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the exuberance -of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon Marija’s broad -shoulders—it was her task to see that all things went in due form, and -after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither and thither, bowling -every one out of the way, and scolding and exhorting all day with her -tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to see that others conformed to the -proprieties to consider them herself. She had left the church last of all, and, -desiring to arrive first at the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to -drive faster. When that personage had developed a will of his own in the -matter, Marija had flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, -proceeded to tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not -understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of her in -altitude, the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to attempt to -speak; and the result had been a furious altercation, which, continuing all the -way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of urchins to the cortege at -each side street for half a mile. -</p> - -<p> -This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door. The music -had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull “broom, -broom” of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied with each -other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics. Seeing the throng, Marija -abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the ancestors of her coachman, -and, springing from the moving carriage, plunged in and proceeded to clear a -way to the hall. Once within, she turned and began to push the other way, -roaring, meantime, “<i>Eik! Eik! Uzdaryk-duris!</i>” in tones which -made the orchestral uproar sound like fairy music. -</p> - -<p> -“Z. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and -Liquors. Union Headquarters”—that was the way the signs ran. The -reader, who perhaps has never held much converse in the language of far-off -Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the place was the rear room of -a saloon in that part of Chicago known as “back of the yards.” This -information is definite and suited to the matter of fact; but how pitifully -inadequate it would have seemed to one who understood that it was also the -supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of God’s gentlest creatures, -the scene of the wedding feast and the joy-transfiguration of little Ona -Lukoszaite! -</p> - -<p> -She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from pushing -through the crowd, and in her happiness painful to look upon. There was a light -of wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and her otherwise wan little face -was flushed. She wore a muslin dress, conspicuously white, and a stiff little -veil coming to her shoulders. There were five pink paper roses twisted in the -veil, and eleven bright green rose leaves. There were new white cotton gloves -upon her hands, and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together -feverishly. It was almost too much for her—you could see the pain of too -great emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was so -young—not quite sixteen—and small for her age, a mere child; and -she had just been married—and married to Jurgis,<a href="#fn-1" name="fnref-1" id="fnref-1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> -of all men, to Jurgis Rudkus, he with the white flower in the buttonhole of his -new black suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-1" id="fn-1"></a> <a href="#fnref-1">[1]</a> -Pronounced <i>Yoorghis</i> -</p> - -<p> -Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with beetling -brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his ears—in short, -they were one of those incongruous and impossible married couples with which -Mother Nature so often wills to confound all prophets, before and after. Jurgis -could take up a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and carry it into a -car without a stagger, or even a thought; and now he stood in a far corner, -frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his lips with his tongue -each time before he could answer the congratulations of his friends. -</p> - -<p> -Gradually there was effected a separation between the spectators and the -guests—a separation at least sufficiently complete for working purposes. -There was no time during the festivities which ensued when there were not -groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners; and if any one of these -onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked sufficiently hungry, a chair was -offered him, and he was invited to the feast. It was one of the laws of the -<i>veselija</i> that no one goes hungry; and, while a rule made in the forests -of Lithuania is hard to apply in the stockyards district of Chicago, with its -quarter of a million inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children -who ran in from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A -charming informality was one of the characteristics of this celebration. The -men wore their hats, or, if they wished, they took them off, and their coats -with them; they ate when and where they pleased, and moved as often as they -pleased. There were to be speeches and singing, but no one had to listen who -did not care to; if he wished, meantime, to speak or sing himself, he was -perfectly free. The resulting medley of sound distracted no one, save possibly -alone the babies, of which there were present a number equal to the total -possessed by all the guests invited. There was no other place for the babies to -be, and so part of the preparations for the evening consisted of a collection -of cribs and carriages in one corner. In these the babies slept, three or four -together, or wakened together, as the case might be. Those who were still -older, and could reach the tables, marched about munching contentedly at meat -bones and bologna sausages. -</p> - -<p> -The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save for a -calendar, a picture of a race horse, and a family tree in a gilded frame. To -the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few loafers in the doorway, -and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a presiding genius clad in soiled -white, with waxed black mustaches and a carefully oiled curl plastered against -one side of his forehead. In the opposite corner are two tables, filling a -third of the room and laden with dishes and cold viands, which a few of the -hungrier guests are already munching. At the head, where sits the bride, is a -snow-white cake, with an Eiffel tower of constructed decoration, with sugar -roses and two angels upon it, and a generous sprinkling of pink and green and -yellow candies. Beyond opens a door into the kitchen, where there is a glimpse -to be had of a range with much steam ascending from it, and many women, old and -young, rushing hither and thither. In the corner to the left are the three -musicians, upon a little platform, toiling heroically to make some impression -upon the hubbub; also the babies, similarly occupied, and an open window whence -the populace imbibes the sights and sounds and odors. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly some of the steam begins to advance, and, peering through it, you -discern Aunt Elizabeth, Ona’s stepmother—Teta Elzbieta, as they -call her—bearing aloft a great platter of stewed duck. Behind her is -Kotrina, making her way cautiously, staggering beneath a similar burden; and -half a minute later there appears old Grandmother Majauszkiene, with a big -yellow bowl of smoking potatoes, nearly as big as herself. So, bit by bit, the -feast takes form—there is a ham and a dish of sauerkraut, boiled rice, -macaroni, bologna sausages, great piles of penny buns, bowls of milk, and -foaming pitchers of beer. There is also, not six feet from your back, the bar, -where you may order all you please and do not have to pay for it. -“<i>Eiksz! Graicziau!</i>” screams Marija Berczynskas, and falls to -work herself—for there is more upon the stove inside that will be spoiled -if it be not eaten. -</p> - -<p> -So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the guests -take their places. The young men, who for the most part have been huddled near -the door, summon their resolution and advance; and the shrinking Jurgis is -poked and scolded by the old folks until he consents to seat himself at the -right hand of the bride. The two bridesmaids, whose insignia of office are -paper wreaths, come next, and after them the rest of the guests, old and young, -boys and girls. The spirit of the occasion takes hold of the stately bartender, -who condescends to a plate of stewed duck; even the fat policeman—whose -duty it will be, later in the evening, to break up the fights—draws up a -chair to the foot of the table. And the children shout and the babies yell, and -every one laughs and sings and chatters—while above all the deafening -clamor Cousin Marija shouts orders to the musicians. -</p> - -<p> -The musicians—how shall one begin to describe them? All this time they -have been there, playing in a mad frenzy—all of this scene must be read, -or said, or sung, to music. It is the music which makes it what it is; it is -the music which changes the place from the rear room of a saloon in back of the -yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little corner of the high mansions of -the sky. -</p> - -<p> -The little person who leads this trio is an inspired man. His fiddle is out of -tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an inspired -man—the hands of the muses have been laid upon him. He plays like one -possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can feel them in the air -round about him, capering frenetically; with their invisible feet they set the -pace, and the hair of the leader of the orchestra rises on end, and his -eyeballs start from their sockets, as he toils to keep up with them. -</p> - -<p> -Tamoszius Kuszleika is his name, and he has taught himself to play the violin -by practicing all night, after working all day on the “killing -beds.” He is in his shirt sleeves, with a vest figured with faded gold -horseshoes, and a pink-striped shirt, suggestive of peppermint candy. A pair of -military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to give that -suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band. He is only about five -feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight inches short of the -ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or rather you would wonder, if -the excitement of being in his presence left you time to think of such things. -</p> - -<p> -For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is inspired—you might almost -say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his head, he sways -and swings to and fro; he has a wizened-up little face, irresistibly comical; -and, when he executes a turn or a flourish, his brows knit and his lips work -and his eyelids wink—the very ends of his necktie bristle out. And every -now and then he turns upon his companions, nodding, signaling, beckoning -frantically—with every inch of him appealing, imploring, in behalf of the -muses and their call. -</p> - -<p> -For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of the -orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with black-rimmed -spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven mule; he responds to -the whip but feebly, and then always falls back into his old rut. The third man -is very fat, with a round, red, sentimental nose, and he plays with his eyes -turned up to the sky and a look of infinite yearning. He is playing a bass part -upon his cello, and so the excitement is nothing to him; no matter what happens -in the treble, it is his task to saw out one long-drawn and lugubrious note -after another, from four o’clock in the afternoon until nearly the same -hour next morning, for his third of the total income of one dollar per hour. -</p> - -<p> -Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika has risen -in his excitement; a minute or two more and you see that he is beginning to -edge over toward the tables. His nostrils are dilated and his breath comes -fast—his demons are driving him. He nods and shakes his head at his -companions, jerking at them with his violin, until at last the long form of the -second violinist also rises up. In the end all three of them begin advancing, -step by step, upon the banqueters, Valentinavyczia, the cellist, bumping along -with his instrument between notes. Finally all three are gathered at the foot -of the tables, and there Tamoszius mounts upon a stool. -</p> - -<p> -Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are eating, -some are laughing and talking—but you will make a great mistake if you -think there is one of them who does not hear him. His notes are never true, and -his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and scratches on the high; but -these things they heed no more than they heed the dirt and noise and squalor -about them—it is out of this material that they have to build their -lives, with it that they have to utter their souls. And this is their -utterance; merry and boisterous, or mournful and wailing, or passionate and -rebellious, this music is their music, music of home. It stretches out its arms -to them, they have only to give themselves up. Chicago and its saloons and its -slums fade away—there are green meadows and sunlit rivers, mighty forests -and snow-clad hills. They behold home landscapes and childhood scenes -returning; old loves and friendships begin to waken, old joys and griefs to -laugh and weep. Some fall back and close their eyes, some beat upon the table. -Now and then one leaps up with a cry and calls for this song or that; and then -the fire leaps brighter in Tamoszius’ eyes, and he flings up his fiddle -and shouts to his companions, and away they go in mad career. The company takes -up the choruses, and men and women cry out like all possessed; some leap to -their feet and stamp upon the floor, lifting their glasses and pledging each -other. Before long it occurs to some one to demand an old wedding song, which -celebrates the beauty of the bride and the joys of love. In the excitement of -this masterpiece Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, -making his way toward the head, where sits the bride. There is not a foot of -space between the chairs of the guests, and Tamoszius is so short that he pokes -them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the low notes; but still he -presses in, and insists relentlessly that his companions must follow. During -their progress, needless to say, the sounds of the cello are pretty well -extinguished; but at last the three are at the head, and Tamoszius takes his -station at the right hand of the bride and begins to pour out his soul in -melting strains. -</p> - -<p> -Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little -something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her; but, for the -most part, she sits gazing with the same fearful eyes of wonder. Teta Elzbieta -is all in a flutter, like a hummingbird; her sisters, too, keep running up -behind her, whispering, breathless. But Ona seems scarcely to hear -them—the music keeps calling, and the far-off look comes back, and she -sits with her hands pressed together over her heart. Then the tears begin to -come into her eyes; and as she is ashamed to wipe them away, and ashamed to let -them run down her cheeks, she turns and shakes her head a little, and then -flushes red when she sees that Jurgis is watching her. When in the end -Tamoszius Kuszleika has reached her side, and is waving his magic wand above -her, Ona’s cheeks are scarlet, and she looks as if she would have to get -up and run away. -</p> - -<p> -In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Berczynskas, whom the muses -suddenly visit. Marija is fond of a song, a song of lovers’ parting; she -wishes to hear it, and, as the musicians do not know it, she has risen, and is -proceeding to teach them. Marija is short, but powerful in build. She works in -a canning factory, and all day long she handles cans of beef that weigh -fourteen pounds. She has a broad Slavic face, with prominent red cheeks. When -she opens her mouth, it is tragical, but you cannot help thinking of a horse. -She wears a blue flannel shirt-waist, which is now rolled up at the sleeves, -disclosing her brawny arms; she has a carving fork in her hand, with which she -pounds on the table to mark the time. As she roars her song, in a voice of -which it is enough to say that it leaves no portion of the room vacant, the -three musicians follow her, laboriously and note by note, but averaging one -note behind; thus they toil through stanza after stanza of a lovesick -swain’s lamentation:— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -“Sudiev’ kvietkeli, tu brangiausis;<br /> -Sudiev’ ir laime, man biednam,<br /> -Matau—paskyre teip Aukszcziausis,<br /> -Jog vargt ant svieto reik vienam!” -</p> - -<p> -When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas rises to -his feet. Grandfather Anthony, Jurgis’ father, is not more than sixty -years of age, but you would think that he was eighty. He has been only six -months in America, and the change has not done him good. In his manhood he -worked in a cotton mill, but then a coughing fell upon him, and he had to -leave; out in the country the trouble disappeared, but he has been working in -the pickle rooms at Durham’s, and the breathing of the cold, damp air all -day has brought it back. Now as he rises he is seized with a coughing fit, and -holds himself by his chair and turns away his wan and battered face until it -passes. -</p> - -<p> -Generally it is the custom for the speech at a <i>veselija</i> to be taken out -of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days Dede Antanas -used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love letters of his friends. -Now it is understood that he has composed an original speech of congratulation -and benediction, and this is one of the events of the day. Even the boys, who -are romping about the room, draw near and listen, and some of the women sob and -wipe their aprons in their eyes. It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has -become possessed of the idea that he has not much longer to stay with his -children. His speech leaves them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas -Szedvilas, who keeps a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and -hearty, is moved to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and -then to go on and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers -congratulations and prophecies of happiness upon the bride and groom, -proceeding to particulars which greatly delight the young men, but which cause -Ona to blush more furiously than ever. Jokubas possesses what his wife -complacently describes as “poetiszka vaidintuve”—a poetical -imagination. -</p> - -<p> -Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no pretense of -ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men gather about the bar; -some wander about, laughing and singing; here and there will be a little group, -chanting merrily, and in sublime indifference to the others and to the -orchestra as well. Everybody is more or less restless—one would guess -that something is on their minds. And so it proves. The last tardy diners are -scarcely given time to finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into -the corner, and the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real -celebration of the evening begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing -himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up, reviews -the scene; he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin, then tucks it -carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an elaborate flourish, and -finally smites the sounding strings and closes his eyes, and floats away in -spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz. His companion follows, but with his -eyes open, watching where he treads, so to speak; and finally Valentinavyczia, -after waiting for a little and beating with his foot to get the time, casts up -his eyes to the ceiling and begins to saw—“Broom! broom! -broom!” -</p> - -<p> -The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. Apparently -nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any consequence—there -is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just as before they sang. Most of -them prefer the “two-step,” especially the young, with whom it is -the fashion. The older people have dances from home, strange and complicated -steps which they execute with grave solemnity. Some do not dance anything at -all, but simply hold each other’s hands and allow the undisciplined joy -of motion to express itself with their feet. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas -and his wife, Lucija, who together keep the delicatessen store, and consume -nearly as much as they sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the -middle of the floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking slowly from -side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of toothless and perspiring -ecstasy. -</p> - -<p> -Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail of -home—an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored -handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons. All these things -are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to speak English -and to affect the latest style of clothing. The girls wear ready-made dresses -or shirt waists, and some of them look quite pretty. Some of the young men you -would take to be Americans, of the type of clerks, but for the fact that they -wear their hats in the room. Each of these younger couples affects a style of -its own in dancing. Some hold each other tightly, some at a cautious distance. -Some hold their hands out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some -dance springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity. There are -boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one out of -their way. There are nervous couples, whom these frighten, and who cry, -“Nusfok! Kas yra?” at them as they pass. Each couple is paired for -the evening—you will never see them change about. There is Alena -Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas Raczius, to -whom she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the evening, and she would be -really beautiful if she were not so proud. She wears a white shirtwaist, which -represents, perhaps, half a week’s labor painting cans. She holds her -skirt with her hand as she dances, with stately precision, after the manner of -the <i>grandes dames</i>. Juozas is driving one of Durham’s wagons, and -is making big wages. He affects a “tough” aspect, wearing his hat -on one side and keeping a cigarette in his mouth all the evening. Then there is -Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is also beautiful, but humble. Jadvyga likewise paints -cans, but then she has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by -it, and so she does not spend her wages for shirtwaists. Jadvyga is small and -delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little knot -and tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white dress which she has -made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is -high-waisted—almost under her arms, and not very becoming,—but that -does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas. She is small, while -he is big and powerful; she nestles in his arms as if she would hide herself -from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder. He in turn has clasped his -arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; and so she dances, and -will dance the entire evening, and would dance forever, in ecstasy of bliss. -You would smile, perhaps, to see them—but you would not smile if you knew -all the story. This is the fifth year, now, that Jadvyga has been engaged to -Mikolas, and her heart is sick. They would have been married in the beginning, -only Mikolas has a father who is drunk all day, and he is the only other man in -a large family. Even so they might have managed it (for Mikolas is a skilled -man) but for cruel accidents which have almost taken the heart out of them. He -is a beef-boner, and that is a dangerous trade, especially when you are on -piecework and trying to earn a bride. Your hands are slippery, and your knife -is slippery, and you are toiling like mad, when somebody happens to speak to -you, or you strike a bone. Then your hand slips up on the blade, and there is a -fearful gash. And that would not be so bad, only for the deadly contagion. The -cut may heal, but you never can tell. Twice now; within the last three years, -Mikolas has been lying at home with blood poisoning—once for three months -and once for nearly seven. The last time, too, he lost his job, and that meant -six weeks more of standing at the doors of the packing houses, at six -o’clock on bitter winter mornings, with a foot of snow on the ground and -more in the air. There are learned people who can tell you out of the -statistics that beef-boners make forty cents an hour, but, perhaps, these -people have never looked into a beef-boner’s hands. -</p> - -<p> -When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they must, now -and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently. They never seem -to tire; and there is no place for them to sit down if they did. It is only for -a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up again, in spite of all the protests -of the other two. This time it is another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. -Those who prefer to, go on with the two-step, but the majority go through an -intricate series of motions, resembling more fancy skating than a dance. The -climax of it is a furious <i>prestissimo</i>, at which the couples seize hands -and begin a mad whirling. This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room -joins in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies quite -dazzling to look upon. But the sight of sights at this moment is Tamoszius -Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, but Tamoszius has no -mercy. The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he bends over like a cyclist -on the last lap of a race. His body shakes and throbs like a runaway steam -engine, and the ear cannot follow the flying showers of notes—there is a -pale blue mist where you look to see his bowing arm. With a most wonderful rush -he comes to the end of the tune, and flings up his hands and staggers back -exhausted; and with a final shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling -here and there, bringing up against the walls of the room. -</p> - -<p> -After this there is beer for every one, the musicians included, and the -revelers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the evening, -which is the <i>acziavimas</i>. The <i>acziavimas</i> is a ceremony which, once -begun, will continue for three or four hours, and it involves one uninterrupted -dance. The guests form a great ring, locking hands, and, when the music starts -up, begin to move around in a circle. In the center stands the bride, and, one -by one, the men step into the enclosure and dance with her. Each dances for -several minutes—as long as he pleases; it is a very merry proceeding, -with laughter and singing, and when the guest has finished, he finds himself -face to face with Teta Elzbieta, who holds the hat. Into it he drops a sum of -money—a dollar, or perhaps five dollars, according to his power, and his -estimate of the value of the privilege. The guests are expected to pay for this -entertainment; if they be proper guests, they will see that there is a neat sum -left over for the bride and bridegroom to start life upon. -</p> - -<p> -Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of this entertainment. They -will certainly be over two hundred dollars and maybe three hundred; and three -hundred dollars is more than the year’s income of many a person in this -room. There are able-bodied men here who work from early morning until late at -night, in ice-cold cellars with a quarter of an inch of water on the -floor—men who for six or seven months in the year never see the sunlight -from Sunday afternoon till the next Sunday morning—and who cannot earn -three hundred dollars in a year. There are little children here, scarce in -their teens, who can hardly see the top of the work benches—whose parents -have lied to get them their places—and who do not make the half of three -hundred dollars a year, and perhaps not even the third of it. And then to spend -such a sum, all in a single day of your life, at a wedding feast! (For -obviously it is the same thing, whether you spend it at once for your own -wedding, or in a long time, at the weddings of all your friends.) -</p> - -<p> -It is very imprudent, it is tragic—but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by -bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this they cling -with all the power of their souls—they cannot give up the -<i>veselija!</i> To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to -acknowledge defeat—and the difference between these two things is what -keeps the world going. The <i>veselija</i> has come down to them from a far-off -time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave and gaze -upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could break his -chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; provided that once in his -lifetime he might testify to the fact that life, with all its cares and its -terrors, is no such great thing after all, but merely a bubble upon the surface -of a river, a thing that one may toss about and play with as a juggler tosses -his golden balls, a thing that one may quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine. -Thus having known himself for the master of things, a man could go back to his -toil and live upon the memory all his days. -</p> - -<p> -Endlessly the dancers swung round and round—when they were dizzy they -swung the other way. Hour after hour this had continued—the darkness had -fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. The -musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and played only one tune, -wearily, ploddingly. There were twenty bars or so of it, and when they came to -the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or so they would fail to begin -again, but instead would sink back exhausted; a circumstance which invariably -brought on a painful and terrifying scene, that made the fat policeman stir -uneasily in his sleeping place behind the door. -</p> - -<p> -It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those hungry souls who cling -with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse. All day long she had -been in a state of wonderful exaltation; and now it was leaving—and she -would not let it go. Her soul cried out in the words of Faust, “Stay, -thou art fair!” Whether it was by beer, or by shouting, or by music, or -by motion, she meant that it should not go. And she would go back to the chase -of it—and no sooner be fairly started than her chariot would be thrown -off the track, so to speak, by the stupidity of those thrice accursed -musicians. Each time, Marija would emit a howl and fly at them, shaking her -fists in their faces, stamping upon the floor, purple and incoherent with rage. -In vain the frightened Tamoszius would attempt to speak, to plead the -limitations of the flesh; in vain would the puffing and breathless ponas -Jokubas insist, in vain would Teta Elzbieta implore. “Szalin!” -Marija would scream. “Palauk! isz kelio! What are you paid for, children -of hell?” And so, in sheer terror, the orchestra would strike up again, -and Marija would return to her place and take up her task. -</p> - -<p> -She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her -excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired—the soul -of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers—what had once -been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, pulling one -way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a very volcano of -energy. Now and then some one coming in or out would leave the door open, and -the night air was chill; Marija as she passed would stretch out her foot and -kick the doorknob, and slam would go the door! Once this procedure was the -cause of a calamity of which Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. -Little Sebastijonas, aged three, had been wandering about oblivious to all -things, holding turned up over his mouth a bottle of liquid known as -“pop,” pink-colored, ice-cold, and delicious. Passing through the -doorway the door smote him full, and the shriek which followed brought the -dancing to a halt. Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred times a day, -and would weep over the injury of a fly, seized little Sebastijonas in her arms -and bid fair to smother him with kisses. There was a long rest for the -orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while Marija was making her peace with -her victim, seating him upon the bar, and standing beside him and holding to -his lips a foaming schooner of beer. -</p> - -<p> -In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an anxious -conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of the more -intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them. The -<i>veselija</i> is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore only the -more binding upon all. Every one’s share was different—and yet -every one knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a little -more. Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all this was -changing; it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in the air that one -breathed here—it was affecting all the young men at once. They would come -in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner, and then sneak off. One would -throw another’s hat out of the window, and both would go out to get it, -and neither could be seen again. Or now and then half a dozen of them would get -together and march out openly, staring at you, and making fun of you to your -face. Still others, worse yet, would crowd about the bar, and at the expense of -the host drink themselves sodden, paying not the least attention to any one, -and leaving it to be thought that either they had danced with the bride -already, or meant to later on. -</p> - -<p> -All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with dismay. So -long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! Ona stood by, her eyes -wide with terror. Those frightful bills—how they had haunted her, each -item gnawing at her soul all day and spoiling her rest at night. How often she -had named them over one by one and figured on them as she went to -work—fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two dollars and a quarter for -the ducks, twelve dollars for the musicians, five dollars at the church, and a -blessing of the Virgin besides—and so on without an end! Worst of all was -the frightful bill that was still to come from Graiczunas for the beer and -liquor that might be consumed. One could never get in advance more than a guess -as to this from a saloon-keeper—and then, when the time came he always -came to you scratching his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but -that he had done his best—your guests had gotten so very drunk. By him -you were sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even though you thought -yourself the dearest of the hundreds of friends he had. He would begin to serve -your guests out of a keg that was half full, and finish with one that was half -empty, and then you would be charged for two kegs of beer. He would agree to -serve a certain quality at a certain price, and when the time came you and your -friends would be drinking some horrible poison that could not be described. You -might complain, but you would get nothing for your pains but a ruined evening; -while, as for going to law about it, you might as well go to heaven at once. -The saloon-keeper stood in with all the big politics men in the district; and -when you had once found out what it meant to get into trouble with such people, -you would know enough to pay what you were told to pay and shut up. -</p> - -<p> -What made all this the more painful was that it was so hard on the few that had -really done their best. There was poor old ponas Jokubas, for instance—he -had already given five dollars, and did not every one know that Jokubas -Szedvilas had just mortgaged his delicatessen store for two hundred dollars to -meet several months’ overdue rent? And then there was withered old poni -Aniele—who was a widow, and had three children, and the rheumatism -besides, and did washing for the tradespeople on Halsted Street at prices it -would break your heart to hear named. Aniele had given the entire profit of her -chickens for several months. Eight of them she owned, and she kept them in a -little place fenced around on her backstairs. All day long the children of -Aniele were raking in the dump for food for these chickens; and sometimes, when -the competition there was too fierce, you might see them on Halsted Street -walking close to the gutters, and with their mother following to see that no -one robbed them of their finds. Money could not tell the value of these -chickens to old Mrs. Jukniene—she valued them differently, for she had a -feeling that she was getting something for nothing by means of them—that -with them she was getting the better of a world that was getting the better of -her in so many other ways. So she watched them every hour of the day, and had -learned to see like an owl at night to watch them then. One of them had been -stolen long ago, and not a month passed that some one did not try to steal -another. As the frustrating of this one attempt involved a score of false -alarms, it will be understood what a tribute old Mrs. Jukniene brought, just -because Teta Elzbieta had once loaned her some money for a few days and saved -her from being turned out of her house. -</p> - -<p> -More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about these things -was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the conversation, who were -themselves among the guilty—and surely that was a thing to try the -patience of a saint. Finally there came Jurgis, urged by some one, and the -story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in silence, with his great black -eyebrows knitted. Now and then there would come a gleam underneath them and he -would glance about the room. Perhaps he would have liked to go at some of those -fellows with his big clenched fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how -little good it would do him. No bill would be any less for turning out any one -at this time; and then there would be the scandal—and Jurgis wanted -nothing except to get away with Ona and to let the world go its own way. So his -hands relaxed and he merely said quietly: “It is done, and there is no -use in weeping, Teta Elzbieta.” Then his look turned toward Ona, who -stood close to his side, and he saw the wide look of terror in her eyes. -“Little one,” he said, in a low voice, “do not worry—it -will not matter to us. We will pay them all somehow. I will work harder.” -That was always what Jurgis said. Ona had grown used to it as the solution of -all difficulties—“I will work harder!” He had said that in -Lithuania when one official had taken his passport from him, and another had -arrested him for being without it, and the two had divided a third of his -belongings. He had said it again in New York, when the smooth-spoken agent had -taken them in hand and made them pay such high prices, and almost prevented -their leaving his place, in spite of their paying. Now he said it a third time, -and Ona drew a deep breath; it was so wonderful to have a husband, just like a -grown woman—and a husband who could solve all problems, and who was so -big and strong! -</p> - -<p> -The last sob of little Sebastijonas has been stifled, and the orchestra has -once more been reminded of its duty. The ceremony begins again—but there -are few now left to dance with, and so very soon the collection is over and -promiscuous dances once more begin. It is now after midnight, however, and -things are not as they were before. The dancers are dull and heavy—most -of them have been drinking hard, and have long ago passed the stage of -exhilaration. They dance in monotonous measure, round after round, hour after -hour, with eyes fixed upon vacancy, as if they were only half conscious, in a -constantly growing stupor. The men grasp the women very tightly, but there will -be half an hour together when neither will see the other’s face. Some -couples do not care to dance, and have retired to the corners, where they sit -with their arms enlaced. Others, who have been drinking still more, wander -about the room, bumping into everything; some are in groups of two or three, -singing, each group its own song. As time goes on there is a variety of -drunkenness, among the younger men especially. Some stagger about in each -other’s arms, whispering maudlin words—others start quarrels upon -the slightest pretext, and come to blows and have to be pulled apart. Now the -fat policeman wakens definitely, and feels of his club to see that it is ready -for business. He has to be prompt—for these -two-o’clock-in-the-morning fights, if they once get out of hand, are like -a forest fire, and may mean the whole reserves at the station. The thing to do -is to crack every fighting head that you see, before there are so many fighting -heads that you cannot crack any of them. There is but scant account kept of -cracked heads in back of the yards, for men who have to crack the heads of -animals all day seem to get into the habit, and to practice on their friends, -and even on their families, between times. This makes it a cause for -congratulation that by modern methods a very few men can do the painfully -necessary work of head-cracking for the whole of the cultured world. -</p> - -<p> -There is no fight that night—perhaps because Jurgis, too, is -watchful—even more so than the policeman. Jurgis has drunk a great deal, -as any one naturally would on an occasion when it all has to be paid for, -whether it is drunk or not; but he is a very steady man, and does not easily -lose his temper. Only once there is a tight shave—and that is the fault -of Marija Berczynskas. Marija has apparently concluded about two hours ago that -if the altar in the corner, with the deity in soiled white, be not the true -home of the muses, it is, at any rate, the nearest substitute on earth -attainable. And Marija is just fighting drunk when there come to her ears the -facts about the villains who have not paid that night. Marija goes on the -warpath straight off, without even the preliminary of a good cursing, and when -she is pulled off it is with the coat collars of two villains in her hands. -Fortunately, the policeman is disposed to be reasonable, and so it is not -Marija who is flung out of the place. -</p> - -<p> -All this interrupts the music for not more than a minute or two. Then again the -merciless tune begins—the tune that has been played for the last -half-hour without one single change. It is an American tune this time, one -which they have picked up on the streets; all seem to know the words of -it—or, at any rate, the first line of it, which they hum to themselves, -over and over again without rest: “In the good old summertime—in -the good old summertime! In the good old summertime—in the good old -summertime!” There seems to be something hypnotic about this, with its -endlessly recurring dominant. It has put a stupor upon every one who hears it, -as well as upon the men who are playing it. No one can get away from it, or -even think of getting away from it; it is three o’clock in the morning, -and they have danced out all their joy, and danced out all their strength, and -all the strength that unlimited drink can lend them—and still there is no -one among them who has the power to think of stopping. Promptly at seven -o’clock this same Monday morning they will every one of them have to be -in their places at Durham’s or Brown’s or Jones’s, each in -his working clothes. If one of them be a minute late, he will be docked an -hour’s pay, and if he be many minutes late, he will be apt to find his -brass check turned to the wall, which will send him out to join the hungry mob -that waits every morning at the gates of the packing houses, from six -o’clock until nearly half-past eight. There is no exception to this rule, -not even little Ona—who has asked for a holiday the day after her wedding -day, a holiday without pay, and been refused. While there are so many who are -anxious to work as you wish, there is no occasion for incommoding yourself with -those who must work otherwise. -</p> - -<p> -Little Ona is nearly ready to faint—and half in a stupor herself, because -of the heavy scent in the room. She has not taken a drop, but every one else -there is literally burning alcohol, as the lamps are burning oil; some of the -men who are sound asleep in their chairs or on the floor are reeking of it so -that you cannot go near them. Now and then Jurgis gazes at her -hungrily—he has long since forgotten his shyness; but then the crowd is -there, and he still waits and watches the door, where a carriage is supposed to -come. It does not, and finally he will wait no longer, but comes up to Ona, who -turns white and trembles. He puts her shawl about her and then his own coat. -They live only two blocks away, and Jurgis does not care about the carriage. -</p> - -<p> -There is almost no farewell—the dancers do not notice them, and all of -the children and many of the old folks have fallen asleep of sheer exhaustion. -Dede Antanas is asleep, and so are the Szedvilases, husband and wife, the -former snoring in octaves. There is Teta Elzbieta, and Marija, sobbing loudly; -and then there is only the silent night, with the stars beginning to pale a -little in the east. Jurgis, without a word, lifts Ona in his arms, and strides -out with her, and she sinks her head upon his shoulder with a moan. When he -reaches home he is not sure whether she has fainted or is asleep, but when he -has to hold her with one hand while he unlocks the door, he sees that she has -opened her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“You shall not go to Brown’s today, little one,” he whispers, -as he climbs the stairs; and she catches his arm in terror, gasping: “No! -No! I dare not! It will ruin us!” -</p> - -<p> -But he answers her again: “Leave it to me; leave it to me. I will earn -more money—I will work harder.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis talked lightly about work, because he was young. They told him stories -about the breaking down of men, there in the stockyards of Chicago, and of what -had happened to them afterward—stories to make your flesh creep, but -Jurgis would only laugh. He had only been there four months, and he was young, -and a giant besides. There was too much health in him. He could not even -imagine how it would feel to be beaten. “That is well enough for men like -you,” he would say, “<i>silpnas</i>, puny fellows—but my back -is broad.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was like a boy, a boy from the country. He was the sort of man the -bosses like to get hold of, the sort they make it a grievance they cannot get -hold of. When he was told to go to a certain place, he would go there on the -run. When he had nothing to do for the moment, he would stand round fidgeting, -dancing, with the overflow of energy that was in him. If he were working in a -line of men, the line always moved too slowly for him, and you could pick him -out by his impatience and restlessness. That was why he had been picked out on -one important occasion; for Jurgis had stood outside of Brown and -Company’s “Central Time Station” not more than half an hour, -the second day of his arrival in Chicago, before he had been beckoned by one of -the bosses. Of this he was very proud, and it made him more disposed than ever -to laugh at the pessimists. In vain would they all tell him that there were men -in that crowd from which he had been chosen who had stood there a -month—yes, many months—and not been chosen yet. “Yes,” -he would say, “but what sort of men? Broken-down tramps and -good-for-nothings, fellows who have spent all their money drinking, and want to -get more for it. Do you want me to believe that with these -arms”—and he would clench his fists and hold them up in the air, so -that you might see the rolling muscles—“that with these arms people -will ever let me starve?” -</p> - -<p> -“It is plain,” they would answer to this, “that you have come -from the country, and from very far in the country.” And this was the -fact, for Jurgis had never seen a city, and scarcely even a fair-sized town, -until he had set out to make his fortune in the world and earn his right to -Ona. His father, and his father’s father before him, and as many -ancestors back as legend could go, had lived in that part of Lithuania known as -<i>Brelovicz</i>, the Imperial Forest. This is a great tract of a hundred -thousand acres, which from time immemorial has been a hunting preserve of the -nobility. There are a very few peasants settled in it, holding title from -ancient times; and one of these was Antanas Rudkus, who had been reared -himself, and had reared his children in turn, upon half a dozen acres of -cleared land in the midst of a wilderness. There had been one son besides -Jurgis, and one sister. The former had been drafted into the army; that had -been over ten years ago, but since that day nothing had ever been heard of him. -The sister was married, and her husband had bought the place when old Antanas -had decided to go with his son. -</p> - -<p> -It was nearly a year and a half ago that Jurgis had met Ona, at a horse fair a -hundred miles from home. Jurgis had never expected to get married—he had -laughed at it as a foolish trap for a man to walk into; but here, without ever -having spoken a word to her, with no more than the exchange of half a dozen -smiles, he found himself, purple in the face with embarrassment and terror, -asking her parents to sell her to him for his wife—and offering his -father’s two horses he had been sent to the fair to sell. But Ona’s -father proved as a rock—the girl was yet a child, and he was a rich man, -and his daughter was not to be had in that way. So Jurgis went home with a -heavy heart, and that spring and summer toiled and tried hard to forget. In the -fall, after the harvest was over, he saw that it would not do, and tramped the -full fortnight’s journey that lay between him and Ona. -</p> - -<p> -He found an unexpected state of affairs—for the girl’s father had -died, and his estate was tied up with creditors; Jurgis’ heart leaped as -he realized that now the prize was within his reach. There was Elzbieta -Lukoszaite, Teta, or Aunt, as they called her, Ona’s stepmother, and -there were her six children, of all ages. There was also her brother Jonas, a -dried-up little man who had worked upon the farm. They were people of great -consequence, as it seemed to Jurgis, fresh out of the woods; Ona knew how to -read, and knew many other things that he did not know, and now the farm had -been sold, and the whole family was adrift—all they owned in the world -being about seven hundred rubles which is half as many dollars. They would have -had three times that, but it had gone to court, and the judge had decided -against them, and it had cost the balance to get him to change his decision. -</p> - -<p> -Ona might have married and left them, but she would not, for she loved Teta -Elzbieta. It was Jonas who suggested that they all go to America, where a -friend of his had gotten rich. He would work, for his part, and the women would -work, and some of the children, doubtless—they would live somehow. -Jurgis, too, had heard of America. That was a country where, they said, a man -might earn three rubles a day; and Jurgis figured what three rubles a day would -mean, with prices as they were where he lived, and decided forthwith that he -would go to America and marry, and be a rich man in the bargain. In that -country, rich or poor, a man was free, it was said; he did not have to go into -the army, he did not have to pay out his money to rascally officials—he -might do as he pleased, and count himself as good as any other man. So America -was a place of which lovers and young people dreamed. If one could only manage -to get the price of a passage, he could count his troubles at an end. -</p> - -<p> -It was arranged that they should leave the following spring, and meantime -Jurgis sold himself to a contractor for a certain time, and tramped nearly four -hundred miles from home with a gang of men to work upon a railroad in Smolensk. -This was a fearful experience, with filth and bad food and cruelty and -overwork; but Jurgis stood it and came out in fine trim, and with eighty rubles -sewed up in his coat. He did not drink or fight, because he was thinking all -the time of Ona; and for the rest, he was a quiet, steady man, who did what he -was told to, did not lose his temper often, and when he did lose it made the -offender anxious that he should not lose it again. When they paid him off he -dodged the company gamblers and dramshops, and so they tried to kill him; but -he escaped, and tramped it home, working at odd jobs, and sleeping always with -one eye open. -</p> - -<p> -So in the summer time they had all set out for America. At the last moment -there joined them Marija Berczynskas, who was a cousin of Ona’s. Marija -was an orphan, and had worked since childhood for a rich farmer of Vilna, who -beat her regularly. It was only at the age of twenty that it had occurred to -Marija to try her strength, when she had risen up and nearly murdered the man, -and then come away. -</p> - -<p> -There were twelve in all in the party, five adults and six children—and -Ona, who was a little of both. They had a hard time on the passage; there was -an agent who helped them, but he proved a scoundrel, and got them into a trap -with some officials, and cost them a good deal of their precious money, which -they clung to with such horrible fear. This happened to them again in New -York—for, of course, they knew nothing about the country, and had no one -to tell them, and it was easy for a man in a blue uniform to lead them away, -and to take them to a hotel and keep them there, and make them pay enormous -charges to get away. The law says that the rate card shall be on the door of a -hotel, but it does not say that it shall be in Lithuanian. -</p> - -<p> -It was in the stockyards that Jonas’ friend had gotten rich, and so to -Chicago the party was bound. They knew that one word, Chicago and that was all -they needed to know, at least, until they reached the city. Then, tumbled out -of the cars without ceremony, they were no better off than before; they stood -staring down the vista of Dearborn Street, with its big black buildings -towering in the distance, unable to realize that they had arrived, and why, -when they said “Chicago,” people no longer pointed in some -direction, but instead looked perplexed, or laughed, or went on without paying -any attention. They were pitiable in their helplessness; above all things they -stood in deadly terror of any sort of person in official uniform, and so -whenever they saw a policeman they would cross the street and hurry by. For the -whole of the first day they wandered about in the midst of deafening confusion, -utterly lost; and it was only at night that, cowering in the doorway of a -house, they were finally discovered and taken by a policeman to the station. In -the morning an interpreter was found, and they were taken and put upon a car, -and taught a new word—“stockyards.” Their delight at -discovering that they were to get out of this adventure without losing another -share of their possessions it would not be possible to describe. -</p> - -<p> -They sat and stared out of the window. They were on a street which seemed to -run on forever, mile after mile—thirty-four of them, if they had known -it—and each side of it one uninterrupted row of wretched little two-story -frame buildings. Down every side street they could see, it was the -same—never a hill and never a hollow, but always the same endless vista -of ugly and dirty little wooden buildings. Here and there would be a bridge -crossing a filthy creek, with hard-baked mud shores and dingy sheds and docks -along it; here and there would be a railroad crossing, with a tangle of -switches, and locomotives puffing, and rattling freight cars filing by; here -and there would be a great factory, a dingy building with innumerable windows -in it, and immense volumes of smoke pouring from the chimneys, darkening the -air above and making filthy the earth beneath. But after each of these -interruptions, the desolate procession would begin again—the procession -of dreary little buildings. -</p> - -<p> -A full hour before the party reached the city they had begun to note the -perplexing changes in the atmosphere. It grew darker all the time, and upon the -earth the grass seemed to grow less green. Every minute, as the train sped on, -the colors of things became dingier; the fields were grown parched and yellow, -the landscape hideous and bare. And along with the thickening smoke they began -to notice another circumstance, a strange, pungent odor. They were not sure -that it was unpleasant, this odor; some might have called it sickening, but -their taste in odors was not developed, and they were only sure that it was -curious. Now, sitting in the trolley car, they realized that they were on their -way to the home of it—that they had traveled all the way from Lithuania -to it. It was now no longer something far off and faint, that you caught in -whiffs; you could literally taste it, as well as smell it—you could take -hold of it, almost, and examine it at your leisure. They were divided in their -opinions about it. It was an elemental odor, raw and crude; it was rich, almost -rancid, sensual, and strong. There were some who drank it in as if it were an -intoxicant; there were others who put their handkerchiefs to their faces. The -new emigrants were still tasting it, lost in wonder, when suddenly the car came -to a halt, and the door was flung open, and a voice -shouted—“Stockyards!” -</p> - -<p> -They were left standing upon the corner, staring; down a side street there were -two rows of brick houses, and between them a vista: half a dozen chimneys, tall -as the tallest of buildings, touching the very sky—and leaping from them -half a dozen columns of smoke, thick, oily, and black as night. It might have -come from the center of the world, this smoke, where the fires of the ages -still smolder. It came as if self-impelled, driving all before it, a perpetual -explosion. It was inexhaustible; one stared, waiting to see it stop, but still -the great streams rolled out. They spread in vast clouds overhead, writhing, -curling; then, uniting in one giant river, they streamed away down the sky, -stretching a black pall as far as the eye could reach. -</p> - -<p> -Then the party became aware of another strange thing. This, too, like the -color, was a thing elemental; it was a sound, a sound made up of ten thousand -little sounds. You scarcely noticed it at first—it sunk into your -consciousness, a vague disturbance, a trouble. It was like the murmuring of the -bees in the spring, the whisperings of the forest; it suggested endless -activity, the rumblings of a world in motion. It was only by an effort that one -could realize that it was made by animals, that it was the distant lowing of -ten thousand cattle, the distant grunting of ten thousand swine. -</p> - -<p> -They would have liked to follow it up, but, alas, they had no time for -adventures just then. The policeman on the corner was beginning to watch them; -and so, as usual, they started up the street. Scarcely had they gone a block, -however, before Jonas was heard to give a cry, and began pointing excitedly -across the street. Before they could gather the meaning of his breathless -ejaculations he had bounded away, and they saw him enter a shop, over which was -a sign: “J. Szedvilas, Delicatessen.” When he came out again it was -in company with a very stout gentleman in shirt sleeves and an apron, clasping -Jonas by both hands and laughing hilariously. Then Teta Elzbieta recollected -suddenly that Szedvilas had been the name of the mythical friend who had made -his fortune in America. To find that he had been making it in the delicatessen -business was an extraordinary piece of good fortune at this juncture; though it -was well on in the morning, they had not breakfasted, and the children were -beginning to whimper. -</p> - -<p> -Thus was the happy ending to a woeful voyage. The two families literally fell -upon each other’s necks—for it had been years since Jokubas -Szedvilas had met a man from his part of Lithuania. Before half the day they -were lifelong friends. Jokubas understood all the pitfalls of this new world, -and could explain all of its mysteries; he could tell them the things they -ought to have done in the different emergencies—and what was still more -to the point, he could tell them what to do now. He would take them to poni -Aniele, who kept a boardinghouse the other side of the yards; old Mrs. -Jukniene, he explained, had not what one would call choice accommodations, but -they might do for the moment. To this Teta Elzbieta hastened to respond that -nothing could be too cheap to suit them just then; for they were quite -terrified over the sums they had had to expend. A very few days of practical -experience in this land of high wages had been sufficient to make clear to them -the cruel fact that it was also a land of high prices, and that in it the poor -man was almost as poor as in any other corner of the earth; and so there -vanished in a night all the wonderful dreams of wealth that had been haunting -Jurgis. What had made the discovery all the more painful was that they were -spending, at American prices, money which they had earned at home rates of -wages—and so were really being cheated by the world! The last two days -they had all but starved themselves—it made them quite sick to pay the -prices that the railroad people asked them for food. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, when they saw the home of the Widow Jukniene they could not but recoil, -even so, in all their journey they had seen nothing so bad as this. Poni Aniele -had a four-room flat in one of that wilderness of two-story frame tenements -that lie “back of the yards.” There were four such flats in each -building, and each of the four was a “boardinghouse” for the -occupancy of foreigners—Lithuanians, Poles, Slovaks, or Bohemians. Some -of these places were kept by private persons, some were cooperative. There -would be an average of half a dozen boarders to each room—sometimes there -were thirteen or fourteen to one room, fifty or sixty to a flat. Each one of -the occupants furnished his own accommodations—that is, a mattress and -some bedding. The mattresses would be spread upon the floor in rows—and -there would be nothing else in the place except a stove. It was by no means -unusual for two men to own the same mattress in common, one working by day and -using it by night, and the other working at night and using it in the daytime. -Very frequently a lodging house keeper would rent the same beds to double -shifts of men. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Jukniene was a wizened-up little woman, with a wrinkled face. Her home was -unthinkably filthy; you could not enter by the front door at all, owing to the -mattresses, and when you tried to go up the backstairs you found that she had -walled up most of the porch with old boards to make a place to keep her -chickens. It was a standing jest of the boarders that Aniele cleaned house by -letting the chickens loose in the rooms. Undoubtedly this did keep down the -vermin, but it seemed probable, in view of all the circumstances, that the old -lady regarded it rather as feeding the chickens than as cleaning the rooms. The -truth was that she had definitely given up the idea of cleaning anything, under -pressure of an attack of rheumatism, which had kept her doubled up in one -corner of her room for over a week; during which time eleven of her boarders, -heavily in her debt, had concluded to try their chances of employment in Kansas -City. This was July, and the fields were green. One never saw the fields, nor -any green thing whatever, in Packingtown; but one could go out on the road and -“hobo it,” as the men phrased it, and see the country, and have a -long rest, and an easy time riding on the freight cars. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the home to which the new arrivals were welcomed. There was nothing -better to be had—they might not do so well by looking further, for Mrs. -Jukniene had at least kept one room for herself and her three little children, -and now offered to share this with the women and the girls of the party. They -could get bedding at a secondhand store, she explained; and they would not need -any, while the weather was so hot—doubtless they would all sleep on the -sidewalk such nights as this, as did nearly all of her guests. -“Tomorrow,” Jurgis said, when they were left alone, “tomorrow -I will get a job, and perhaps Jonas will get one also; and then we can get a -place of our own.” -</p> - -<p> -Later that afternoon he and Ona went out to take a walk and look about them, to -see more of this district which was to be their home. In back of the yards the -dreary two-story frame houses were scattered farther apart, and there were -great spaces bare—that seemingly had been overlooked by the great sore of -a city as it spread itself over the surface of the prairie. These bare places -were grown up with dingy, yellow weeds, hiding innumerable tomato cans; -innumerable children played upon them, chasing one another here and there, -screaming and fighting. The most uncanny thing about this neighborhood was the -number of the children; you thought there must be a school just out, and it was -only after long acquaintance that you were able to realize that there was no -school, but that these were the children of the neighborhood—that there -were so many children to the block in Packingtown that nowhere on its streets -could a horse and buggy move faster than a walk! -</p> - -<p> -It could not move faster anyhow, on account of the state of the streets. Those -through which Jurgis and Ona were walking resembled streets less than they did -a miniature topographical map. The roadway was commonly several feet lower than -the level of the houses, which were sometimes joined by high board walks; there -were no pavements—there were mountains and valleys and rivers, gullies -and ditches, and great hollows full of stinking green water. In these pools the -children played, and rolled about in the mud of the streets; here and there one -noticed them digging in it, after trophies which they had stumbled on. One -wondered about this, as also about the swarms of flies which hung about the -scene, literally blackening the air, and the strange, fetid odor which assailed -one’s nostrils, a ghastly odor, of all the dead things of the universe. -It impelled the visitor to questions and then the residents would explain, -quietly, that all this was “made” land, and that it had been -“made” by using it as a dumping ground for the city garbage. After -a few years the unpleasant effect of this would pass away, it was said; but -meantime, in hot weather—and especially when it rained—the flies -were apt to be annoying. Was it not unhealthful? the stranger would ask, and -the residents would answer, “Perhaps; but there is no telling.” -</p> - -<p> -A little way farther on, and Jurgis and Ona, staring open-eyed and wondering, -came to the place where this “made” ground was in process of -making. Here was a great hole, perhaps two city blocks square, and with long -files of garbage wagons creeping into it. The place had an odor for which there -are no polite words; and it was sprinkled over with children, who raked in it -from dawn till dark. Sometimes visitors from the packing houses would wander -out to see this “dump,” and they would stand by and debate as to -whether the children were eating the food they got, or merely collecting it for -the chickens at home. Apparently none of them ever went down to find out. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond this dump there stood a great brickyard, with smoking chimneys. First -they took out the soil to make bricks, and then they filled it up again with -garbage, which seemed to Jurgis and Ona a felicitous arrangement, -characteristic of an enterprising country like America. A little way beyond was -another great hole, which they had emptied and not yet filled up. This held -water, and all summer it stood there, with the near-by soil draining into it, -festering and stewing in the sun; and then, when winter came, somebody cut the -ice on it, and sold it to the people of the city. This, too, seemed to the -newcomers an economical arrangement; for they did not read the newspapers, and -their heads were not full of troublesome thoughts about “germs.” -</p> - -<p> -They stood there while the sun went down upon this scene, and the sky in the -west turned blood-red, and the tops of the houses shone like fire. Jurgis and -Ona were not thinking of the sunset, however—their backs were turned to -it, and all their thoughts were of Packingtown, which they could see so plainly -in the distance. The line of the buildings stood clear-cut and black against -the sky; here and there out of the mass rose the great chimneys, with the river -of smoke streaming away to the end of the world. It was a study in colors now, -this smoke; in the sunset light it was black and brown and gray and purple. All -the sordid suggestions of the place were gone—in the twilight it was a -vision of power. To the two who stood watching while the darkness swallowed it -up, it seemed a dream of wonder, with its talc of human energy, of things being -done, of employment for thousands upon thousands of men, of opportunity and -freedom, of life and love and joy. When they came away, arm in arm, Jurgis was -saying, “Tomorrow I shall go there and get a job!” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p> -In his capacity as delicatessen vender, Jokubas Szedvilas had many -acquaintances. Among these was one of the special policemen employed by Durham, -whose duty it frequently was to pick out men for employment. Jokubas had never -tried it, but he expressed a certainty that he could get some of his friends a -job through this man. It was agreed, after consultation, that he should make -the effort with old Antanas and with Jonas. Jurgis was confident of his ability -to get work for himself, unassisted by any one. As we have said before, he was -not mistaken in this. He had gone to Brown’s and stood there not more -than half an hour before one of the bosses noticed his form towering above the -rest, and signaled to him. The colloquy which followed was brief and to the -point: -</p> - -<p> -“Speak English?” -</p> - -<p> -“No; Lit-uanian.” (Jurgis had studied this word carefully.) -</p> - -<p> -“Job?” -</p> - -<p> -“Je.” (A nod.) -</p> - -<p> -“Worked here before?” -</p> - -<p> -“No ’stand.” -</p> - -<p> -(Signals and gesticulations on the part of the boss. Vigorous shakes of the -head by Jurgis.) -</p> - -<p> -“Shovel guts?” -</p> - -<p> -“No ’stand.” (More shakes of the head.) -</p> - -<p> -“Zarnos. Pagaiksztis. Szluofa!” (Imitative motions.) -</p> - -<p> -“Je.” -</p> - -<p> -“See door. Durys?” (Pointing.) -</p> - -<p> -“Je.” -</p> - -<p> -“To-morrow, seven o’clock. Understand? Rytoj! Prieszpietys! -Septyni!” -</p> - -<p> -“Dekui, tamistai!” (Thank you, sir.) And that was all. Jurgis -turned away, and then in a sudden rush the full realization of his triumph -swept over him, and he gave a yell and a jump, and started off on a run. He had -a job! He had a job! And he went all the way home as if upon wings, and burst -into the house like a cyclone, to the rage of the numerous lodgers who had just -turned in for their daily sleep. -</p> - -<p> -Meantime Jokubas had been to see his friend the policeman, and received -encouragement, so it was a happy party. There being no more to be done that -day, the shop was left under the care of Lucija, and her husband sallied forth -to show his friends the sights of Packingtown. Jokubas did this with the air of -a country gentleman escorting a party of visitors over his estate; he was an -old-time resident, and all these wonders had grown up under his eyes, and he -had a personal pride in them. The packers might own the land, but he claimed -the landscape, and there was no one to say nay to this. -</p> - -<p> -They passed down the busy street that led to the yards. It was still early -morning, and everything was at its high tide of activity. A steady stream of -employees was pouring through the gate—employees of the higher sort, at -this hour, clerks and stenographers and such. For the women there were waiting -big two-horse wagons, which set off at a gallop as fast as they were filled. In -the distance there was heard again the lowing of the cattle, a sound as of a -far-off ocean calling. They followed it, this time, as eager as children in -sight of a circus menagerie—which, indeed, the scene a good deal -resembled. They crossed the railroad tracks, and then on each side of the -street were the pens full of cattle; they would have stopped to look, but -Jokubas hurried them on, to where there was a stairway and a raised gallery, -from which everything could be seen. Here they stood, staring, breathless with -wonder. -</p> - -<p> -There is over a square mile of space in the yards, and more than half of it is -occupied by cattle pens; north and south as far as the eye can reach there -stretches a sea of pens. And they were all filled—so many cattle no one -had ever dreamed existed in the world. Red cattle, black, white, and yellow -cattle; old cattle and young cattle; great bellowing bulls and little calves -not an hour born; meek-eyed milch cows and fierce, long-horned Texas steers. -The sound of them here was as of all the barnyards of the universe; and as for -counting them—it would have taken all day simply to count the pens. Here -and there ran long alleys, blocked at intervals by gates; and Jokubas told them -that the number of these gates was twenty-five thousand. Jokubas had recently -been reading a newspaper article which was full of statistics such as that, and -he was very proud as he repeated them and made his guests cry out with wonder. -Jurgis too had a little of this sense of pride. Had he not just gotten a job, -and become a sharer in all this activity, a cog in this marvelous machine? Here -and there about the alleys galloped men upon horseback, booted, and carrying -long whips; they were very busy, calling to each other, and to those who were -driving the cattle. They were drovers and stock raisers, who had come from far -states, and brokers and commission merchants, and buyers for all the big -packing houses. -</p> - -<p> -Here and there they would stop to inspect a bunch of cattle, and there would be -a parley, brief and businesslike. The buyer would nod or drop his whip, and -that would mean a bargain; and he would note it in his little book, along with -hundreds of others he had made that morning. Then Jokubas pointed out the place -where the cattle were driven to be weighed, upon a great scale that would weigh -a hundred thousand pounds at once and record it automatically. It was near to -the east entrance that they stood, and all along this east side of the yards -ran the railroad tracks, into which the cars were run, loaded with cattle. All -night long this had been going on, and now the pens were full; by tonight they -would all be empty, and the same thing would be done again. -</p> - -<p> -“And what will become of all these creatures?” cried Teta Elzbieta. -</p> - -<p> -“By tonight,” Jokubas answered, “they will all be killed and -cut up; and over there on the other side of the packing houses are more -railroad tracks, where the cars come to take them away.” -</p> - -<p> -There were two hundred and fifty miles of track within the yards, their guide -went on to tell them. They brought about ten thousand head of cattle every day, -and as many hogs, and half as many sheep—which meant some eight or ten -million live creatures turned into food every year. One stood and watched, and -little by little caught the drift of the tide, as it set in the direction of -the packing houses. There were groups of cattle being driven to the chutes, -which were roadways about fifteen feet wide, raised high above the pens. In -these chutes the stream of animals was continuous; it was quite uncanny to -watch them, pressing on to their fate, all unsuspicious a very river of death. -Our friends were not poetical, and the sight suggested to them no metaphors of -human destiny; they thought only of the wonderful efficiency of it all. The -chutes into which the hogs went climbed high up—to the very top of the -distant buildings; and Jokubas explained that the hogs went up by the power of -their own legs, and then their weight carried them back through all the -processes necessary to make them into pork. -</p> - -<p> -“They don’t waste anything here,” said the guide, and then he -laughed and added a witticism, which he was pleased that his unsophisticated -friends should take to be his own: “They use everything about the hog -except the squeal.” In front of Brown’s General Office building -there grows a tiny plot of grass, and this, you may learn, is the only bit of -green thing in Packingtown; likewise this jest about the hog and his squeal, -the stock in trade of all the guides, is the one gleam of humor that you will -find there. -</p> - -<p> -After they had seen enough of the pens, the party went up the street, to the -mass of buildings which occupy the center of the yards. These buildings, made -of brick and stained with innumerable layers of Packingtown smoke, were painted -all over with advertising signs, from which the visitor realized suddenly that -he had come to the home of many of the torments of his life. It was here that -they made those products with the wonders of which they pestered him -so—by placards that defaced the landscape when he traveled, and by -staring advertisements in the newspapers and magazines—by silly little -jingles that he could not get out of his mind, and gaudy pictures that lurked -for him around every street corner. Here was where they made Brown’s -Imperial Hams and Bacon, Brown’s Dressed Beef, Brown’s Excelsior -Sausages! Here was the headquarters of Durham’s Pure Leaf Lard, of -Durham’s Breakfast Bacon, Durham’s Canned Beef, Potted Ham, Deviled -Chicken, Peerless Fertilizer! -</p> - -<p> -Entering one of the Durham buildings, they found a number of other visitors -waiting; and before long there came a guide, to escort them through the place. -They make a great feature of showing strangers through the packing plants, for -it is a good advertisement. But Ponas Jokubas whispered maliciously that the -visitors did not see any more than the packers wanted them to. They climbed a -long series of stairways outside of the building, to the top of its five or six -stories. Here was the chute, with its river of hogs, all patiently toiling -upward; there was a place for them to rest to cool off, and then through -another passageway they went into a room from which there is no returning for -hogs. -</p> - -<p> -It was a long, narrow room, with a gallery along it for visitors. At the head -there was a great iron wheel, about twenty feet in circumference, with rings -here and there along its edge. Upon both sides of this wheel there was a narrow -space, into which came the hogs at the end of their journey; in the midst of -them stood a great burly Negro, bare-armed and bare-chested. He was resting for -the moment, for the wheel had stopped while men were cleaning up. In a minute -or two, however, it began slowly to revolve, and then the men upon each side of -it sprang to work. They had chains which they fastened about the leg of the -nearest hog, and the other end of the chain they hooked into one of the rings -upon the wheel. So, as the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly jerked off his feet -and borne aloft. -</p> - -<p> -At the same instant the car was assailed by a most terrifying shriek; the -visitors started in alarm, the women turned pale and shrank back. The shriek -was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing—for once started -upon that journey, the hog never came back; at the top of the wheel he was -shunted off upon a trolley, and went sailing down the room. And meantime -another was swung up, and then another, and another, until there was a double -line of them, each dangling by a foot and kicking in frenzy—and -squealing. The uproar was appalling, perilous to the eardrums; one feared there -was too much sound for the room to hold—that the walls must give way or -the ceiling crack. There were high squeals and low squeals, grunts, and wails -of agony; there would come a momentary lull, and then a fresh outburst, louder -than ever, surging up to a deafening climax. It was too much for some of the -visitors—the men would look at each other, laughing nervously, and the -women would stand with hands clenched, and the blood rushing to their faces, -and the tears starting in their eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Meantime, heedless of all these things, the men upon the floor were going about -their work. Neither squeals of hogs nor tears of visitors made any difference -to them; one by one they hooked up the hogs, and one by one with a swift stroke -they slit their throats. There was a long line of hogs, with squeals and -lifeblood ebbing away together; until at last each started again, and vanished -with a splash into a huge vat of boiling water. -</p> - -<p> -It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was -porkmaking by machinery, porkmaking by applied mathematics. And yet somehow the -most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the hogs; they were so -innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they were so very human in their -protests—and so perfectly within their rights! They had done nothing to -deserve it; and it was adding insult to injury, as the thing was done here, -swinging them up in this cold-blooded, impersonal way, without a pretense of -apology, without the homage of a tear. Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; -but this slaughtering machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some -horrible crime committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of -sight and of memory. -</p> - -<p> -One could not stand and watch very long without becoming philosophical, without -beginning to deal in symbols and similes, and to hear the hog squeal of the -universe. Was it permitted to believe that there was nowhere upon the earth, or -above the earth, a heaven for hogs, where they were requited for all this -suffering? Each one of these hogs was a separate creature. Some were white -hogs, some were black; some were brown, some were spotted; some were old, some -young; some were long and lean, some were monstrous. And each of them had an -individuality of his own, a will of his own, a hope and a heart’s desire; -each was full of self-confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. -And trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while a -black shadow hung over him and a horrid Fate waited in his pathway. Now -suddenly it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. Relentless, -remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were nothing to it—it -did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his feelings, had simply no -existence at all; it cut his throat and watched him gasp out his life. And now -was one to believe that there was nowhere a god of hogs, to whom this hog -personality was precious, to whom these hog squeals and agonies had a meaning? -Who would take this hog into his arms and comfort him, reward him for his work -well done, and show him the meaning of his sacrifice? Perhaps some glimpse of -all this was in the thoughts of our humble-minded Jurgis, as he turned to go on -with the rest of the party, and muttered: “Dieve—but I’m glad -I’m not a hog!” -</p> - -<p> -The carcass hog was scooped out of the vat by machinery, and then it fell to -the second floor, passing on the way through a wonderful machine with numerous -scrapers, which adjusted themselves to the size and shape of the animal, and -sent it out at the other end with nearly all of its bristles removed. It was -then again strung up by machinery, and sent upon another trolley ride; this -time passing between two lines of men, who sat upon a raised platform, each -doing a certain single thing to the carcass as it came to him. One scraped the -outside of a leg; another scraped the inside of the same leg. One with a swift -stroke cut the throat; another with two swift strokes severed the head, which -fell to the floor and vanished through a hole. Another made a slit down the -body; a second opened the body wider; a third with a saw cut the breastbone; a -fourth loosened the entrails; a fifth pulled them out—and they also slid -through a hole in the floor. There were men to scrape each side and men to -scrape the back; there were men to clean the carcass inside, to trim it and -wash it. Looking down this room, one saw, creeping slowly, a line of dangling -hogs a hundred yards in length; and for every yard there was a man, working as -if a demon were after him. At the end of this hog’s progress every inch -of the carcass had been gone over several times; and then it was rolled into -the chilling room, where it stayed for twenty-four hours, and where a stranger -might lose himself in a forest of freezing hogs. -</p> - -<p> -Before the carcass was admitted here, however, it had to pass a government -inspector, who sat in the doorway and felt of the glands in the neck for -tuberculosis. This government inspector did not have the manner of a man who -was worked to death; he was apparently not haunted by a fear that the hog might -get by him before he had finished his testing. If you were a sociable person, -he was quite willing to enter into conversation with you, and to explain to you -the deadly nature of the ptomaines which are found in tubercular pork; and -while he was talking with you you could hardly be so ungrateful as to notice -that a dozen carcasses were passing him untouched. This inspector wore a blue -uniform, with brass buttons, and he gave an atmosphere of authority to the -scene, and, as it were, put the stamp of official approval upon the things -which were done in Durham’s. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went down the line with the rest of the visitors, staring open-mouthed, -lost in wonder. He had dressed hogs himself in the forest of Lithuania; but he -had never expected to live to see one hog dressed by several hundred men. It -was like a wonderful poem to him, and he took it all in guilelessly—even -to the conspicuous signs demanding immaculate cleanliness of the employees. -Jurgis was vexed when the cynical Jokubas translated these signs with sarcastic -comments, offering to take them to the secret rooms where the spoiled meats -went to be doctored. -</p> - -<p> -The party descended to the next floor, where the various waste materials were -treated. Here came the entrails, to be scraped and washed clean for sausage -casings; men and women worked here in the midst of a sickening stench, which -caused the visitors to hasten by, gasping. To another room came all the scraps -to be “tanked,” which meant boiling and pumping off the grease to -make soap and lard; below they took out the refuse, and this, too, was a region -in which the visitors did not linger. In still other places men were engaged in -cutting up the carcasses that had been through the chilling rooms. First there -were the “splitters,” the most expert workmen in the plant, who -earned as high as fifty cents an hour, and did not a thing all day except chop -hogs down the middle. Then there were “cleaver men,” great giants -with muscles of iron; each had two men to attend him—to slide the half -carcass in front of him on the table, and hold it while he chopped it, and then -turn each piece so that he might chop it once more. His cleaver had a blade -about two feet long, and he never made but one cut; he made it so neatly, too, -that his implement did not smite through and dull itself—there was just -enough force for a perfect cut, and no more. So through various yawning holes -there slipped to the floor below—to one room hams, to another -forequarters, to another sides of pork. One might go down to this floor and see -the pickling rooms, where the hams were put into vats, and the great smoke -rooms, with their airtight iron doors. In other rooms they prepared salt -pork—there were whole cellars full of it, built up in great towers to the -ceiling. In yet other rooms they were putting up meats in boxes and barrels, -and wrapping hams and bacon in oiled paper, sealing and labeling and sewing -them. From the doors of these rooms went men with loaded trucks, to the -platform where freight cars were waiting to be filled; and one went out there -and realized with a start that he had come at last to the ground floor of this -enormous building. -</p> - -<p> -Then the party went across the street to where they did the killing of -beef—where every hour they turned four or five hundred cattle into meat. -Unlike the place they had left, all this work was done on one floor; and -instead of there being one line of carcasses which moved to the workmen, there -were fifteen or twenty lines, and the men moved from one to another of these. -This made a scene of intense activity, a picture of human power wonderful to -watch. It was all in one great room, like a circus amphitheater, with a gallery -for visitors running over the center. -</p> - -<p> -Along one side of the room ran a narrow gallery, a few feet from the floor; -into which gallery the cattle were driven by men with goads which gave them -electric shocks. Once crowded in here, the creatures were prisoned, each in a -separate pen, by gates that shut, leaving them no room to turn around; and -while they stood bellowing and plunging, over the top of the pen there leaned -one of the “knockers,” armed with a sledge hammer, and watching for -a chance to deal a blow. The room echoed with the thuds in quick succession, -and the stamping and kicking of the steers. The instant the animal had fallen, -the “knocker” passed on to another; while a second man raised a -lever, and the side of the pen was raised, and the animal, still kicking and -struggling, slid out to the “killing bed.” Here a man put shackles -about one leg, and pressed another lever, and the body was jerked up into the -air. There were fifteen or twenty such pens, and it was a matter of only a -couple of minutes to knock fifteen or twenty cattle and roll them out. Then -once more the gates were opened, and another lot rushed in; and so out of each -pen there rolled a steady stream of carcasses, which the men upon the killing -beds had to get out of the way. -</p> - -<p> -The manner in which they did this was something to be seen and never forgotten. -They worked with furious intensity, literally upon the run—at a pace with -which there is nothing to be compared except a football game. It was all highly -specialized labor, each man having his task to do; generally this would consist -of only two or three specific cuts, and he would pass down the line of fifteen -or twenty carcasses, making these cuts upon each. First there came the -“butcher,” to bleed them; this meant one swift stroke, so swift -that you could not see it—only the flash of the knife; and before you -could realize it, the man had darted on to the next line, and a stream of -bright red was pouring out upon the floor. This floor was half an inch deep -with blood, in spite of the best efforts of men who kept shoveling it through -holes; it must have made the floor slippery, but no one could have guessed this -by watching the men at work. -</p> - -<p> -The carcass hung for a few minutes to bleed; there was no time lost, however, -for there were several hanging in each line, and one was always ready. It was -let down to the ground, and there came the “headsman,” whose task -it was to sever the head, with two or three swift strokes. Then came the -“floorsman,” to make the first cut in the skin; and then another to -finish ripping the skin down the center; and then half a dozen more in swift -succession, to finish the skinning. After they were through, the carcass was -again swung up; and while a man with a stick examined the skin, to make sure -that it had not been cut, and another rolled it up and tumbled it through one -of the inevitable holes in the floor, the beef proceeded on its journey. There -were men to cut it, and men to split it, and men to gut it and scrape it clean -inside. There were some with hose which threw jets of boiling water upon it, -and others who removed the feet and added the final touches. In the end, as -with the hogs, the finished beef was run into the chilling room, to hang its -appointed time. -</p> - -<p> -The visitors were taken there and shown them, all neatly hung in rows, labeled -conspicuously with the tags of the government inspectors—and some, which -had been killed by a special process, marked with the sign of the kosher rabbi, -certifying that it was fit for sale to the orthodox. And then the visitors were -taken to the other parts of the building, to see what became of each particle -of the waste material that had vanished through the floor; and to the pickling -rooms, and the salting rooms, the canning rooms, and the packing rooms, where -choice meat was prepared for shipping in refrigerator cars, destined to be -eaten in all the four corners of civilization. Afterward they went outside, -wandering about among the mazes of buildings in which was done the work -auxiliary to this great industry. There was scarcely a thing needed in the -business that Durham and Company did not make for themselves. There was a great -steam power plant and an electricity plant. There was a barrel factory, and a -boiler-repair shop. There was a building to which the grease was piped, and -made into soap and lard; and then there was a factory for making lard cans, and -another for making soap boxes. There was a building in which the bristles were -cleaned and dried, for the making of hair cushions and such things; there was a -building where the skins were dried and tanned, there was another where heads -and feet were made into glue, and another where bones were made into -fertilizer. No tiniest particle of organic matter was wasted in Durham’s. -Out of the horns of the cattle they made combs, buttons, hairpins, and -imitation ivory; out of the shinbones and other big bones they cut knife and -toothbrush handles, and mouthpieces for pipes; out of the hoofs they cut -hairpins and buttons, before they made the rest into glue. From such things as -feet, knuckles, hide clippings, and sinews came such strange and unlikely -products as gelatin, isinglass, and phosphorus, bone black, shoe blacking, and -bone oil. They had curled-hair works for the cattle tails, and a “wool -pullery” for the sheepskins; they made pepsin from the stomachs of the -pigs, and albumen from the blood, and violin strings from the ill-smelling -entrails. When there was nothing else to be done with a thing, they first put -it into a tank and got out of it all the tallow and grease, and then they made -it into fertilizer. All these industries were gathered into buildings near by, -connected by galleries and railroads with the main establishment; and it was -estimated that they had handled nearly a quarter of a billion of animals since -the founding of the plant by the elder Durham a generation and more ago. If you -counted with it the other big plants—and they were now really all -one—it was, so Jokubas informed them, the greatest aggregation of labor -and capital ever gathered in one place. It employed thirty thousand men; it -supported directly two hundred and fifty thousand people in its neighborhood, -and indirectly it supported half a million. It sent its products to every -country in the civilized world, and it furnished the food for no less than -thirty million people! -</p> - -<p> -To all of these things our friends would listen open-mouthed—it seemed to -them impossible of belief that anything so stupendous could have been devised -by mortal man. That was why to Jurgis it seemed almost profanity to speak about -the place as did Jokubas, skeptically; it was a thing as tremendous as the -universe—the laws and ways of its working no more than the universe to be -questioned or understood. All that a mere man could do, it seemed to Jurgis, -was to take a thing like this as he found it, and do as he was told; to be -given a place in it and a share in its wonderful activities was a blessing to -be grateful for, as one was grateful for the sunshine and the rain. Jurgis was -even glad that he had not seen the place before meeting with his triumph, for -he felt that the size of it would have overwhelmed him. But now he had been -admitted—he was a part of it all! He had the feeling that this whole huge -establishment had taken him under its protection, and had become responsible -for his welfare. So guileless was he, and ignorant of the nature of business, -that he did not even realize that he had become an employee of Brown’s, -and that Brown and Durham were supposed by all the world to be deadly -rivals—were even required to be deadly rivals by the law of the land, and -ordered to try to ruin each other under penalty of fine and imprisonment! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p> -Promptly at seven the next morning Jurgis reported for work. He came to the -door that had been pointed out to him, and there he waited for nearly two -hours. The boss had meant for him to enter, but had not said this, and so it -was only when on his way out to hire another man that he came upon Jurgis. He -gave him a good cursing, but as Jurgis did not understand a word of it he did -not object. He followed the boss, who showed him where to put his street -clothes, and waited while he donned the working clothes he had bought in a -secondhand shop and brought with him in a bundle; then he led him to the -“killing beds.” The work which Jurgis was to do here was very -simple, and it took him but a few minutes to learn it. He was provided with a -stiff besom, such as is used by street sweepers, and it was his place to follow -down the line the man who drew out the smoking entrails from the carcass of the -steer; this mass was to be swept into a trap, which was then closed, so that no -one might slip into it. As Jurgis came in, the first cattle of the morning were -just making their appearance; and so, with scarcely time to look about him, and -none to speak to any one, he fell to work. It was a sweltering day in July, and -the place ran with steaming hot blood—one waded in it on the floor. The -stench was almost overpowering, but to Jurgis it was nothing. His whole soul -was dancing with joy—he was at work at last! He was at work and earning -money! All day long he was figuring to himself. He was paid the fabulous sum of -seventeen and a half cents an hour; and as it proved a rush day and he worked -until nearly seven o’clock in the evening, he went home to the family -with the tidings that he had earned more than a dollar and a half in a single -day! -</p> - -<p> -At home, also, there was more good news; so much of it at once that there was -quite a celebration in Aniele’s hall bedroom. Jonas had been to have an -interview with the special policeman to whom Szedvilas had introduced him, and -had been taken to see several of the bosses, with the result that one had -promised him a job the beginning of the next week. And then there was Marija -Berczynskas, who, fired with jealousy by the success of Jurgis, had set out -upon her own responsibility to get a place. Marija had nothing to take with her -save her two brawny arms and the word “job,” laboriously learned; -but with these she had marched about Packingtown all day, entering every door -where there were signs of activity. Out of some she had been ordered with -curses; but Marija was not afraid of man or devil, and asked every one she -saw—visitors and strangers, or work-people like herself, and once or -twice even high and lofty office personages, who stared at her as if they -thought she was crazy. In the end, however, she had reaped her reward. In one -of the smaller plants she had stumbled upon a room where scores of women and -girls were sitting at long tables preparing smoked beef in cans; and wandering -through room after room, Marija came at last to the place where the sealed cans -were being painted and labeled, and here she had the good fortune to encounter -the “forelady.” Marija did not understand then, as she was destined -to understand later, what there was attractive to a “forelady” -about the combination of a face full of boundless good nature and the muscles -of a dray horse; but the woman had told her to come the next day and she would -perhaps give her a chance to learn the trade of painting cans. The painting of -cans being skilled piecework, and paying as much as two dollars a day, Marija -burst in upon the family with the yell of a Comanche Indian, and fell to -capering about the room so as to frighten the baby almost into convulsions. -</p> - -<p> -Better luck than all this could hardly have been hoped for; there was only one -of them left to seek a place. Jurgis was determined that Teta Elzbieta should -stay at home to keep house, and that Ona should help her. He would not have Ona -working—he was not that sort of a man, he said, and she was not that sort -of a woman. It would be a strange thing if a man like him could not support the -family, with the help of the board of Jonas and Marija. He would not even hear -of letting the children go to work—there were schools here in America for -children, Jurgis had heard, to which they could go for nothing. That the priest -would object to these schools was something of which he had as yet no idea, and -for the present his mind was made up that the children of Teta Elzbieta should -have as fair a chance as any other children. The oldest of them, little -Stanislovas, was but thirteen, and small for his age at that; and while the -oldest son of Szedvilas was only twelve, and had worked for over a year at -Jones’s, Jurgis would have it that Stanislovas should learn to speak -English, and grow up to be a skilled man. -</p> - -<p> -So there was only old Dede Antanas; Jurgis would have had him rest too, but he -was forced to acknowledge that this was not possible, and, besides, the old man -would not hear it spoken of—it was his whim to insist that he was as -lively as any boy. He had come to America as full of hope as the best of them; -and now he was the chief problem that worried his son. For every one that -Jurgis spoke to assured him that it was a waste of time to seek employment for -the old man in Packingtown. Szedvilas told him that the packers did not even -keep the men who had grown old in their own service—to say nothing of -taking on new ones. And not only was it the rule here, it was the rule -everywhere in America, so far as he knew. To satisfy Jurgis he had asked the -policeman, and brought back the message that the thing was not to be thought -of. They had not told this to old Anthony, who had consequently spent the two -days wandering about from one part of the yards to another, and had now come -home to hear about the triumph of the others, smiling bravely and saying that -it would be his turn another day. -</p> - -<p> -Their good luck, they felt, had given them the right to think about a home; and -sitting out on the doorstep that summer evening, they held consultation about -it, and Jurgis took occasion to broach a weighty subject. Passing down the -avenue to work that morning he had seen two boys leaving an advertisement from -house to house; and seeing that there were pictures upon it, Jurgis had asked -for one, and had rolled it up and tucked it into his shirt. At noontime a man -with whom he had been talking had read it to him and told him a little about -it, with the result that Jurgis had conceived a wild idea. -</p> - -<p> -He brought out the placard, which was quite a work of art. It was nearly two -feet long, printed on calendered paper, with a selection of colors so bright -that they shone even in the moonlight. The center of the placard was occupied -by a house, brilliantly painted, new, and dazzling. The roof of it was of a -purple hue, and trimmed with gold; the house itself was silvery, and the doors -and windows red. It was a two-story building, with a porch in front, and a very -fancy scrollwork around the edges; it was complete in every tiniest detail, -even the doorknob, and there was a hammock on the porch and white lace curtains -in the windows. Underneath this, in one corner, was a picture of a husband and -wife in loving embrace; in the opposite corner was a cradle, with fluffy -curtains drawn over it, and a smiling cherub hovering upon silver-colored -wings. For fear that the significance of all this should be lost, there was a -label, in Polish, Lithuanian, and German—“<i>Dom. Namai. -Heim.</i>” “Why pay rent?” the linguistic circular went on to -demand. “Why not own your own home? Do you know that you can buy one for -less than your rent? We have built thousands of homes which are now occupied by -happy families.”—So it became eloquent, picturing the blissfulness -of married life in a house with nothing to pay. It even quoted “Home, -Sweet Home,” and made bold to translate it into Polish—though for -some reason it omitted the Lithuanian of this. Perhaps the translator found it -a difficult matter to be sentimental in a language in which a sob is known as a -gukcziojimas and a smile as a nusiszypsojimas. -</p> - -<p> -Over this document the family pored long, while Ona spelled out its contents. -It appeared that this house contained four rooms, besides a basement, and that -it might be bought for fifteen hundred dollars, the lot and all. Of this, only -three hundred dollars had to be paid down, the balance being paid at the rate -of twelve dollars a month. These were frightful sums, but then they were in -America, where people talked about such without fear. They had learned that -they would have to pay a rent of nine dollars a month for a flat, and there was -no way of doing better, unless the family of twelve was to exist in one or two -rooms, as at present. If they paid rent, of course, they might pay forever, and -be no better off; whereas, if they could only meet the extra expense in the -beginning, there would at last come a time when they would not have any rent to -pay for the rest of their lives. -</p> - -<p> -They figured it up. There was a little left of the money belonging to Teta -Elzbieta, and there was a little left to Jurgis. Marija had about fifty dollars -pinned up somewhere in her stockings, and Grandfather Anthony had part of the -money he had gotten for his farm. If they all combined, they would have enough -to make the first payment; and if they had employment, so that they could be -sure of the future, it might really prove the best plan. It was, of course, not -a thing even to be talked of lightly; it was a thing they would have to sift to -the bottom. And yet, on the other hand, if they were going to make the venture, -the sooner they did it the better, for were they not paying rent all the time, -and living in a most horrible way besides? Jurgis was used to dirt—there -was nothing could scare a man who had been with a railroad gang, where one -could gather up the fleas off the floor of the sleeping room by the handful. -But that sort of thing would not do for Ona. They must have a better place of -some sort soon—Jurgis said it with all the assurance of a man who had -just made a dollar and fifty-seven cents in a single day. Jurgis was at a loss -to understand why, with wages as they were, so many of the people of this -district should live the way they did. -</p> - -<p> -The next day Marija went to see her “forelady,” and was told to -report the first of the week, and learn the business of can-painter. Marija -went home, singing out loud all the way, and was just in time to join Ona and -her stepmother as they were setting out to go and make inquiry concerning the -house. That evening the three made their report to the men—the thing was -altogether as represented in the circular, or at any rate so the agent had -said. The houses lay to the south, about a mile and a half from the yards; they -were wonderful bargains, the gentleman had assured them—personally, and -for their own good. He could do this, so he explained to them, for the reason -that he had himself no interest in their sale—he was merely the agent for -a company that had built them. These were the last, and the company was going -out of business, so if any one wished to take advantage of this wonderful -no-rent plan, he would have to be very quick. As a matter of fact there was -just a little uncertainty as to whether there was a single house left; for the -agent had taken so many people to see them, and for all he knew the company -might have parted with the last. Seeing Teta Elzbieta’s evident grief at -this news, he added, after some hesitation, that if they really intended to -make a purchase, he would send a telephone message at his own expense, and have -one of the houses kept. So it had finally been arranged—and they were to -go and make an inspection the following Sunday morning. -</p> - -<p> -That was Thursday; and all the rest of the week the killing gang at -Brown’s worked at full pressure, and Jurgis cleared a dollar seventy-five -every day. That was at the rate of ten and one-half dollars a week, or -forty-five a month. Jurgis was not able to figure, except it was a very simple -sum, but Ona was like lightning at such things, and she worked out the problem -for the family. Marija and Jonas were each to pay sixteen dollars a month -board, and the old man insisted that he could do the same as soon as he got a -place—which might be any day now. That would make ninety-three dollars. -Then Marija and Jonas were between them to take a third share in the house, -which would leave only eight dollars a month for Jurgis to contribute to the -payment. So they would have eighty-five dollars a month—or, supposing -that Dede Antanas did not get work at once, seventy dollars a month—which -ought surely to be sufficient for the support of a family of twelve. -</p> - -<p> -An hour before the time on Sunday morning the entire party set out. They had -the address written on a piece of paper, which they showed to some one now and -then. It proved to be a long mile and a half, but they walked it, and half an -hour or so later the agent put in an appearance. He was a smooth and florid -personage, elegantly dressed, and he spoke their language freely, which gave -him a great advantage in dealing with them. He escorted them to the house, -which was one of a long row of the typical frame dwellings of the neighborhood, -where architecture is a luxury that is dispensed with. Ona’s heart sank, -for the house was not as it was shown in the picture; the color scheme was -different, for one thing, and then it did not seem quite so big. Still, it was -freshly painted, and made a considerable show. It was all brand-new, so the -agent told them, but he talked so incessantly that they were quite confused, -and did not have time to ask many questions. There were all sorts of things -they had made up their minds to inquire about, but when the time came, they -either forgot them or lacked the courage. The other houses in the row did not -seem to be new, and few of them seemed to be occupied. When they ventured to -hint at this, the agent’s reply was that the purchasers would be moving -in shortly. To press the matter would have seemed to be doubting his word, and -never in their lives had any one of them ever spoken to a person of the class -called “gentleman” except with deference and humility. -</p> - -<p> -The house had a basement, about two feet below the street line, and a single -story, about six feet above it, reached by a flight of steps. In addition there -was an attic, made by the peak of the roof, and having one small window in each -end. The street in front of the house was unpaved and unlighted, and the view -from it consisted of a few exactly similar houses, scattered here and there -upon lots grown up with dingy brown weeds. The house inside contained four -rooms, plastered white; the basement was but a frame, the walls being -unplastered and the floor not laid. The agent explained that the houses were -built that way, as the purchasers generally preferred to finish the basements -to suit their own taste. The attic was also unfinished—the family had -been figuring that in case of an emergency they could rent this attic, but they -found that there was not even a floor, nothing but joists, and beneath them the -lath and plaster of the ceiling below. All of this, however, did not chill -their ardor as much as might have been expected, because of the volubility of -the agent. There was no end to the advantages of the house, as he set them -forth, and he was not silent for an instant; he showed them everything, down to -the locks on the doors and the catches on the windows, and how to work them. He -showed them the sink in the kitchen, with running water and a faucet, something -which Teta Elzbieta had never in her wildest dreams hoped to possess. After a -discovery such as that it would have seemed ungrateful to find any fault, and -so they tried to shut their eyes to other defects. -</p> - -<p> -Still, they were peasant people, and they hung on to their money by instinct; -it was quite in vain that the agent hinted at promptness—they would see, -they would see, they told him, they could not decide until they had had more -time. And so they went home again, and all day and evening there was figuring -and debating. It was an agony to them to have to make up their minds in a -matter such as this. They never could agree all together; there were so many -arguments upon each side, and one would be obstinate, and no sooner would the -rest have convinced him than it would transpire that his arguments had caused -another to waver. Once, in the evening, when they were all in harmony, and the -house was as good as bought, Szedvilas came in and upset them again. Szedvilas -had no use for property owning. He told them cruel stories of people who had -been done to death in this “buying a home” swindle. They would be -almost sure to get into a tight place and lose all their money; and there was -no end of expense that one could never foresee; and the house might be -good-for-nothing from top to bottom—how was a poor man to know? Then, -too, they would swindle you with the contract—and how was a poor man to -understand anything about a contract? It was all nothing but robbery, and there -was no safety but in keeping out of it. And pay rent? asked Jurgis. Ah, yes, to -be sure, the other answered, that too was robbery. It was all robbery, for a -poor man. After half an hour of such depressing conversation, they had their -minds quite made up that they had been saved at the brink of a precipice; but -then Szedvilas went away, and Jonas, who was a sharp little man, reminded them -that the delicatessen business was a failure, according to its proprietor, and -that this might account for his pessimistic views. Which, of course, reopened -the subject! -</p> - -<p> -The controlling factor was that they could not stay where they were—they -had to go somewhere. And when they gave up the house plan and decided to rent, -the prospect of paying out nine dollars a month forever they found just as hard -to face. All day and all night for nearly a whole week they wrestled with the -problem, and then in the end Jurgis took the responsibility. Brother Jonas had -gotten his job, and was pushing a truck in Durham’s; and the killing gang -at Brown’s continued to work early and late, so that Jurgis grew more -confident every hour, more certain of his mastership. It was the kind of thing -the man of the family had to decide and carry through, he told himself. Others -might have failed at it, but he was not the failing kind—he would show -them how to do it. He would work all day, and all night, too, if need be; he -would never rest until the house was paid for and his people had a home. So he -told them, and so in the end the decision was made. -</p> - -<p> -They had talked about looking at more houses before they made the purchase; but -then they did not know where any more were, and they did not know any way of -finding out. The one they had seen held the sway in their thoughts; whenever -they thought of themselves in a house, it was this house that they thought of. -And so they went and told the agent that they were ready to make the agreement. -They knew, as an abstract proposition, that in matters of business all men are -to be accounted liars; but they could not but have been influenced by all they -had heard from the eloquent agent, and were quite persuaded that the house was -something they had run a risk of losing by their delay. They drew a deep breath -when he told them that they were still in time. -</p> - -<p> -They were to come on the morrow, and he would have the papers all drawn up. -This matter of papers was one in which Jurgis understood to the full the need -of caution; yet he could not go himself—every one told him that he could -not get a holiday, and that he might lose his job by asking. So there was -nothing to be done but to trust it to the women, with Szedvilas, who promised -to go with them. Jurgis spent a whole evening impressing upon them the -seriousness of the occasion—and then finally, out of innumerable hiding -places about their persons and in their baggage, came forth the precious wads -of money, to be done up tightly in a little bag and sewed fast in the lining of -Teta Elzbieta’s dress. -</p> - -<p> -Early in the morning they sallied forth. Jurgis had given them so many -instructions and warned them against so many perils, that the women were quite -pale with fright, and even the imperturbable delicatessen vender, who prided -himself upon being a businessman, was ill at ease. The agent had the deed all -ready, and invited them to sit down and read it; this Szedvilas proceeded to -do—a painful and laborious process, during which the agent drummed upon -the desk. Teta Elzbieta was so embarrassed that the perspiration came out upon -her forehead in beads; for was not this reading as much as to say plainly to -the gentleman’s face that they doubted his honesty? Yet Jokubas Szedvilas -read on and on; and presently there developed that he had good reason for doing -so. For a horrible suspicion had begun dawning in his mind; he knitted his -brows more and more as he read. This was not a deed of sale at all, so far as -he could see—it provided only for the renting of the property! It was -hard to tell, with all this strange legal jargon, words he had never heard -before; but was not this plain—“the party of the first part hereby -covenants and agrees to rent to the said party of the second part!” And -then again—“a monthly <i>rental</i> of twelve dollars, for a period -of eight years and four months!” Then Szedvilas took off his spectacles, -and looked at the agent, and stammered a question. -</p> - -<p> -The agent was most polite, and explained that that was the usual formula; that -it was always arranged that the property should be merely rented. He kept -trying to show them something in the next paragraph; but Szedvilas could not -get by the word “rental”—and when he translated it to Teta -Elzbieta, she too was thrown into a fright. They would not own the home at all, -then, for nearly nine years! The agent, with infinite patience, began to -explain again; but no explanation would do now. Elzbieta had firmly fixed in -her mind the last solemn warning of Jurgis: “If there is anything wrong, -do not give him the money, but go out and get a lawyer.” It was an -agonizing moment, but she sat in the chair, her hands clenched like death, and -made a fearful effort, summoning all her powers, and gasped out her purpose. -</p> - -<p> -Jokubas translated her words. She expected the agent to fly into a passion, but -he was, to her bewilderment, as ever imperturbable; he even offered to go and -get a lawyer for her, but she declined this. They went a long way, on purpose -to find a man who would not be a confederate. Then let any one imagine their -dismay, when, after half an hour, they came in with a lawyer, and heard him -greet the agent by his first name! They felt that all was lost; they sat like -prisoners summoned to hear the reading of their death warrant. There was -nothing more that they could do—they were trapped! The lawyer read over -the deed, and when he had read it he informed Szedvilas that it was all -perfectly regular, that the deed was a blank deed such as was often used in -these sales. And was the price as agreed? the old man asked—three hundred -dollars down, and the balance at twelve dollars a month, till the total of -fifteen hundred dollars had been paid? Yes, that was correct. And it was for -the sale of such and such a house—the house and lot and everything? -Yes,—and the lawyer showed him where that was all written. And it was all -perfectly regular—there were no tricks about it of any sort? They were -poor people, and this was all they had in the world, and if there was anything -wrong they would be ruined. And so Szedvilas went on, asking one trembling -question after another, while the eyes of the women folks were fixed upon him -in mute agony. They could not understand what he was saying, but they knew that -upon it their fate depended. And when at last he had questioned until there was -no more questioning to be done, and the time came for them to make up their -minds, and either close the bargain or reject it, it was all that poor Teta -Elzbieta could do to keep from bursting into tears. Jokubas had asked her if -she wished to sign; he had asked her twice—and what could she say? How -did she know if this lawyer were telling the truth—that he was not in the -conspiracy? And yet, how could she say so—what excuse could she give? The -eyes of every one in the room were upon her, awaiting her decision; and at -last, half blind with her tears, she began fumbling in her jacket, where she -had pinned the precious money. And she brought it out and unwrapped it before -the men. All of this Ona sat watching, from a corner of the room, twisting her -hands together, meantime, in a fever of fright. Ona longed to cry out and tell -her stepmother to stop, that it was all a trap; but there seemed to be -something clutching her by the throat, and she could not make a sound. And so -Teta Elzbieta laid the money on the table, and the agent picked it up and -counted it, and then wrote them a receipt for it and passed them the deed. Then -he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and rose and shook hands with them all, still -as smooth and polite as at the beginning. Ona had a dim recollection of the -lawyer telling Szedvilas that his charge was a dollar, which occasioned some -debate, and more agony; and then, after they had paid that, too, they went out -into the street, her stepmother clutching the deed in her hand. They were so -weak from fright that they could not walk, but had to sit down on the way. -</p> - -<p> -So they went home, with a deadly terror gnawing at their souls; and that -evening Jurgis came home and heard their story, and that was the end. Jurgis -was sure that they had been swindled, and were ruined; and he tore his hair and -cursed like a madman, swearing that he would kill the agent that very night. In -the end he seized the paper and rushed out of the house, and all the way across -the yards to Halsted Street. He dragged Szedvilas out from his supper, and -together they rushed to consult another lawyer. When they entered his office -the lawyer sprang up, for Jurgis looked like a crazy person, with flying hair -and bloodshot eyes. His companion explained the situation, and the lawyer took -the paper and began to read it, while Jurgis stood clutching the desk with -knotted hands, trembling in every nerve. -</p> - -<p> -Once or twice the lawyer looked up and asked a question of Szedvilas; the other -did not know a word that he was saying, but his eyes were fixed upon the -lawyer’s face, striving in an agony of dread to read his mind. He saw the -lawyer look up and laugh, and he gave a gasp; the man said something to -Szedvilas, and Jurgis turned upon his friend, his heart almost stopping. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he panted. -</p> - -<p> -“He says it is all right,” said Szedvilas. -</p> - -<p> -“All right!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, he says it is just as it should be.” And Jurgis, in his -relief, sank down into a chair. -</p> - -<p> -“Are you sure of it?” he gasped, and made Szedvilas translate -question after question. He could not hear it often enough; he could not ask -with enough variations. Yes, they had bought the house, they had really bought -it. It belonged to them, they had only to pay the money and it would be all -right. Then Jurgis covered his face with his hands, for there were tears in his -eyes, and he felt like a fool. But he had had such a horrible fright; strong -man as he was, it left him almost too weak to stand up. -</p> - -<p> -The lawyer explained that the rental was a form—the property was said to -be merely rented until the last payment had been made, the purpose being to -make it easier to turn the party out if he did not make the payments. So long -as they paid, however, they had nothing to fear, the house was all theirs. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was so grateful that he paid the half dollar the lawyer asked without -winking an eyelash, and then rushed home to tell the news to the family. He -found Ona in a faint and the babies screaming, and the whole house in an -uproar—for it had been believed by all that he had gone to murder the -agent. It was hours before the excitement could be calmed; and all through that -cruel night Jurgis would wake up now and then and hear Ona and her stepmother -in the next room, sobbing softly to themselves. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p> -They had bought their home. It was hard for them to realize that the wonderful -house was theirs to move into whenever they chose. They spent all their time -thinking about it, and what they were going to put into it. As their week with -Aniele was up in three days, they lost no time in getting ready. They had to -make some shift to furnish it, and every instant of their leisure was given to -discussing this. -</p> - -<p> -A person who had such a task before him would not need to look very far in -Packingtown—he had only to walk up the avenue and read the signs, or get -into a streetcar, to obtain full information as to pretty much everything a -human creature could need. It was quite touching, the zeal of people to see -that his health and happiness were provided for. Did the person wish to smoke? -There was a little discourse about cigars, showing him exactly why the Thomas -Jefferson Five-cent Perfecto was the only cigar worthy of the name. Had he, on -the other hand, smoked too much? Here was a remedy for the smoking habit, -twenty-five doses for a quarter, and a cure absolutely guaranteed in ten doses. -In innumerable ways such as this, the traveler found that somebody had been -busied to make smooth his paths through the world, and to let him know what had -been done for him. In Packingtown the advertisements had a style all of their -own, adapted to the peculiar population. One would be tenderly solicitous. -“Is your wife pale?” it would inquire. “Is she discouraged, -does she drag herself about the house and find fault with everything? Why do -you not tell her to try Dr. Lanahan’s Life Preservers?” Another -would be jocular in tone, slapping you on the back, so to speak. -“Don’t be a chump!” it would exclaim. “Go and get the -Goliath Bunion Cure.” “Get a move on you!” would chime in -another. “It’s easy, if you wear the Eureka Two-fifty Shoe.” -</p> - -<p> -Among these importunate signs was one that had caught the attention of the -family by its pictures. It showed two very pretty little birds building -themselves a home; and Marija had asked an acquaintance to read it to her, and -told them that it related to the furnishing of a house. “Feather your -nest,” it ran—and went on to say that it could furnish all the -necessary feathers for a four-room nest for the ludicrously small sum of -seventy-five dollars. The particularly important thing about this offer was -that only a small part of the money need be had at once—the rest one -might pay a few dollars every month. Our friends had to have some furniture, -there was no getting away from that; but their little fund of money had sunk so -low that they could hardly get to sleep at night, and so they fled to this as -their deliverance. There was more agony and another paper for Elzbieta to sign, -and then one night when Jurgis came home, he was told the breathless tidings -that the furniture had arrived and was safely stowed in the house: a parlor set -of four pieces, a bedroom set of three pieces, a dining room table and four -chairs, a toilet set with beautiful pink roses painted all over it, an -assortment of crockery, also with pink roses—and so on. One of the plates -in the set had been found broken when they unpacked it, and Ona was going to -the store the first thing in the morning to make them change it; also they had -promised three saucepans, and there had only two come, and did Jurgis think -that they were trying to cheat them? -</p> - -<p> -The next day they went to the house; and when the men came from work they ate a -few hurried mouthfuls at Aniele’s, and then set to work at the task of -carrying their belongings to their new home. The distance was in reality over -two miles, but Jurgis made two trips that night, each time with a huge pile of -mattresses and bedding on his head, with bundles of clothing and bags and -things tied up inside. Anywhere else in Chicago he would have stood a good -chance of being arrested; but the policemen in Packingtown were apparently used -to these informal movings, and contented themselves with a cursory examination -now and then. It was quite wonderful to see how fine the house looked, with all -the things in it, even by the dim light of a lamp: it was really home, and -almost as exciting as the placard had described it. Ona was fairly dancing, and -she and Cousin Marija took Jurgis by the arm and escorted him from room to -room, sitting in each chair by turns, and then insisting that he should do the -same. One chair squeaked with his great weight, and they screamed with fright, -and woke the baby and brought everybody running. Altogether it was a great day; -and tired as they were, Jurgis and Ona sat up late, contented simply to hold -each other and gaze in rapture about the room. They were going to be married as -soon as they could get everything settled, and a little spare money put by; and -this was to be their home—that little room yonder would be theirs! -</p> - -<p> -It was in truth a never-ending delight, the fixing up of this house. They had -no money to spend for the pleasure of spending, but there were a few absolutely -necessary things, and the buying of these was a perpetual adventure for Ona. It -must always be done at night, so that Jurgis could go along; and even if it -were only a pepper cruet, or half a dozen glasses for ten cents, that was -enough for an expedition. On Saturday night they came home with a great -basketful of things, and spread them out on the table, while every one stood -round, and the children climbed up on the chairs, or howled to be lifted up to -see. There were sugar and salt and tea and crackers, and a can of lard and a -milk pail, and a scrubbing brush, and a pair of shoes for the second oldest -boy, and a can of oil, and a tack hammer, and a pound of nails. These last were -to be driven into the walls of the kitchen and the bedrooms, to hang things on; -and there was a family discussion as to the place where each one was to be -driven. Then Jurgis would try to hammer, and hit his fingers because the hammer -was too small, and get mad because Ona had refused to let him pay fifteen cents -more and get a bigger hammer; and Ona would be invited to try it herself, and -hurt her thumb, and cry out, which necessitated the thumb’s being kissed -by Jurgis. Finally, after every one had had a try, the nails would be driven, -and something hung up. Jurgis had come home with a big packing box on his head, -and he sent Jonas to get another that he had bought. He meant to take one side -out of these tomorrow, and put shelves in them, and make them into bureaus and -places to keep things for the bedrooms. The nest which had been advertised had -not included feathers for quite so many birds as there were in this family. -</p> - -<p> -They had, of course, put their dining table in the kitchen, and the dining room -was used as the bedroom of Teta Elzbieta and five of her children. She and the -two youngest slept in the only bed, and the other three had a mattress on the -floor. Ona and her cousin dragged a mattress into the parlor and slept at -night, and the three men and the oldest boy slept in the other room, having -nothing but the very level floor to rest on for the present. Even so, however, -they slept soundly—it was necessary for Teta Elzbieta to pound more than -once on the door at a quarter past five every morning. She would have ready a -great pot full of steaming black coffee, and oatmeal and bread and smoked -sausages; and then she would fix them their dinner pails with more thick slices -of bread with lard between them—they could not afford butter—and -some onions and a piece of cheese, and so they would tramp away to work. -</p> - -<p> -This was the first time in his life that he had ever really worked, it seemed -to Jurgis; it was the first time that he had ever had anything to do which took -all he had in him. Jurgis had stood with the rest up in the gallery and watched -the men on the killing beds, marveling at their speed and power as if they had -been wonderful machines; it somehow never occurred to one to think of the -flesh-and-blood side of it—that is, not until he actually got down into -the pit and took off his coat. Then he saw things in a different light, he got -at the inside of them. The pace they set here, it was one that called for every -faculty of a man—from the instant the first steer fell till the sounding -of the noon whistle, and again from half-past twelve till heaven only knew what -hour in the late afternoon or evening, there was never one instant’s rest -for a man, for his hand or his eye or his brain. Jurgis saw how they managed -it; there were portions of the work which determined the pace of the rest, and -for these they had picked men whom they paid high wages, and whom they changed -frequently. You might easily pick out these pacemakers, for they worked under -the eye of the bosses, and they worked like men possessed. This was called -“speeding up the gang,” and if any man could not keep up with the -pace, there were hundreds outside begging to try. -</p> - -<p> -Yet Jurgis did not mind it; he rather enjoyed it. It saved him the necessity of -flinging his arms about and fidgeting as he did in most work. He would laugh to -himself as he ran down the line, darting a glance now and then at the man ahead -of him. It was not the pleasantest work one could think of, but it was -necessary work; and what more had a man the right to ask than a chance to do -something useful, and to get good pay for doing it? -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis thought, and so he spoke, in his bold, free way; very much to his -surprise, he found that it had a tendency to get him into trouble. For most of -the men here took a fearfully different view of the thing. He was quite -dismayed when he first began to find it out—that most of the men -<i>hated</i> their work. It seemed strange, it was even terrible, when you came -to find out the universality of the sentiment; but it was certainly the -fact—they hated their work. They hated the bosses and they hated the -owners; they hated the whole place, the whole neighborhood—even the whole -city, with an all-inclusive hatred, bitter and fierce. Women and little -children would fall to cursing about it; it was rotten, rotten as -hell—everything was rotten. When Jurgis would ask them what they meant, -they would begin to get suspicious, and content themselves with saying, -“Never mind, you stay here and see for yourself.” -</p> - -<p> -One of the first problems that Jurgis ran upon was that of the unions. He had -had no experience with unions, and he had to have it explained to him that the -men were banded together for the purpose of fighting for their rights. Jurgis -asked them what they meant by their rights, a question in which he was quite -sincere, for he had not any idea of any rights that he had, except the right to -hunt for a job, and do as he was told when he got it. Generally, however, this -harmless question would only make his fellow workingmen lose their tempers and -call him a fool. There was a delegate of the butcher-helpers’ union who -came to see Jurgis to enroll him; and when Jurgis found that this meant that he -would have to part with some of his money, he froze up directly, and the -delegate, who was an Irishman and only knew a few words of Lithuanian, lost his -temper and began to threaten him. In the end Jurgis got into a fine rage, and -made it sufficiently plain that it would take more than one Irishman to scare -him into a union. Little by little he gathered that the main thing the men -wanted was to put a stop to the habit of “speeding-up”; they were -trying their best to force a lessening of the pace, for there were some, they -said, who could not keep up with it, whom it was killing. But Jurgis had no -sympathy with such ideas as this—he could do the work himself, and so -could the rest of them, he declared, if they were good for anything. If they -couldn’t do it, let them go somewhere else. Jurgis had not studied the -books, and he would not have known how to pronounce “laissez -faire”; but he had been round the world enough to know that a man has to -shift for himself in it, and that if he gets the worst of it, there is nobody -to listen to him holler. -</p> - -<p> -Yet there have been known to be philosophers and plain men who swore by Malthus -in the books, and would, nevertheless, subscribe to a relief fund in time of a -famine. It was the same with Jurgis, who consigned the unfit to destruction, -while going about all day sick at heart because of his poor old father, who was -wandering somewhere in the yards begging for a chance to earn his bread. Old -Antanas had been a worker ever since he was a child; he had run away from home -when he was twelve, because his father beat him for trying to learn to read. -And he was a faithful man, too; he was a man you might leave alone for a month, -if only you had made him understand what you wanted him to do in the meantime. -And now here he was, worn out in soul and body, and with no more place in the -world than a sick dog. He had his home, as it happened, and some one who would -care for him if he never got a job; but his son could not help thinking, -suppose this had not been the case. Antanas Rudkus had been into every building -in Packingtown by this time, and into nearly every room; he had stood mornings -among the crowd of applicants till the very policemen had come to know his face -and to tell him to go home and give it up. He had been likewise to all the -stores and saloons for a mile about, begging for some little thing to do; and -everywhere they had ordered him out, sometimes with curses, and not once even -stopping to ask him a question. -</p> - -<p> -So, after all, there was a crack in the fine structure of Jurgis’ faith -in things as they are. The crack was wide while Dede Antanas was hunting a -job—and it was yet wider when he finally got it. For one evening the old -man came home in a great state of excitement, with the tale that he had been -approached by a man in one of the corridors of the pickle rooms of -Durham’s, and asked what he would pay to get a job. He had not known what -to make of this at first; but the man had gone on with matter-of-fact frankness -to say that he could get him a job, provided that he were willing to pay -one-third of his wages for it. Was he a boss? Antanas had asked; to which the -man had replied that that was nobody’s business, but that he could do -what he said. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had made some friends by this time, and he sought one of them and asked -what this meant. The friend, who was named Tamoszius Kuszleika, was a sharp -little man who folded hides on the killing beds, and he listened to what Jurgis -had to say without seeming at all surprised. They were common enough, he said, -such cases of petty graft. It was simply some boss who proposed to add a little -to his income. After Jurgis had been there awhile he would know that the plants -were simply honeycombed with rottenness of that sort—the bosses grafted -off the men, and they grafted off each other; and some day the superintendent -would find out about the boss, and then he would graft off the boss. Warming to -the subject, Tamoszius went on to explain the situation. Here was -Durham’s, for instance, owned by a man who was trying to make as much -money out of it as he could, and did not care in the least how he did it; and -underneath him, ranged in ranks and grades like an army, were managers and -superintendents and foremen, each one driving the man next below him and trying -to squeeze out of him as much work as possible. And all the men of the same -rank were pitted against each other; the accounts of each were kept separately, -and every man lived in terror of losing his job, if another made a better -record than he. So from top to bottom the place was simply a seething caldron -of jealousies and hatreds; there was no loyalty or decency anywhere about it, -there was no place in it where a man counted for anything against a dollar. And -worse than there being no decency, there was not even any honesty. The reason -for that? Who could say? It must have been old Durham in the beginning; it was -a heritage which the self-made merchant had left to his son, along with his -millions. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis would find out these things for himself, if he stayed there long enough; -it was the men who had to do all the dirty jobs, and so there was no deceiving -them; and they caught the spirit of the place, and did like all the rest. -Jurgis had come there, and thought he was going to make himself useful, and -rise and become a skilled man; but he would soon find out his error—for -nobody rose in Packingtown by doing good work. You could lay that down for a -rule—if you met a man who was rising in Packingtown, you met a knave. -That man who had been sent to Jurgis’ father by the boss, <i>he</i> would -rise; the man who told tales and spied upon his fellows would rise; but the man -who minded his own business and did his work—why, they would “speed -him up” till they had worn him out, and then they would throw him into -the gutter. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went home with his head buzzing. Yet he could not bring himself to -believe such things—no, it could not be so. Tamoszius was simply another -of the grumblers. He was a man who spent all his time fiddling; and he would go -to parties at night and not get home till sunrise, and so of course he did not -feel like work. Then, too, he was a puny little chap; and so he had been left -behind in the race, and that was why he was sore. And yet so many strange -things kept coming to Jurgis’ notice every day! -</p> - -<p> -He tried to persuade his father to have nothing to do with the offer. But old -Antanas had begged until he was worn out, and all his courage was gone; he -wanted a job, any sort of a job. So the next day he went and found the man who -had spoken to him, and promised to bring him a third of all he earned; and that -same day he was put to work in Durham’s cellars. It was a “pickle -room,” where there was never a dry spot to stand upon, and so he had to -take nearly the whole of his first week’s earnings to buy him a pair of -heavy-soled boots. He was a “squeedgie” man; his job was to go -about all day with a long-handled mop, swabbing up the floor. Except that it -was damp and dark, it was not an unpleasant job, in summer. -</p> - -<p> -Now Antanas Rudkus was the meekest man that God ever put on earth; and so -Jurgis found it a striking confirmation of what the men all said, that his -father had been at work only two days before he came home as bitter as any of -them, and cursing Durham’s with all the power of his soul. For they had -set him to cleaning out the traps; and the family sat round and listened in -wonder while he told them what that meant. It seemed that he was working in the -room where the men prepared the beef for canning, and the beef had lain in vats -full of chemicals, and men with great forks speared it out and dumped it into -trucks, to be taken to the cooking room. When they had speared out all they -could reach, they emptied the vat on the floor, and then with shovels scraped -up the balance and dumped it into the truck. This floor was filthy, yet they -set Antanas with his mop slopping the “pickle” into a hole that -connected with a sink, where it was caught and used over again forever; and if -that were not enough, there was a trap in the pipe, where all the scraps of -meat and odds and ends of refuse were caught, and every few days it was the old -man’s task to clean these out, and shovel their contents into one of the -trucks with the rest of the meat! -</p> - -<p> -This was the experience of Antanas; and then there came also Jonas and Marija -with tales to tell. Marija was working for one of the independent packers, and -was quite beside herself and outrageous with triumph over the sums of money she -was making as a painter of cans. But one day she walked home with a pale-faced -little woman who worked opposite to her, Jadvyga Marcinkus by name, and Jadvyga -told her how she, Marija, had chanced to get her job. She had taken the place -of an Irishwoman who had been working in that factory ever since any one could -remember. For over fifteen years, so she declared. Mary Dennis was her name, -and a long time ago she had been seduced, and had a little boy; he was a -cripple, and an epileptic, but still he was all that she had in the world to -love, and they had lived in a little room alone somewhere back of Halsted -Street, where the Irish were. Mary had had consumption, and all day long you -might hear her coughing as she worked; of late she had been going all to -pieces, and when Marija came, the “forelady” had suddenly decided -to turn her off. The forelady had to come up to a certain standard herself, and -could not stop for sick people, Jadvyga explained. The fact that Mary had been -there so long had not made any difference to her—it was doubtful if she -even knew that, for both the forelady and the superintendent were new people, -having only been there two or three years themselves. Jadvyga did not know what -had become of the poor creature; she would have gone to see her, but had been -sick herself. She had pains in her back all the time, Jadvyga explained, and -feared that she had womb trouble. It was not fit work for a woman, handling -fourteen-pound cans all day. -</p> - -<p> -It was a striking circumstance that Jonas, too, had gotten his job by the -misfortune of some other person. Jonas pushed a truck loaded with hams from the -smoke rooms on to an elevator, and thence to the packing rooms. The trucks were -all of iron, and heavy, and they put about threescore hams on each of them, a -load of more than a quarter of a ton. On the uneven floor it was a task for a -man to start one of these trucks, unless he was a giant; and when it was once -started he naturally tried his best to keep it going. There was always the boss -prowling about, and if there was a second’s delay he would fall to -cursing; Lithuanians and Slovaks and such, who could not understand what was -said to them, the bosses were wont to kick about the place like so many dogs. -Therefore these trucks went for the most part on the run; and the predecessor -of Jonas had been jammed against the wall by one and crushed in a horrible and -nameless manner. -</p> - -<p> -All of these were sinister incidents; but they were trifles compared to what -Jurgis saw with his own eyes before long. One curious thing he had noticed, the -very first day, in his profession of shoveler of guts; which was the sharp -trick of the floor bosses whenever there chanced to come a “slunk” -calf. Any man who knows anything about butchering knows that the flesh of a cow -that is about to calve, or has just calved, is not fit for food. A good many of -these came every day to the packing houses—and, of course, if they had -chosen, it would have been an easy matter for the packers to keep them till -they were fit for food. But for the saving of time and fodder, it was the law -that cows of that sort came along with the others, and whoever noticed it would -tell the boss, and the boss would start up a conversation with the government -inspector, and the two would stroll away. So in a trice the carcass of the cow -would be cleaned out, and entrails would have vanished; it was Jurgis’ -task to slide them into the trap, calves and all, and on the floor below they -took out these “slunk” calves, and butchered them for meat, and -used even the skins of them. -</p> - -<p> -One day a man slipped and hurt his leg; and that afternoon, when the last of -the cattle had been disposed of, and the men were leaving, Jurgis was ordered -to remain and do some special work which this injured man had usually done. It -was late, almost dark, and the government inspectors had all gone, and there -were only a dozen or two of men on the floor. That day they had killed about -four thousand cattle, and these cattle had come in freight trains from far -states, and some of them had got hurt. There were some with broken legs, and -some with gored sides; there were some that had died, from what cause no one -could say; and they were all to be disposed of, here in darkness and silence. -“Downers,” the men called them; and the packing house had a special -elevator upon which they were raised to the killing beds, where the gang -proceeded to handle them, with an air of businesslike nonchalance which said -plainer than any words that it was a matter of everyday routine. It took a -couple of hours to get them out of the way, and in the end Jurgis saw them go -into the chilling rooms with the rest of the meat, being carefully scattered -here and there so that they could not be identified. When he came home that -night he was in a very somber mood, having begun to see at last how those might -be right who had laughed at him for his faith in America. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis and Ona were very much in love; they had waited a long time—it was -now well into the second year, and Jurgis judged everything by the criterion of -its helping or hindering their union. All his thoughts were there; he accepted -the family because it was a part of Ona. And he was interested in the house -because it was to be Ona’s home. Even the tricks and cruelties he saw at -Durham’s had little meaning for him just then, save as they might happen -to affect his future with Ona. -</p> - -<p> -The marriage would have been at once, if they had had their way; but this would -mean that they would have to do without any wedding feast, and when they -suggested this they came into conflict with the old people. To Teta Elzbieta -especially the very suggestion was an affliction. What! she would cry. To be -married on the roadside like a parcel of beggars! No! No!—Elzbieta had -some traditions behind her; she had been a person of importance in her -girlhood—had lived on a big estate and had servants, and might have -married well and been a lady, but for the fact that there had been nine -daughters and no sons in the family. Even so, however, she knew what was -decent, and clung to her traditions with desperation. They were not going to -lose all caste, even if they had come to be unskilled laborers in Packingtown; -and that Ona had even talked of omitting a <i>veselija</i> was enough to keep -her stepmother lying awake all night. It was in vain for them to say that they -had so few friends; they were bound to have friends in time, and then the -friends would talk about it. They must not give up what was right for a little -money—if they did, the money would never do them any good, they could -depend upon that. And Elzbieta would call upon Dede Antanas to support her; -there was a fear in the souls of these two, lest this journey to a new country -might somehow undermine the old home virtues of their children. The very first -Sunday they had all been taken to mass; and poor as they were, Elzbieta had -felt it advisable to invest a little of her resources in a representation of -the babe of Bethlehem, made in plaster, and painted in brilliant colors. Though -it was only a foot high, there was a shrine with four snow-white steeples, and -the Virgin standing with her child in her arms, and the kings and shepherds and -wise men bowing down before him. It had cost fifty cents; but Elzbieta had a -feeling that money spent for such things was not to be counted too closely, it -would come back in hidden ways. The piece was beautiful on the parlor mantel, -and one could not have a home without some sort of ornament. -</p> - -<p> -The cost of the wedding feast would, of course, be returned to them; but the -problem was to raise it even temporarily. They had been in the neighborhood so -short a time that they could not get much credit, and there was no one except -Szedvilas from whom they could borrow even a little. Evening after evening -Jurgis and Ona would sit and figure the expenses, calculating the term of their -separation. They could not possibly manage it decently for less than two -hundred dollars, and even though they were welcome to count in the whole of the -earnings of Marija and Jonas, as a loan, they could not hope to raise this sum -in less than four or five months. So Ona began thinking of seeking employment -herself, saying that if she had even ordinarily good luck, she might be able to -take two months off the time. They were just beginning to adjust themselves to -this necessity, when out of the clear sky there fell a thunderbolt upon -them—a calamity that scattered all their hopes to the four winds. -</p> - -<p> -About a block away from them there lived another Lithuanian family, consisting -of an elderly widow and one grown son; their name was Majauszkis, and our -friends struck up an acquaintance with them before long. One evening they came -over for a visit, and naturally the first subject upon which the conversation -turned was the neighborhood and its history; and then Grandmother Majauszkiene, -as the old lady was called, proceeded to recite to them a string of horrors -that fairly froze their blood. She was a wrinkled-up and wizened -personage—she must have been eighty—and as she mumbled the grim -story through her toothless gums, she seemed a very old witch to them. -Grandmother Majauszkiene had lived in the midst of misfortune so long that it -had come to be her element, and she talked about starvation, sickness, and -death as other people might about weddings and holidays. -</p> - -<p> -The thing came gradually. In the first place as to the house they had bought, -it was not new at all, as they had supposed; it was about fifteen years old, -and there was nothing new upon it but the paint, which was so bad that it -needed to be put on new every year or two. The house was one of a whole row -that was built by a company which existed to make money by swindling poor -people. The family had paid fifteen hundred dollars for it, and it had not cost -the builders five hundred, when it was new. Grandmother Majauszkiene knew that -because her son belonged to a political organization with a contractor who put -up exactly such houses. They used the very flimsiest and cheapest material; -they built the houses a dozen at a time, and they cared about nothing at all -except the outside shine. The family could take her word as to the trouble they -would have, for she had been through it all—she and her son had bought -their house in exactly the same way. They had fooled the company, however, for -her son was a skilled man, who made as high as a hundred dollars a month, and -as he had had sense enough not to marry, they had been able to pay for the -house. -</p> - -<p> -Grandmother Majauszkiene saw that her friends were puzzled at this remark; they -did not quite see how paying for the house was “fooling the -company.” Evidently they were very inexperienced. Cheap as the houses -were, they were sold with the idea that the people who bought them would not be -able to pay for them. When they failed—if it were only by a single -month—they would lose the house and all that they had paid on it, and -then the company would sell it over again. And did they often get a chance to -do that? <i>Dieve!</i> (Grandmother Majauszkiene raised her hands.) They did -it—how often no one could say, but certainly more than half of the time. -They might ask any one who knew anything at all about Packingtown as to that; -she had been living here ever since this house was built, and she could tell -them all about it. And had it ever been sold before? <i>Susimilkie!</i> Why, -since it had been built, no less than four families that their informant could -name had tried to buy it and failed. She would tell them a little about it. -</p> - -<p> -The first family had been Germans. The families had all been of different -nationalities—there had been a representative of several races that had -displaced each other in the stockyards. Grandmother Majauszkiene had come to -America with her son at a time when so far as she knew there was only one other -Lithuanian family in the district; the workers had all been Germans -then—skilled cattle butchers that the packers had brought from abroad to -start the business. Afterward, as cheaper labor had come, these Germans had -moved away. The next were the Irish—there had been six or eight years -when Packingtown had been a regular Irish city. There were a few colonies of -them still here, enough to run all the unions and the police force and get all -the graft; but most of those who were working in the packing houses had gone -away at the next drop in wages—after the big strike. The Bohemians had -come then, and after them the Poles. People said that old man Durham himself -was responsible for these immigrations; he had sworn that he would fix the -people of Packingtown so that they would never again call a strike on him, and -so he had sent his agents into every city and village in Europe to spread the -tale of the chances of work and high wages at the stockyards. The people had -come in hordes; and old Durham had squeezed them tighter and tighter, speeding -them up and grinding them to pieces and sending for new ones. The Poles, who -had come by tens of thousands, had been driven to the wall by the Lithuanians, -and now the Lithuanians were giving way to the Slovaks. Who there was poorer -and more miserable than the Slovaks, Grandmother Majauszkiene had no idea, but -the packers would find them, never fear. It was easy to bring them, for wages -were really much higher, and it was only when it was too late that the poor -people found out that everything else was higher too. They were like rats in a -trap, that was the truth; and more of them were piling in every day. By and by -they would have their revenge, though, for the thing was getting beyond human -endurance, and the people would rise and murder the packers. Grandmother -Majauszkiene was a socialist, or some such strange thing; another son of hers -was working in the mines of Siberia, and the old lady herself had made speeches -in her time—which made her seem all the more terrible to her present -auditors. -</p> - -<p> -They called her back to the story of the house. The German family had been a -good sort. To be sure there had been a great many of them, which was a common -failing in Packingtown; but they had worked hard, and the father had been a -steady man, and they had a good deal more than half paid for the house. But he -had been killed in an elevator accident in Durham’s. -</p> - -<p> -Then there had come the Irish, and there had been lots of them, too; the -husband drank and beat the children—the neighbors could hear them -shrieking any night. They were behind with their rent all the time, but the -company was good to them; there was some politics back of that, Grandmother -Majauszkiene could not say just what, but the Laffertys had belonged to the -“War Whoop League,” which was a sort of political club of all the -thugs and rowdies in the district; and if you belonged to that, you could never -be arrested for anything. Once upon a time old Lafferty had been caught with a -gang that had stolen cows from several of the poor people of the neighborhood -and butchered them in an old shanty back of the yards and sold them. He had -been in jail only three days for it, and had come out laughing, and had not -even lost his place in the packing house. He had gone all to ruin with the -drink, however, and lost his power; one of his sons, who was a good man, had -kept him and the family up for a year or two, but then he had got sick with -consumption. -</p> - -<p> -That was another thing, Grandmother Majauszkiene interrupted herself—this -house was unlucky. Every family that lived in it, some one was sure to get -consumption. Nobody could tell why that was; there must be something about the -house, or the way it was built—some folks said it was because the -building had been begun in the dark of the moon. There were dozens of houses -that way in Packingtown. Sometimes there would be a particular room that you -could point out—if anybody slept in that room he was just as good as -dead. With this house it had been the Irish first; and then a Bohemian family -had lost a child of it—though, to be sure, that was uncertain, since it -was hard to tell what was the matter with children who worked in the yards. In -those days there had been no law about the age of children—the packers -had worked all but the babies. At this remark the family looked puzzled, and -Grandmother Majauszkiene again had to make an explanation—that it was -against the law for children to work before they were sixteen. What was the -sense of that? they asked. They had been thinking of letting little Stanislovas -go to work. Well, there was no need to worry, Grandmother Majauszkiene -said—the law made no difference except that it forced people to lie about -the ages of their children. One would like to know what the lawmakers expected -them to do; there were families that had no possible means of support except -the children, and the law provided them no other way of getting a living. Very -often a man could get no work in Packingtown for months, while a child could go -and get a place easily; there was always some new machine, by which the packers -could get as much work out of a child as they had been able to get out of a -man, and for a third of the pay. -</p> - -<p> -To come back to the house again, it was the woman of the next family that had -died. That was after they had been there nearly four years, and this woman had -had twins regularly every year—and there had been more than you could -count when they moved in. After she died the man would go to work all day and -leave them to shift for themselves—the neighbors would help them now and -then, for they would almost freeze to death. At the end there were three days -that they were alone, before it was found out that the father was dead. He was -a “floorsman” at Jones’s, and a wounded steer had broken -loose and mashed him against a pillar. Then the children had been taken away, -and the company had sold the house that very same week to a party of emigrants. -</p> - -<p> -So this grim old woman went on with her tale of horrors. How much of it was -exaggeration—who could tell? It was only too plausible. There was that -about consumption, for instance. They knew nothing about consumption whatever, -except that it made people cough; and for two weeks they had been worrying -about a coughing-spell of Antanas. It seemed to shake him all over, and it -never stopped; you could see a red stain wherever he had spit upon the floor. -</p> - -<p> -And yet all these things were as nothing to what came a little later. They had -begun to question the old lady as to why one family had been unable to pay, -trying to show her by figures that it ought to have been possible; and -Grandmother Majauszkiene had disputed their figures—“You say twelve -dollars a month; but that does not include the interest.” -</p> - -<p> -Then they stared at her. “Interest!” they cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Interest on the money you still owe,” she answered. -</p> - -<p> -“But we don’t have to pay any interest!” they exclaimed, -three or four at once. “We only have to pay twelve dollars each -month.” -</p> - -<p> -And for this she laughed at them. “You are like all the rest,” she -said; “they trick you and eat you alive. They never sell the houses -without interest. Get your deed, and see.” -</p> - -<p> -Then, with a horrible sinking of the heart, Teta Elzbieta unlocked her bureau -and brought out the paper that had already caused them so many agonies. Now -they sat round, scarcely breathing, while the old lady, who could read English, -ran over it. “Yes,” she said, finally, “here it is, of -course: ‘With interest thereon monthly, at the rate of seven per cent per -annum.’” -</p> - -<p> -And there followed a dead silence. “What does that mean?” asked -Jurgis finally, almost in a whisper. -</p> - -<p> -“That means,” replied the other, “that you have to pay them -seven dollars next month, as well as the twelve dollars.” -</p> - -<p> -Then again there was not a sound. It was sickening, like a nightmare, in which -suddenly something gives way beneath you, and you feel yourself sinking, -sinking, down into bottomless abysses. As if in a flash of lightning they saw -themselves—victims of a relentless fate, cornered, trapped, in the grip -of destruction. All the fair structure of their hopes came crashing about their -ears.—And all the time the old woman was going on talking. They wished -that she would be still; her voice sounded like the croaking of some dismal -raven. Jurgis sat with his hands clenched and beads of perspiration on his -forehead, and there was a great lump in Ona’s throat, choking her. Then -suddenly Teta Elzbieta broke the silence with a wail, and Marija began to wring -her hands and sob, “<i>Ai! Ai! Beda man!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -All their outcry did them no good, of course. There sat Grandmother -Majauszkiene, unrelenting, typifying fate. No, of course it was not fair, but -then fairness had nothing to do with it. And of course they had not known it. -They had not been intended to know it. But it was in the deed, and that was all -that was necessary, as they would find when the time came. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow or other they got rid of their guest, and then they passed a night of -lamentation. The children woke up and found out that something was wrong, and -they wailed and would not be comforted. In the morning, of course, most of them -had to go to work, the packing houses would not stop for their sorrows; but by -seven o’clock Ona and her stepmother were standing at the door of the -office of the agent. Yes, he told them, when he came, it was quite true that -they would have to pay interest. And then Teta Elzbieta broke forth into -protestations and reproaches, so that the people outside stopped and peered in -at the window. The agent was as bland as ever. He was deeply pained, he said. -He had not told them, simply because he had supposed they would understand that -they had to pay interest upon their debt, as a matter of course. -</p> - -<p> -So they came away, and Ona went down to the yards, and at noontime saw Jurgis -and told him. Jurgis took it stolidly—he had made up his mind to it by -this time. It was part of fate; they would manage it somehow—he made his -usual answer, “I will work harder.” It would upset their plans for -a time; and it would perhaps be necessary for Ona to get work after all. Then -Ona added that Teta Elzbieta had decided that little Stanislovas would have to -work too. It was not fair to let Jurgis and her support the family—the -family would have to help as it could. Previously Jurgis had scouted this idea, -but now knit his brows and nodded his head slowly—yes, perhaps it would -be best; they would all have to make some sacrifices now. -</p> - -<p> -So Ona set out that day to hunt for work; and at night Marija came home saying -that she had met a girl named Jasaityte who had a friend that worked in one of -the wrapping rooms in Brown’s, and might get a place for Ona there; only -the forelady was the kind that takes presents—it was no use for any one -to ask her for a place unless at the same time they slipped a ten-dollar bill -into her hand. Jurgis was not in the least surprised at this now—he -merely asked what the wages of the place would be. So negotiations were opened, -and after an interview Ona came home and reported that the forelady seemed to -like her, and had said that, while she was not sure, she thought she might be -able to put her at work sewing covers on hams, a job at which she would earn as -much as eight or ten dollars a week. That was a bid, so Marija reported, after -consulting her friend; and then there was an anxious conference at home. The -work was done in one of the cellars, and Jurgis did not want Ona to work in -such a place; but then it was easy work, and one could not have everything. So -in the end Ona, with a ten-dollar bill burning a hole in her palm, had another -interview with the forelady. -</p> - -<p> -Meantime Teta Elzbieta had taken Stanislovas to the priest and gotten a -certificate to the effect that he was two years older than he was; and with it -the little boy now sallied forth to make his fortune in the world. It chanced -that Durham had just put in a wonderful new lard machine, and when the special -policeman in front of the time station saw Stanislovas and his document, he -smiled to himself and told him to go—“Czia! Czia!” pointing. -And so Stanislovas went down a long stone corridor, and up a flight of stairs, -which took him into a room lighted by electricity, with the new machines for -filling lard cans at work in it. The lard was finished on the floor above, and -it came in little jets, like beautiful, wriggling, snow-white snakes of -unpleasant odor. There were several kinds and sizes of jets, and after a -certain precise quantity had come out, each stopped automatically, and the -wonderful machine made a turn, and took the can under another jet, and so on, -until it was filled neatly to the brim, and pressed tightly, and smoothed off. -To attend to all this and fill several hundred cans of lard per hour, there -were necessary two human creatures, one of whom knew how to place an empty lard -can on a certain spot every few seconds, and the other of whom knew how to take -a full lard can off a certain spot every few seconds and set it upon a tray. -</p> - -<p> -And so, after little Stanislovas had stood gazing timidly about him for a few -minutes, a man approached him, and asked what he wanted, to which Stanislovas -said, “Job.” Then the man said “How old?” and -Stanislovas answered, “Sixtin.” Once or twice every year a state -inspector would come wandering through the packing plants, asking a child here -and there how old he was; and so the packers were very careful to comply with -the law, which cost them as much trouble as was now involved in the -boss’s taking the document from the little boy, and glancing at it, and -then sending it to the office to be filed away. Then he set some one else at a -different job, and showed the lad how to place a lard can every time the empty -arm of the remorseless machine came to him; and so was decided the place in the -universe of little Stanislovas, and his destiny till the end of his days. Hour -after hour, day after day, year after year, it was fated that he should stand -upon a certain square foot of floor from seven in the morning until noon, and -again from half-past twelve till half-past five, making never a motion and -thinking never a thought, save for the setting of lard cans. In summer the -stench of the warm lard would be nauseating, and in winter the cans would all -but freeze to his naked little fingers in the unheated cellar. Half the year it -would be dark as night when he went in to work, and dark as night again when he -came out, and so he would never know what the sun looked like on weekdays. And -for this, at the end of the week, he would carry home three dollars to his -family, being his pay at the rate of five cents per hour—just about his -proper share of the total earnings of the million and three-quarters of -children who are now engaged in earning their livings in the United States. -</p> - -<p> -And meantime, because they were young, and hope is not to be stifled before its -time, Jurgis and Ona were again calculating; for they had discovered that the -wages of Stanislovas would a little more than pay the interest, which left them -just about as they had been before! It would be but fair to them to say that -the little boy was delighted with his work, and at the idea of earning a lot of -money; and also that the two were very much in love with each other. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p> -All summer long the family toiled, and in the fall they had money enough for -Jurgis and Ona to be married according to home traditions of decency. In the -latter part of November they hired a hall, and invited all their new -acquaintances, who came and left them over a hundred dollars in debt. -</p> - -<p> -It was a bitter and cruel experience, and it plunged them into an agony of -despair. Such a time, of all times, for them to have it, when their hearts were -made tender! Such a pitiful beginning it was for their married life; they loved -each other so, and they could not have the briefest respite! It was a time when -everything cried out to them that they ought to be happy; when wonder burned in -their hearts, and leaped into flame at the slightest breath. They were shaken -to the depths of them, with the awe of love realized—and was it so very -weak of them that they cried out for a little peace? They had opened their -hearts, like flowers to the springtime, and the merciless winter had fallen -upon them. They wondered if ever any love that had blossomed in the world had -been so crushed and trampled! -</p> - -<p> -Over them, relentless and savage, there cracked the lash of want; the morning -after the wedding it sought them as they slept, and drove them out before -daybreak to work. Ona was scarcely able to stand with exhaustion; but if she -were to lose her place they would be ruined, and she would surely lose it if -she were not on time that day. They all had to go, even little Stanislovas, who -was ill from overindulgence in sausages and sarsaparilla. All that day he stood -at his lard machine, rocking unsteadily, his eyes closing in spite of him; and -he all but lost his place even so, for the foreman booted him twice to waken -him. -</p> - -<p> -It was fully a week before they were all normal again, and meantime, with -whining children and cross adults, the house was not a pleasant place to live -in. Jurgis lost his temper very little, however, all things considered. It was -because of Ona; the least glance at her was always enough to make him control -himself. She was so sensitive—she was not fitted for such a life as this; -and a hundred times a day, when he thought of her, he would clench his hands -and fling himself again at the task before him. She was too good for him, he -told himself, and he was afraid, because she was his. So long he had hungered -to possess her, but now that the time had come he knew that he had not earned -the right; that she trusted him so was all her own simple goodness, and no -virtue of his. But he was resolved that she should never find this out, and so -was always on the watch to see that he did not betray any of his ugly self; he -would take care even in little matters, such as his manners, and his habit of -swearing when things went wrong. The tears came so easily into Ona’s -eyes, and she would look at him so appealingly—it kept Jurgis quite busy -making resolutions, in addition to all the other things he had on his mind. It -was true that more things were going on at this time in the mind of Jurgis than -ever had in all his life before. -</p> - -<p> -He had to protect her, to do battle for her against the horror he saw about -them. He was all that she had to look to, and if he failed she would be lost; -he would wrap his arms about her, and try to hide her from the world. He had -learned the ways of things about him now. It was a war of each against all, and -the devil take the hindmost. You did not give feasts to other people, you -waited for them to give feasts to you. You went about with your soul full of -suspicion and hatred; you understood that you were environed by hostile powers -that were trying to get your money, and who used all the virtues to bait their -traps with. The store-keepers plastered up their windows with all sorts of lies -to entice you; the very fences by the wayside, the lampposts and telegraph -poles, were pasted over with lies. The great corporation which employed you -lied to you, and lied to the whole country—from top to bottom it was -nothing but one gigantic lie. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis said that he understood it; and yet it was really pitiful, for the -struggle was so unfair—some had so much the advantage! Here he was, for -instance, vowing upon his knees that he would save Ona from harm, and only a -week later she was suffering atrociously, and from the blow of an enemy that he -could not possibly have thwarted. There came a day when the rain fell in -torrents; and it being December, to be wet with it and have to sit all day long -in one of the cold cellars of Brown’s was no laughing matter. Ona was a -working girl, and did not own waterproofs and such things, and so Jurgis took -her and put her on the streetcar. Now it chanced that this car line was owned -by gentlemen who were trying to make money. And the city having passed an -ordinance requiring them to give transfers, they had fallen into a rage; and -first they had made a rule that transfers could be had only when the fare was -paid; and later, growing still uglier, they had made another—that the -passenger must ask for the transfer, the conductor was not allowed to offer it. -Now Ona had been told that she was to get a transfer; but it was not her way to -speak up, and so she merely waited, following the conductor about with her -eyes, wondering when he would think of her. When at last the time came for her -to get out, she asked for the transfer, and was refused. Not knowing what to -make of this, she began to argue with the conductor, in a language of which he -did not understand a word. After warning her several times, he pulled the bell -and the car went on—at which Ona burst into tears. At the next corner she -got out, of course; and as she had no more money, she had to walk the rest of -the way to the yards in the pouring rain. And so all day long she sat -shivering, and came home at night with her teeth chattering and pains in her -head and back. For two weeks afterward she suffered cruelly—and yet every -day she had to drag herself to her work. The forewoman was especially severe -with Ona, because she believed that she was obstinate on account of having been -refused a holiday the day after her wedding. Ona had an idea that her -“forelady” did not like to have her girls marry—perhaps -because she was old and ugly and unmarried herself. -</p> - -<p> -There were many such dangers, in which the odds were all against them. Their -children were not as well as they had been at home; but how could they know -that there was no sewer to their house, and that the drainage of fifteen years -was in a cesspool under it? How could they know that the pale-blue milk that -they bought around the corner was watered, and doctored with formaldehyde -besides? When the children were not well at home, Teta Elzbieta would gather -herbs and cure them; now she was obliged to go to the drugstore and buy -extracts—and how was she to know that they were all adulterated? How -could they find out that their tea and coffee, their sugar and flour, had been -doctored; that their canned peas had been colored with copper salts, and their -fruit jams with aniline dyes? And even if they had known it, what good would it -have done them, since there was no place within miles of them where any other -sort was to be had? The bitter winter was coming, and they had to save money to -get more clothing and bedding; but it would not matter in the least how much -they saved, they could not get anything to keep them warm. All the clothing -that was to be had in the stores was made of cotton and shoddy, which is made -by tearing old clothes to pieces and weaving the fiber again. If they paid -higher prices, they might get frills and fanciness, or be cheated; but genuine -quality they could not obtain for love nor money. A young friend of -Szedvilas’, recently come from abroad, had become a clerk in a store on -Ashland Avenue, and he narrated with glee a trick that had been played upon an -unsuspecting countryman by his boss. The customer had desired to purchase an -alarm clock, and the boss had shown him two exactly similar, telling him that -the price of one was a dollar and of the other a dollar seventy-five. Upon -being asked what the difference was, the man had wound up the first halfway and -the second all the way, and showed the customer how the latter made twice as -much noise; upon which the customer remarked that he was a sound sleeper, and -had better take the more expensive clock! -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -There is a poet who sings that -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -“Deeper their heart grows and nobler their bearing,<br /> -Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.” -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -But it was not likely that he had reference to the kind of anguish that comes -with destitution, that is so endlessly bitter and cruel, and yet so sordid and -petty, so ugly, so humiliating—unredeemed by the slightest touch of -dignity or even of pathos. It is a kind of anguish that poets have not commonly -dealt with; its very words are not admitted into the vocabulary of -poets—the details of it cannot be told in polite society at all. How, for -instance, could any one expect to excite sympathy among lovers of good -literature by telling how a family found their home alive with vermin, and of -all the suffering and inconvenience and humiliation they were put to, and the -hard-earned money they spent, in efforts to get rid of them? After long -hesitation and uncertainty they paid twenty-five cents for a big package of -insect powder—a patent preparation which chanced to be ninety-five per -cent gypsum, a harmless earth which had cost about two cents to prepare. Of -course it had not the least effect, except upon a few roaches which had the -misfortune to drink water after eating it, and so got their inwards set in a -coating of plaster of Paris. The family, having no idea of this, and no more -money to throw away, had nothing to do but give up and submit to one more -misery for the rest of their days. -</p> - -<p> -Then there was old Antanas. The winter came, and the place where he worked was -a dark, unheated cellar, where you could see your breath all day, and where -your fingers sometimes tried to freeze. So the old man’s cough grew every -day worse, until there came a time when it hardly ever stopped, and he had -become a nuisance about the place. Then, too, a still more dreadful thing -happened to him; he worked in a place where his feet were soaked in chemicals, -and it was not long before they had eaten through his new boots. Then sores -began to break out on his feet, and grow worse and worse. Whether it was that -his blood was bad, or there had been a cut, he could not say; but he asked the -men about it, and learned that it was a regular thing—it was the -saltpeter. Every one felt it, sooner or later, and then it was all up with him, -at least for that sort of work. The sores would never heal—in the end his -toes would drop off, if he did not quit. Yet old Antanas would not quit; he saw -the suffering of his family, and he remembered what it had cost him to get a -job. So he tied up his feet, and went on limping about and coughing, until at -last he fell to pieces, all at once and in a heap, like the One-Horse Shay. -They carried him to a dry place and laid him on the floor, and that night two -of the men helped him home. The poor old man was put to bed, and though he -tried it every morning until the end, he never could get up again. He would lie -there and cough and cough, day and night, wasting away to a mere skeleton. -There came a time when there was so little flesh on him that the bones began to -poke through—which was a horrible thing to see or even to think of. And -one night he had a choking fit, and a little river of blood came out of his -mouth. The family, wild with terror, sent for a doctor, and paid half a dollar -to be told that there was nothing to be done. Mercifully the doctor did not say -this so that the old man could hear, for he was still clinging to the faith -that tomorrow or next day he would be better, and could go back to his job. The -company had sent word to him that they would keep it for him—or rather -Jurgis had bribed one of the men to come one Sunday afternoon and say they had. -Dede Antanas continued to believe it, while three more hemorrhages came; and -then at last one morning they found him stiff and cold. Things were not going -well with them then, and though it nearly broke Teta Elzbieta’s heart, -they were forced to dispense with nearly all the decencies of a funeral; they -had only a hearse, and one hack for the women and children; and Jurgis, who was -learning things fast, spent all Sunday making a bargain for these, and he made -it in the presence of witnesses, so that when the man tried to charge him for -all sorts of incidentals, he did not have to pay. For twenty-five years old -Antanas Rudkus and his son had dwelt in the forest together, and it was hard to -part in this way; perhaps it was just as well that Jurgis had to give all his -attention to the task of having a funeral without being bankrupted, and so had -no time to indulge in memories and grief. -</p> - -<p> -Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forests, all summer long, -the branches of the trees do battle for light, and some of them lose and die; -and then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow and hail, and strew the -ground with these weaker branches. Just so it was in Packingtown; the whole -district braced itself for the struggle that was an agony, and those whose time -was come died off in hordes. All the year round they had been serving as cogs -in the great packing machine; and now was the time for the renovating of it, -and the replacing of damaged parts. There came pneumonia and grippe, stalking -among them, seeking for weakened constitutions; there was the annual harvest of -those whom tuberculosis had been dragging down. There came cruel, cold, and -biting winds, and blizzards of snow, all testing relentlessly for failing -muscles and impoverished blood. Sooner or later came the day when the unfit one -did not report for work; and then, with no time lost in waiting, and no -inquiries or regrets, there was a chance for a new hand. -</p> - -<p> -The new hands were here by the thousands. All day long the gates of the packing -houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, literally, by -the thousands every single morning, fighting with each other for a chance for -life. Blizzards and cold made no difference to them, they were always on hand; -they were on hand two hours before the sun rose, an hour before the work began. -Sometimes their faces froze, sometimes their feet and their hands; sometimes -they froze all together—but still they came, for they had no other place -to go. One day Durham advertised in the paper for two hundred men to cut ice; -and all that day the homeless and starving of the city came trudging through -the snow from all over its two hundred square miles. That night forty score of -them crowded into the station house of the stockyards district—they -filled the rooms, sleeping in each other’s laps, toboggan fashion, and -they piled on top of each other in the corridors, till the police shut the -doors and left some to freeze outside. On the morrow, before daybreak, there -were three thousand at Durham’s, and the police reserves had to be sent -for to quell the riot. Then Durham’s bosses picked out twenty of the -biggest; the “two hundred” proved to have been a printer’s -error. -</p> - -<p> -Four or five miles to the eastward lay the lake, and over this the bitter winds -came raging. Sometimes the thermometer would fall to ten or twenty degrees -below zero at night, and in the morning the streets would be piled with -snowdrifts up to the first-floor windows. The streets through which our friends -had to go to their work were all unpaved and full of deep holes and gullies; in -summer, when it rained hard, a man might have to wade to his waist to get to -his house; and now in winter it was no joke getting through these places, -before light in the morning and after dark at night. They would wrap up in all -they owned, but they could not wrap up against exhaustion; and many a man gave -out in these battles with the snowdrifts, and lay down and fell asleep. -</p> - -<p> -And if it was bad for the men, one may imagine how the women and children -fared. Some would ride in the cars, if the cars were running; but when you are -making only five cents an hour, as was little Stanislovas, you do not like to -spend that much to ride two miles. The children would come to the yards with -great shawls about their ears, and so tied up that you could hardly find -them—and still there would be accidents. One bitter morning in February -the little boy who worked at the lard machine with Stanislovas came about an -hour late, and screaming with pain. They unwrapped him, and a man began -vigorously rubbing his ears; and as they were frozen stiff, it took only two or -three rubs to break them short off. As a result of this, little Stanislovas -conceived a terror of the cold that was almost a mania. Every morning, when it -came time to start for the yards, he would begin to cry and protest. Nobody -knew quite how to manage him, for threats did no good—it seemed to be -something that he could not control, and they feared sometimes that he would go -into convulsions. In the end it had to be arranged that he always went with -Jurgis, and came home with him again; and often, when the snow was deep, the -man would carry him the whole way on his shoulders. Sometimes Jurgis would be -working until late at night, and then it was pitiful, for there was no place -for the little fellow to wait, save in the doorways or in a corner of the -killing beds, and he would all but fall asleep there, and freeze to death. -</p> - -<p> -There was no heat upon the killing beds; the men might exactly as well have -worked out of doors all winter. For that matter, there was very little heat -anywhere in the building, except in the cooking rooms and such places—and -it was the men who worked in these who ran the most risk of all, because -whenever they had to pass to another room they had to go through ice-cold -corridors, and sometimes with nothing on above the waist except a sleeveless -undershirt. On the killing beds you were apt to be covered with blood, and it -would freeze solid; if you leaned against a pillar, you would freeze to that, -and if you put your hand upon the blade of your knife, you would run a chance -of leaving your skin on it. The men would tie up their feet in newspapers and -old sacks, and these would be soaked in blood and frozen, and then soaked -again, and so on, until by nighttime a man would be walking on great lumps the -size of the feet of an elephant. Now and then, when the bosses were not -looking, you would see them plunging their feet and ankles into the steaming -hot carcass of the steer, or darting across the room to the hot-water jets. The -cruelest thing of all was that nearly all of them—all of those who used -knives—were unable to wear gloves, and their arms would be white with -frost and their hands would grow numb, and then of course there would be -accidents. Also the air would be full of steam, from the hot water and the hot -blood, so that you could not see five feet before you; and then, with men -rushing about at the speed they kept up on the killing beds, and all with -butcher knives, like razors, in their hands—well, it was to be counted as -a wonder that there were not more men slaughtered than cattle. -</p> - -<p> -And yet all this inconvenience they might have put up with, if only it had not -been for one thing—if only there had been some place where they might -eat. Jurgis had either to eat his dinner amid the stench in which he had -worked, or else to rush, as did all his companions, to any one of the hundreds -of liquor stores which stretched out their arms to him. To the west of the -yards ran Ashland Avenue, and here was an unbroken line of -saloons—“Whiskey Row,” they called it; to the north was -Forty-seventh Street, where there were half a dozen to the block, and at the -angle of the two was “Whiskey Point,” a space of fifteen or twenty -acres, and containing one glue factory and about two hundred saloons. -</p> - -<p> -One might walk among these and take his choice: “Hot pea-soup and boiled -cabbage today.” “Sauerkraut and hot frankfurters. Walk in.” -“Bean soup and stewed lamb. Welcome.” All of these things were -printed in many languages, as were also the names of the resorts, which were -infinite in their variety and appeal. There was the “Home Circle” -and the “Cosey Corner”; there were “Firesides” and -“Hearthstones” and “Pleasure Palaces” and -“Wonderlands” and “Dream Castles” and -“Love’s Delights.” Whatever else they were called, they were -sure to be called “Union Headquarters,” and to hold out a welcome -to workingmen; and there was always a warm stove, and a chair near it, and some -friends to laugh and talk with. There was only one condition -attached,—you must drink. If you went in not intending to drink, you -would be put out in no time, and if you were slow about going, like as not you -would get your head split open with a beer bottle in the bargain. But all of -the men understood the convention and drank; they believed that by it they were -getting something for nothing—for they did not need to take more than one -drink, and upon the strength of it they might fill themselves up with a good -hot dinner. This did not always work out in practice, however, for there was -pretty sure to be a friend who would treat you, and then you would have to -treat him. Then some one else would come in—and, anyhow, a few drinks -were good for a man who worked hard. As he went back he did not shiver so, he -had more courage for his task; the deadly brutalizing monotony of it did not -afflict him so,—he had ideas while he worked, and took a more cheerful -view of his circumstances. On the way home, however, the shivering was apt to -come on him again; and so he would have to stop once or twice to warm up -against the cruel cold. As there were hot things to eat in this saloon too, he -might get home late to his supper, or he might not get home at all. And then -his wife might set out to look for him, and she too would feel the cold; and -perhaps she would have some of the children with her—and so a whole -family would drift into drinking, as the current of a river drifts downstream. -As if to complete the chain, the packers all paid their men in checks, refusing -all requests to pay in coin; and where in Packingtown could a man go to have -his check cashed but to a saloon, where he could pay for the favor by spending -a part of the money? -</p> - -<p> -From all of these things Jurgis was saved because of Ona. He never would take -but the one drink at noontime; and so he got the reputation of being a surly -fellow, and was not quite welcome at the saloons, and had to drift about from -one to another. Then at night he would go straight home, helping Ona and -Stanislovas, or often putting the former on a car. And when he got home perhaps -he would have to trudge several blocks, and come staggering back through the -snowdrifts with a bag of coal upon his shoulder. Home was not a very attractive -place—at least not this winter. They had only been able to buy one stove, -and this was a small one, and proved not big enough to warm even the kitchen in -the bitterest weather. This made it hard for Teta Elzbieta all day, and for the -children when they could not get to school. At night they would sit huddled -round this stove, while they ate their supper off their laps; and then Jurgis -and Jonas would smoke a pipe, after which they would all crawl into their beds -to get warm, after putting out the fire to save the coal. Then they would have -some frightful experiences with the cold. They would sleep with all their -clothes on, including their overcoats, and put over them all the bedding and -spare clothing they owned; the children would sleep all crowded into one bed, -and yet even so they could not keep warm. The outside ones would be shivering -and sobbing, crawling over the others and trying to get down into the center, -and causing a fight. This old house with the leaky weatherboards was a very -different thing from their cabins at home, with great thick walls plastered -inside and outside with mud; and the cold which came upon them was a living -thing, a demon-presence in the room. They would waken in the midnight hours, -when everything was black; perhaps they would hear it yelling outside, or -perhaps there would be deathlike stillness—and that would be worse yet. -They could feel the cold as it crept in through the cracks, reaching out for -them with its icy, death-dealing fingers; and they would crouch and cower, and -try to hide from it, all in vain. It would come, and it would come; a grisly -thing, a specter born in the black caverns of terror; a power primeval, cosmic, -shadowing the tortures of the lost souls flung out to chaos and destruction. It -was cruel iron-hard; and hour after hour they would cringe in its grasp, alone, -alone. There would be no one to hear them if they cried out; there would be no -help, no mercy. And so on until morning—when they would go out to another -day of toil, a little weaker, a little nearer to the time when it would be -their turn to be shaken from the tree. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p> -Yet even by this deadly winter the germ of hope was not to be kept from -sprouting in their hearts. It was just at this time that the great adventure -befell Marija. -</p> - -<p> -The victim was Tamoszius Kuszleika, who played the violin. Everybody laughed at -them, for Tamoszius was petite and frail, and Marija could have picked him up -and carried him off under one arm. But perhaps that was why she fascinated him; -the sheer volume of Marija’s energy was overwhelming. That first night at -the wedding Tamoszius had hardly taken his eyes off her; and later on, when he -came to find that she had really the heart of a baby, her voice and her -violence ceased to terrify him, and he got the habit of coming to pay her -visits on Sunday afternoons. There was no place to entertain company except in -the kitchen, in the midst of the family, and Tamoszius would sit there with his -hat between his knees, never saying more than half a dozen words at a time, and -turning red in the face before he managed to say those; until finally Jurgis -would clap him upon the back, in his hearty way, crying, “Come now, -brother, give us a tune.” And then Tamoszius’ face would light up -and he would get out his fiddle, tuck it under his chin, and play. And -forthwith the soul of him would flame up and become eloquent—it was -almost an impropriety, for all the while his gaze would be fixed upon -Marija’s face, until she would begin to turn red and lower her eyes. -There was no resisting the music of Tamoszius, however; even the children would -sit awed and wondering, and the tears would run down Teta Elzbieta’s -cheeks. A wonderful privilege it was to be thus admitted into the soul of a man -of genius, to be allowed to share the ecstasies and the agonies of his inmost -life. -</p> - -<p> -Then there were other benefits accruing to Marija from this -friendship—benefits of a more substantial nature. People paid Tamoszius -big money to come and make music on state occasions; and also they would invite -him to parties and festivals, knowing well that he was too good-natured to come -without his fiddle, and that having brought it, he could be made to play while -others danced. Once he made bold to ask Marija to accompany him to such a -party, and Marija accepted, to his great delight—after which he never -went anywhere without her, while if the celebration were given by friends of -his, he would invite the rest of the family also. In any case Marija would -bring back a huge pocketful of cakes and sandwiches for the children, and -stories of all the good things she herself had managed to consume. She was -compelled, at these parties, to spend most of her time at the refreshment -table, for she could not dance with anybody except other women and very old -men; Tamoszius was of an excitable temperament, and afflicted with a frantic -jealousy, and any unmarried man who ventured to put his arm about the ample -waist of Marija would be certain to throw the orchestra out of tune. -</p> - -<p> -It was a great help to a person who had to toil all the week to be able to look -forward to some such relaxation as this on Saturday nights. The family was too -poor and too hardworked to make many acquaintances; in Packingtown, as a rule, -people know only their near neighbors and shopmates, and so the place is like a -myriad of little country villages. But now there was a member of the family who -was permitted to travel and widen her horizon; and so each week there would be -new personalities to talk about,—how so-and-so was dressed, and where she -worked, and what she got, and whom she was in love with; and how this man had -jilted his girl, and how she had quarreled with the other girl, and what had -passed between them; and how another man beat his wife, and spent all her -earnings upon drink, and pawned her very clothes. Some people would have -scorned this talk as gossip; but then one has to talk about what one knows. -</p> - -<p> -It was one Saturday night, as they were coming home from a wedding, that -Tamoszius found courage, and set down his violin case in the street and spoke -his heart; and then Marija clasped him in her arms. She told them all about it -the next day, and fairly cried with happiness, for she said that Tamoszius was -a lovely man. After that he no longer made love to her with his fiddle, but -they would sit for hours in the kitchen, blissfully happy in each other’s -arms; it was the tacit convention of the family to know nothing of what was -going on in that corner. -</p> - -<p> -They were planning to be married in the spring, and have the garret of the -house fixed up, and live there. Tamoszius made good wages; and little by little -the family were paying back their debt to Marija, so she ought soon to have -enough to start life upon—only, with her preposterous softheartedness, -she would insist upon spending a good part of her money every week for things -which she saw they needed. Marija was really the capitalist of the party, for -she had become an expert can painter by this time—she was getting -fourteen cents for every hundred and ten cans, and she could paint more than -two cans every minute. Marija felt, so to speak, that she had her hand on the -throttle, and the neighborhood was vocal with her rejoicings. -</p> - -<p> -Yet her friends would shake their heads and tell her to go slow; one could not -count upon such good fortune forever—there were accidents that always -happened. But Marija was not to be prevailed upon, and went on planning and -dreaming of all the treasures she was going to have for her home; and so, when -the crash did come, her grief was painful to see. -</p> - -<p> -For her canning factory shut down! Marija would about as soon have expected to -see the sun shut down—the huge establishment had been to her a thing akin -to the planets and the seasons. But now it was shut! And they had not given her -any explanation, they had not even given her a day’s warning; they had -simply posted a notice one Saturday that all hands would be paid off that -afternoon, and would not resume work for at least a month! And that was all -that there was to it—her job was gone! -</p> - -<p> -It was the holiday rush that was over, the girls said in answer to -Marija’s inquiries; after that there was always a slack. Sometimes the -factory would start up on half time after a while, but there was no -telling—it had been known to stay closed until way into the summer. The -prospects were bad at present, for truckmen who worked in the storerooms said -that these were piled up to the ceilings, so that the firm could not have found -room for another week’s output of cans. And they had turned off -three-quarters of these men, which was a still worse sign, since it meant that -there were no orders to be filled. It was all a swindle, can-painting, said the -girls—you were crazy with delight because you were making twelve or -fourteen dollars a week, and saving half of it; but you had to spend it all -keeping alive while you were out, and so your pay was really only half what you -thought. -</p> - -<p> -Marija came home, and because she was a person who could not rest without -danger of explosion, they first had a great house cleaning, and then she set -out to search Packingtown for a job to fill up the gap. As nearly all the -canning establishments were shut down, and all the girls hunting work, it will -be readily understood that Marija did not find any. Then she took to trying the -stores and saloons, and when this failed she even traveled over into the -far-distant regions near the lake front, where lived the rich people in great -palaces, and begged there for some sort of work that could be done by a person -who did not know English. -</p> - -<p> -The men upon the killing beds felt also the effects of the slump which had -turned Marija out; but they felt it in a different way, and a way which made -Jurgis understand at last all their bitterness. The big packers did not turn -their hands off and close down, like the canning factories; but they began to -run for shorter and shorter hours. They had always required the men to be on -the killing beds and ready for work at seven o’clock, although there was -almost never any work to be done till the buyers out in the yards had gotten to -work, and some cattle had come over the chutes. That would often be ten or -eleven o’clock, which was bad enough, in all conscience; but now, in the -slack season, they would perhaps not have a thing for their men to do till late -in the afternoon. And so they would have to loaf around, in a place where the -thermometer might be twenty degrees below zero! At first one would see them -running about, or skylarking with each other, trying to keep warm; but before -the day was over they would become quite chilled through and exhausted, and, -when the cattle finally came, so near frozen that to move was an agony. And -then suddenly the place would spring into activity, and the merciless -“speeding-up” would begin! -</p> - -<p> -There were weeks at a time when Jurgis went home after such a day as this with -not more than two hours’ work to his credit—which meant about -thirty-five cents. There were many days when the total was less than half an -hour, and others when there was none at all. The general average was six hours -a day, which meant for Jurgis about six dollars a week; and this six hours of -work would be done after standing on the killing bed till one o’clock, or -perhaps even three or four o’clock, in the afternoon. Like as not there -would come a rush of cattle at the very end of the day, which the men would -have to dispose of before they went home, often working by electric light till -nine or ten, or even twelve or one o’clock, and without a single instant -for a bite of supper. The men were at the mercy of the cattle. Perhaps the -buyers would be holding off for better prices—if they could scare the -shippers into thinking that they meant to buy nothing that day, they could get -their own terms. For some reason the cost of fodder for cattle in the yards was -much above the market price—and you were not allowed to bring your own -fodder! Then, too, a number of cars were apt to arrive late in the day, now -that the roads were blocked with snow, and the packers would buy their cattle -that night, to get them cheaper, and then would come into play their ironclad -rule, that all cattle must be killed the same day they were bought. There was -no use kicking about this—there had been one delegation after another to -see the packers about it, only to be told that it was the rule, and that there -was not the slightest chance of its ever being altered. And so on Christmas Eve -Jurgis worked till nearly one o’clock in the morning, and on Christmas -Day he was on the killing bed at seven o’clock. -</p> - -<p> -All this was bad; and yet it was not the worst. For after all the hard work a -man did, he was paid for only part of it. Jurgis had once been among those who -scoffed at the idea of these huge concerns cheating; and so now he could -appreciate the bitter irony of the fact that it was precisely their size which -enabled them to do it with impunity. One of the rules on the killing beds was -that a man who was one minute late was docked an hour; and this was economical, -for he was made to work the balance of the hour—he was not allowed to -stand round and wait. And on the other hand if he came ahead of time he got no -pay for that—though often the bosses would start up the gang ten or -fifteen minutes before the whistle. And this same custom they carried over to -the end of the day; they did not pay for any fraction of an hour—for -“broken time.” A man might work full fifty minutes, but if there -was no work to fill out the hour, there was no pay for him. Thus the end of -every day was a sort of lottery—a struggle, all but breaking into open -war between the bosses and the men, the former trying to rush a job through and -the latter trying to stretch it out. Jurgis blamed the bosses for this, though -the truth to be told it was not always their fault; for the packers kept them -frightened for their lives—and when one was in danger of falling behind -the standard, what was easier than to catch up by making the gang work awhile -“for the church”? This was a savage witticism the men had, which -Jurgis had to have explained to him. Old man Jones was great on missions and -such things, and so whenever they were doing some particularly disreputable -job, the men would wink at each other and say, “Now we’re working -for the church!” -</p> - -<p> -One of the consequences of all these things was that Jurgis was no longer -perplexed when he heard men talk of fighting for their rights. He felt like -fighting now himself; and when the Irish delegate of the butcher-helpers’ -union came to him a second time, he received him in a far different spirit. A -wonderful idea it now seemed to Jurgis, this of the men—that by combining -they might be able to make a stand and conquer the packers! Jurgis wondered who -had first thought of it; and when he was told that it was a common thing for -men to do in America, he got the first inkling of a meaning in the phrase -“a free country.” The delegate explained to him how it depended -upon their being able to get every man to join and stand by the organization, -and so Jurgis signified that he was willing to do his share. Before another -month was by, all the working members of his family had union cards, and wore -their union buttons conspicuously and with pride. For fully a week they were -quite blissfully happy, thinking that belonging to a union meant an end to all -their troubles. -</p> - -<p> -But only ten days after she had joined, Marija’s canning factory closed -down, and that blow quite staggered them. They could not understand why the -union had not prevented it, and the very first time she attended a meeting -Marija got up and made a speech about it. It was a business meeting, and was -transacted in English, but that made no difference to Marija; she said what was -in her, and all the pounding of the chairman’s gavel and all the uproar -and confusion in the room could not prevail. Quite apart from her own troubles -she was boiling over with a general sense of the injustice of it, and she told -what she thought of the packers, and what she thought of a world where such -things were allowed to happen; and then, while the echoes of the hall rang with -the shock of her terrible voice, she sat down again and fanned herself, and the -meeting gathered itself together and proceeded to discuss the election of a -recording secretary. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis too had an adventure the first time he attended a union meeting, but it -was not of his own seeking. Jurgis had gone with the desire to get into an -inconspicuous corner and see what was done; but this attitude of silent and -open-eyed attention had marked him out for a victim. Tommy Finnegan was a -little Irishman, with big staring eyes and a wild aspect, a -“hoister” by trade, and badly cracked. Somewhere back in the -far-distant past Tommy Finnegan had had a strange experience, and the burden of -it rested upon him. All the balance of his life he had done nothing but try to -make it understood. When he talked he caught his victim by the buttonhole, and -his face kept coming closer and closer—which was trying, because his -teeth were so bad. Jurgis did not mind that, only he was frightened. The method -of operation of the higher intelligences was Tom Finnegan’s theme, and he -desired to find out if Jurgis had ever considered that the representation of -things in their present similarity might be altogether unintelligible upon a -more elevated plane. There were assuredly wonderful mysteries about the -developing of these things; and then, becoming confidential, Mr. Finnegan -proceeded to tell of some discoveries of his own. “If ye have iver had -onything to do wid shperrits,” said he, and looked inquiringly at Jurgis, -who kept shaking his head. “Niver mind, niver mind,” continued the -other, “but their influences may be operatin’ upon ye; it’s -shure as I’m tellin’ ye, it’s them that has the reference to -the immejit surroundin’s that has the most of power. It was vouchsafed to -me in me youthful days to be acquainted with shperrits” and so Tommy -Finnegan went on, expounding a system of philosophy, while the perspiration -came out on Jurgis’ forehead, so great was his agitation and -embarrassment. In the end one of the men, seeing his plight, came over and -rescued him; but it was some time before he was able to find any one to explain -things to him, and meanwhile his fear lest the strange little Irishman should -get him cornered again was enough to keep him dodging about the room the whole -evening. -</p> - -<p> -He never missed a meeting, however. He had picked up a few words of English by -this time, and friends would help him to understand. They were often very -turbulent meetings, with half a dozen men declaiming at once, in as many -dialects of English; but the speakers were all desperately in earnest, and -Jurgis was in earnest too, for he understood that a fight was on, and that it -was his fight. Since the time of his disillusionment, Jurgis had sworn to trust -no man, except in his own family; but here he discovered that he had brothers -in affliction, and allies. Their one chance for life was in union, and so the -struggle became a kind of crusade. Jurgis had always been a member of the -church, because it was the right thing to be, but the church had never touched -him, he left all that for the women. Here, however, was a new -religion—one that did touch him, that took hold of every fiber of him; -and with all the zeal and fury of a convert he went out as a missionary. There -were many nonunion men among the Lithuanians, and with these he would labor and -wrestle in prayer, trying to show them the right. Sometimes they would be -obstinate and refuse to see it, and Jurgis, alas, was not always patient! He -forgot how he himself had been blind, a short time ago—after the fashion -of all crusaders since the original ones, who set out to spread the gospel of -Brotherhood by force of arms. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p> -One of the first consequences of the discovery of the union was that Jurgis -became desirous of learning English. He wanted to know what was going on at the -meetings, and to be able to take part in them, and so he began to look about -him, and to try to pick up words. The children, who were at school, and -learning fast, would teach him a few; and a friend loaned him a little book -that had some in it, and Ona would read them to him. Then Jurgis became sorry -that he could not read himself; and later on in the winter, when some one told -him that there was a night school that was free, he went and enrolled. After -that, every evening that he got home from the yards in time, he would go to the -school; he would go even if he were in time for only half an hour. They were -teaching him both to read and to speak English—and they would have taught -him other things, if only he had had a little time. -</p> - -<p> -Also the union made another great difference with him—it made him begin -to pay attention to the country. It was the beginning of democracy with him. It -was a little state, the union, a miniature republic; its affairs were every -man’s affairs, and every man had a real say about them. In other words, -in the union Jurgis learned to talk politics. In the place where he had come -from there had not been any politics—in Russia one thought of the -government as an affliction like the lightning and the hail. “Duck, -little brother, duck,” the wise old peasants would whisper; -“everything passes away.” And when Jurgis had first come to America -he had supposed that it was the same. He had heard people say that it was a -free country—but what did that mean? He found that here, precisely as in -Russia, there were rich men who owned everything; and if one could not find any -work, was not the hunger he began to feel the same sort of hunger? -</p> - -<p> -When Jurgis had been working about three weeks at Brown’s, there had come -to him one noontime a man who was employed as a night watchman, and who asked -him if he would not like to take out naturalization papers and become a -citizen. Jurgis did not know what that meant, but the man explained the -advantages. In the first place, it would not cost him anything, and it would -get him half a day off, with his pay just the same; and then when election time -came he would be able to vote—and there was something in that. Jurgis was -naturally glad to accept, and so the night watchman said a few words to the -boss, and he was excused for the rest of the day. When, later on, he wanted a -holiday to get married he could not get it; and as for a holiday with pay just -the same—what power had wrought that miracle heaven only knew! However, -he went with the man, who picked up several other newly landed immigrants, -Poles, Lithuanians, and Slovaks, and took them all outside, where stood a great -four-horse tallyho coach, with fifteen or twenty men already in it. It was a -fine chance to see the sights of the city, and the party had a merry time, with -plenty of beer handed up from inside. So they drove downtown and stopped before -an imposing granite building, in which they interviewed an official, who had -the papers all ready, with only the names to be filled in. So each man in turn -took an oath of which he did not understand a word, and then was presented with -a handsome ornamented document with a big red seal and the shield of the United -States upon it, and was told that he had become a citizen of the Republic and -the equal of the President himself. -</p> - -<p> -A month or two later Jurgis had another interview with this same man, who told -him where to go to “register.” And then finally, when election day -came, the packing houses posted a notice that men who desired to vote might -remain away until nine that morning, and the same night watchman took Jurgis -and the rest of his flock into the back room of a saloon, and showed each of -them where and how to mark a ballot, and then gave each two dollars, and took -them to the polling place, where there was a policeman on duty especially to -see that they got through all right. Jurgis felt quite proud of this good luck -till he got home and met Jonas, who had taken the leader aside and whispered to -him, offering to vote three times for four dollars, which offer had been -accepted. -</p> - -<p> -And now in the union Jurgis met men who explained all this mystery to him; and -he learned that America differed from Russia in that its government existed -under the form of a democracy. The officials who ruled it, and got all the -graft, had to be elected first; and so there were two rival sets of grafters, -known as political parties, and the one got the office which bought the most -votes. Now and then, the election was very close, and that was the time the -poor man came in. In the stockyards this was only in national and state -elections, for in local elections the Democratic Party always carried -everything. The ruler of the district was therefore the Democratic boss, a -little Irishman named Mike Scully. Scully held an important party office in the -state, and bossed even the mayor of the city, it was said; it was his boast -that he carried the stockyards in his pocket. He was an enormously rich -man—he had a hand in all the big graft in the neighborhood. It was -Scully, for instance, who owned that dump which Jurgis and Ona had seen the -first day of their arrival. Not only did he own the dump, but he owned the -brick factory as well, and first he took out the clay and made it into bricks, -and then he had the city bring garbage to fill up the hole, so that he could -build houses to sell to the people. Then, too, he sold the bricks to the city, -at his own price, and the city came and got them in its own wagons. And also he -owned the other hole near by, where the stagnant water was; and it was he who -cut the ice and sold it; and what was more, if the men told truth, he had not -had to pay any taxes for the water, and he had built the ice-house out of city -lumber, and had not had to pay anything for that. The newspapers had got hold -of that story, and there had been a scandal; but Scully had hired somebody to -confess and take all the blame, and then skip the country. It was said, too, -that he had built his brick-kiln in the same way, and that the workmen were on -the city payroll while they did it; however, one had to press closely to get -these things out of the men, for it was not their business, and Mike Scully was -a good man to stand in with. A note signed by him was equal to a job any time -at the packing houses; and also he employed a good many men himself, and worked -them only eight hours a day, and paid them the highest wages. This gave him -many friends—all of whom he had gotten together into the “War Whoop -League,” whose clubhouse you might see just outside of the yards. It was -the biggest clubhouse, and the biggest club, in all Chicago; and they had -prizefights every now and then, and cockfights and even dogfights. The -policemen in the district all belonged to the league, and instead of -suppressing the fights, they sold tickets for them. The man that had taken -Jurgis to be naturalized was one of these “Indians,” as they were -called; and on election day there would be hundreds of them out, and all with -big wads of money in their pockets and free drinks at every saloon in the -district. That was another thing, the men said—all the saloon-keepers had -to be “Indians,” and to put up on demand, otherwise they could not -do business on Sundays, nor have any gambling at all. In the same way Scully -had all the jobs in the fire department at his disposal, and all the rest of -the city graft in the stockyards district; he was building a block of flats -somewhere up on Ashland Avenue, and the man who was overseeing it for him was -drawing pay as a city inspector of sewers. The city inspector of water pipes -had been dead and buried for over a year, but somebody was still drawing his -pay. The city inspector of sidewalks was a barkeeper at the War Whoop -Cafe—and maybe he could make it uncomfortable for any tradesman who did -not stand in with Scully! -</p> - -<p> -Even the packers were in awe of him, so the men said. It gave them pleasure to -believe this, for Scully stood as the people’s man, and boasted of it -boldly when election day came. The packers had wanted a bridge at Ashland -Avenue, but they had not been able to get it till they had seen Scully; and it -was the same with “Bubbly Creek,” which the city had threatened to -make the packers cover over, till Scully had come to their aid. “Bubbly -Creek” is an arm of the Chicago River, and forms the southern boundary of -the yards: all the drainage of the square mile of packing houses empties into -it, so that it is really a great open sewer a hundred or two feet wide. One -long arm of it is blind, and the filth stays there forever and a day. The -grease and chemicals that are poured into it undergo all sorts of strange -transformations, which are the cause of its name; it is constantly in motion, -as if huge fish were feeding in it, or great leviathans disporting themselves -in its depths. Bubbles of carbonic acid gas will rise to the surface and burst, -and make rings two or three feet wide. Here and there the grease and filth have -caked solid, and the creek looks like a bed of lava; chickens walk about on it, -feeding, and many times an unwary stranger has started to stroll across, and -vanished temporarily. The packers used to leave the creek that way, till every -now and then the surface would catch on fire and burn furiously, and the fire -department would have to come and put it out. Once, however, an ingenious -stranger came and started to gather this filth in scows, to make lard out of; -then the packers took the cue, and got out an injunction to stop him, and -afterward gathered it themselves. The banks of “Bubbly Creek” are -plastered thick with hairs, and this also the packers gather and clean. -</p> - -<p> -And there were things even stranger than this, according to the gossip of the -men. The packers had secret mains, through which they stole billions of gallons -of the city’s water. The newspapers had been full of this -scandal—once there had even been an investigation, and an actual -uncovering of the pipes; but nobody had been punished, and the thing went right -on. And then there was the condemned meat industry, with its endless horrors. -The people of Chicago saw the government inspectors in Packingtown, and they -all took that to mean that they were protected from diseased meat; they did not -understand that these hundred and sixty-three inspectors had been appointed at -the request of the packers, and that they were paid by the United States -government to certify that all the diseased meat was kept in the state. They -had no authority beyond that; for the inspection of meat to be sold in the city -and state the whole force in Packingtown consisted of three henchmen of the -local political machine!<a href="#fn-2" name="fnref-2" id="fnref-2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> -And shortly afterward one of these, a physician, made the discovery that the -carcasses of steers which had been condemned as tubercular by the government -inspectors, and which therefore contained ptomaines, which are deadly poisons, -were left upon an open platform and carted away to be sold in the city; and so -he insisted that these carcasses be treated with an injection of -kerosene—and was ordered to resign the same week! So indignant were the -packers that they went farther, and compelled the mayor to abolish the whole -bureau of inspection; so that since then there has not been even a pretense of -any interference with the graft. There was said to be two thousand dollars a -week hush money from the tubercular steers alone; and as much again from the -hogs which had died of cholera on the trains, and which you might see any day -being loaded into boxcars and hauled away to a place called Globe, in Indiana, -where they made a fancy grade of lard. -</p> - -<p class="footnote"> -<a name="fn-2" id="fn-2"></a> <a href="#fnref-2">[2]</a> -Rules and Regulations for the Inspection of Livestock and Their Products. -United States Department of Agriculture, Bureau of Animal Industries, Order No. -125:—<br /> - Section 1. Proprietors of slaughterhouses, canning, salting, packing, or -rendering establishments engaged in the slaughtering of cattle, sheep, or -swine, or the packing of any of their products, <i>the carcasses or products of -which are to become subjects of interstate or foreign commerce</i>, shall make -application to the Secretary of Agriculture for inspection of said animals and -their products....<br /> - Section 15. Such rejected or condemned animals shall at once be removed by -the owners from the pens containing animals which have been inspected and found -to be free from disease and fit for human food, and <i>shall be disposed of in -accordance with the laws, ordinances, and regulations of the state and -municipality in which said rejected or condemned animals are located</i>.... -<br /> - Section 25. A microscopic examination for trichinae shall be made of all -swine products exported to countries requiring such examination. <i>No -microscopic examination will be made of hogs slaughtered for interstate trade, -but this examination shall be confined to those intended for the export -trade.</i> -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis heard of these things little by little, in the gossip of those who were -obliged to perpetrate them. It seemed as if every time you met a person from a -new department, you heard of new swindles and new crimes. There was, for -instance, a Lithuanian who was a cattle butcher for the plant where Marija had -worked, which killed meat for canning only; and to hear this man describe the -animals which came to his place would have been worthwhile for a Dante or a -Zola. It seemed that they must have agencies all over the country, to hunt out -old and crippled and diseased cattle to be canned. There were cattle which had -been fed on “whisky-malt,” the refuse of the breweries, and had -become what the men called “steerly”—which means covered with -boils. It was a nasty job killing these, for when you plunged your knife into -them they would burst and splash foul-smelling stuff into your face; and when a -man’s sleeves were smeared with blood, and his hands steeped in it, how -was he ever to wipe his face, or to clear his eyes so that he could see? It was -stuff such as this that made the “embalmed beef” that had killed -several times as many United States soldiers as all the bullets of the -Spaniards; only the army beef, besides, was not fresh canned, it was old stuff -that had been lying for years in the cellars. -</p> - -<p> -Then one Sunday evening, Jurgis sat puffing his pipe by the kitchen stove, and -talking with an old fellow whom Jonas had introduced, and who worked in the -canning rooms at Durham’s; and so Jurgis learned a few things about the -great and only Durham canned goods, which had become a national institution. -They were regular alchemists at Durham’s; they advertised a -mushroom-catsup, and the men who made it did not know what a mushroom looked -like. They advertised “potted chicken,”—and it was like the -boardinghouse soup of the comic papers, through which a chicken had walked with -rubbers on. Perhaps they had a secret process for making chickens -chemically—who knows? said Jurgis’ friend; the things that went -into the mixture were tripe, and the fat of pork, and beef suet, and hearts of -beef, and finally the waste ends of veal, when they had any. They put these up -in several grades, and sold them at several prices; but the contents of the -cans all came out of the same hopper. And then there was “potted -game” and “potted grouse,” “potted ham,” and -“deviled ham”—de-vyled, as the men called it. -“De-vyled” ham was made out of the waste ends of smoked beef that -were too small to be sliced by the machines; and also tripe, dyed with -chemicals so that it would not show white; and trimmings of hams and corned -beef; and potatoes, skins and all; and finally the hard cartilaginous gullets -of beef, after the tongues had been cut out. All this ingenious mixture was -ground up and flavored with spices to make it taste like something. Anybody who -could invent a new imitation had been sure of a fortune from old Durham, said -Jurgis’ informant; but it was hard to think of anything new in a place -where so many sharp wits had been at work for so long; where men welcomed -tuberculosis in the cattle they were feeding, because it made them fatten more -quickly; and where they bought up all the old rancid butter left over in the -grocery stores of a continent, and “oxidized” it by a forced-air -process, to take away the odor, rechurned it with skim milk, and sold it in -bricks in the cities! Up to a year or two ago it had been the custom to kill -horses in the yards—ostensibly for fertilizer; but after long agitation -the newspapers had been able to make the public realize that the horses were -being canned. Now it was against the law to kill horses in Packingtown, and the -law was really complied with—for the present, at any rate. Any day, -however, one might see sharp-horned and shaggy-haired creatures running with -the sheep and yet what a job you would have to get the public to believe that a -good part of what it buys for lamb and mutton is really goat’s flesh! -</p> - -<p> -There was another interesting set of statistics that a person might have -gathered in Packingtown—those of the various afflictions of the workers. -When Jurgis had first inspected the packing plants with Szedvilas, he had -marveled while he listened to the tale of all the things that were made out of -the carcasses of animals, and of all the lesser industries that were maintained -there; now he found that each one of these lesser industries was a separate -little inferno, in its way as horrible as the killing beds, the source and -fountain of them all. The workers in each of them had their own peculiar -diseases. And the wandering visitor might be skeptical about all the swindles, -but he could not be skeptical about these, for the worker bore the evidence of -them about on his own person—generally he had only to hold out his hand. -</p> - -<p> -There were the men in the pickle rooms, for instance, where old Antanas had -gotten his death; scarce a one of these that had not some spot of horror on his -person. Let a man so much as scrape his finger pushing a truck in the pickle -rooms, and he might have a sore that would put him out of the world; all the -joints in his fingers might be eaten by the acid, one by one. Of the butchers -and floorsmen, the beef-boners and trimmers, and all those who used knives, you -could scarcely find a person who had the use of his thumb; time and time again -the base of it had been slashed, till it was a mere lump of flesh against which -the man pressed the knife to hold it. The hands of these men would be -criss-crossed with cuts, until you could no longer pretend to count them or to -trace them. They would have no nails,—they had worn them off pulling -hides; their knuckles were swollen so that their fingers spread out like a fan. -There were men who worked in the cooking rooms, in the midst of steam and -sickening odors, by artificial light; in these rooms the germs of tuberculosis -might live for two years, but the supply was renewed every hour. There were the -beef-luggers, who carried two-hundred-pound quarters into the -refrigerator-cars; a fearful kind of work, that began at four o’clock in -the morning, and that wore out the most powerful men in a few years. There were -those who worked in the chilling rooms, and whose special disease was -rheumatism; the time limit that a man could work in the chilling rooms was said -to be five years. There were the wool-pluckers, whose hands went to pieces even -sooner than the hands of the pickle men; for the pelts of the sheep had to be -painted with acid to loosen the wool, and then the pluckers had to pull out -this wool with their bare hands, till the acid had eaten their fingers off. -There were those who made the tins for the canned meat; and their hands, too, -were a maze of cuts, and each cut represented a chance for blood poisoning. -Some worked at the stamping machines, and it was very seldom that one could -work long there at the pace that was set, and not give out and forget himself -and have a part of his hand chopped off. There were the “hoisters,” -as they were called, whose task it was to press the lever which lifted the dead -cattle off the floor. They ran along upon a rafter, peering down through the -damp and the steam; and as old Durham’s architects had not built the -killing room for the convenience of the hoisters, at every few feet they would -have to stoop under a beam, say four feet above the one they ran on; which got -them into the habit of stooping, so that in a few years they would be walking -like chimpanzees. Worst of any, however, were the fertilizer men, and those who -served in the cooking rooms. These people could not be shown to the -visitor,—for the odor of a fertilizer man would scare any ordinary -visitor at a hundred yards, and as for the other men, who worked in tank rooms -full of steam, and in some of which there were open vats near the level of the -floor, their peculiar trouble was that they fell into the vats; and when they -were fished out, there was never enough of them left to be worth -exhibiting,—sometimes they would be overlooked for days, till all but the -bones of them had gone out to the world as Durham’s Pure Leaf Lard! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p> -During the early part of the winter the family had had money enough to live and -a little over to pay their debts with; but when the earnings of Jurgis fell -from nine or ten dollars a week to five or six, there was no longer anything to -spare. The winter went, and the spring came, and found them still living thus -from hand to mouth, hanging on day by day, with literally not a month’s -wages between them and starvation. Marija was in despair, for there was still -no word about the reopening of the canning factory, and her savings were almost -entirely gone. She had had to give up all idea of marrying then; the family -could not get along without her—though for that matter she was likely -soon to become a burden even upon them, for when her money was all gone, they -would have to pay back what they owed her in board. So Jurgis and Ona and Teta -Elzbieta would hold anxious conferences until late at night, trying to figure -how they could manage this too without starving. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the cruel terms upon which their life was possible, that they might -never have nor expect a single instant’s respite from worry, a single -instant in which they were not haunted by the thought of money. They would no -sooner escape, as by a miracle, from one difficulty, than a new one would come -into view. In addition to all their physical hardships, there was thus a -constant strain upon their minds; they were harried all day and nearly all -night by worry and fear. This was in truth not living; it was scarcely even -existing, and they felt that it was too little for the price they paid. They -were willing to work all the time; and when people did their best, ought they -not to be able to keep alive? -</p> - -<p> -There seemed never to be an end to the things they had to buy and to the -unforeseen contingencies. Once their water pipes froze and burst; and when, in -their ignorance, they thawed them out, they had a terrifying flood in their -house. It happened while the men were away, and poor Elzbieta rushed out into -the street screaming for help, for she did not even know whether the flood -could be stopped, or whether they were ruined for life. It was nearly as bad as -the latter, they found in the end, for the plumber charged them seventy-five -cents an hour, and seventy-five cents for another man who had stood and watched -him, and included all the time the two had been going and coming, and also a -charge for all sorts of material and extras. And then again, when they went to -pay their January’s installment on the house, the agent terrified them by -asking them if they had had the insurance attended to yet. In answer to their -inquiry he showed them a clause in the deed which provided that they were to -keep the house insured for one thousand dollars, as soon as the present policy -ran out, which would happen in a few days. Poor Elzbieta, upon whom again fell -the blow, demanded how much it would cost them. Seven dollars, the man said; -and that night came Jurgis, grim and determined, requesting that the agent -would be good enough to inform him, once for all, as to all the expenses they -were liable for. The deed was signed now, he said, with sarcasm proper to the -new way of life he had learned—the deed was signed, and so the agent had -no longer anything to gain by keeping quiet. And Jurgis looked the fellow -squarely in the eye, and so the fellow wasted no time in conventional protests, -but read him the deed. They would have to renew the insurance every year; they -would have to pay the taxes, about ten dollars a year; they would have to pay -the water tax, about six dollars a year—(Jurgis silently resolved to shut -off the hydrant). This, besides the interest and the monthly installments, -would be all—unless by chance the city should happen to decide to put in -a sewer or to lay a sidewalk. Yes, said the agent, they would have to have -these, whether they wanted them or not, if the city said so. The sewer would -cost them about twenty-two dollars, and the sidewalk fifteen if it were wood, -twenty-five if it were cement. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went home again; it was a relief to know the worst, at any rate, so -that he could no more be surprised by fresh demands. He saw now how they had -been plundered; but they were in for it, there was no turning back. They could -only go on and make the fight and win—for defeat was a thing that could -not even be thought of. -</p> - -<p> -When the springtime came, they were delivered from the dreadful cold, and that -was a great deal; but in addition they had counted on the money they would not -have to pay for coal—and it was just at this time that Marija’s -board began to fail. Then, too, the warm weather brought trials of its own; -each season had its trials, as they found. In the spring there were cold rains, -that turned the streets into canals and bogs; the mud would be so deep that -wagons would sink up to the hubs, so that half a dozen horses could not move -them. Then, of course, it was impossible for any one to get to work with dry -feet; and this was bad for men that were poorly clad and shod, and still worse -for women and children. Later came midsummer, with the stifling heat, when the -dingy killing beds of Durham’s became a very purgatory; one time, in a -single day, three men fell dead from sunstroke. All day long the rivers of hot -blood poured forth, until, with the sun beating down, and the air motionless, -the stench was enough to knock a man over; all the old smells of a generation -would be drawn out by this heat—for there was never any washing of the -walls and rafters and pillars, and they were caked with the filth of a -lifetime. The men who worked on the killing beds would come to reek with -foulness, so that you could smell one of them fifty feet away; there was simply -no such thing as keeping decent, the most careful man gave it up in the end, -and wallowed in uncleanness. There was not even a place where a man could wash -his hands, and the men ate as much raw blood as food at dinnertime. When they -were at work they could not even wipe off their faces—they were as -helpless as newly born babes in that respect; and it may seem like a small -matter, but when the sweat began to run down their necks and tickle them, or a -fly to bother them, it was a torture like being burned alive. Whether it was -the slaughterhouses or the dumps that were responsible, one could not say, but -with the hot weather there descended upon Packingtown a veritable Egyptian -plague of flies; there could be no describing this—the houses would be -black with them. There was no escaping; you might provide all your doors and -windows with screens, but their buzzing outside would be like the swarming of -bees, and whenever you opened the door they would rush in as if a storm of wind -were driving them. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps the summertime suggests to you thoughts of the country, visions of -green fields and mountains and sparkling lakes. It had no such suggestion for -the people in the yards. The great packing machine ground on remorselessly, -without thinking of green fields; and the men and women and children who were -part of it never saw any green thing, not even a flower. Four or five miles to -the east of them lay the blue waters of Lake Michigan; but for all the good it -did them it might have been as far away as the Pacific Ocean. They had only -Sundays, and then they were too tired to walk. They were tied to the great -packing machine, and tied to it for life. The managers and superintendents and -clerks of Packingtown were all recruited from another class, and never from the -workers; they scorned the workers, the very meanest of them. A poor devil of a -bookkeeper who had been working in Durham’s for twenty years at a salary -of six dollars a week, and might work there for twenty more and do no better, -would yet consider himself a gentleman, as far removed as the poles from the -most skilled worker on the killing beds; he would dress differently, and live -in another part of the town, and come to work at a different hour of the day, -and in every way make sure that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man. -Perhaps this was due to the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people -who worked with their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it. -</p> - -<p> -In the late spring the canning factory started up again, and so once more -Marija was heard to sing, and the love-music of Tamoszius took on a less -melancholy tone. It was not for long, however; for a month or two later a -dreadful calamity fell upon Marija. Just one year and three days after she had -begun work as a can-painter, she lost her job. -</p> - -<p> -It was a long story. Marija insisted that it was because of her activity in the -union. The packers, of course, had spies in all the unions, and in addition -they made a practice of buying up a certain number of the union officials, as -many as they thought they needed. So every week they received reports as to -what was going on, and often they knew things before the members of the union -knew them. Any one who was considered to be dangerous by them would find that -he was not a favorite with his boss; and Marija had been a great hand for going -after the foreign people and preaching to them. However that might be, the -known facts were that a few weeks before the factory closed, Marija had been -cheated out of her pay for three hundred cans. The girls worked at a long -table, and behind them walked a woman with pencil and notebook, keeping count -of the number they finished. This woman was, of course, only human, and -sometimes made mistakes; when this happened, there was no redress—if on -Saturday you got less money than you had earned, you had to make the best of -it. But Marija did not understand this, and made a disturbance. Marija’s -disturbances did not mean anything, and while she had known only Lithuanian and -Polish, they had done no harm, for people only laughed at her and made her cry. -But now Marija was able to call names in English, and so she got the woman who -made the mistake to disliking her. Probably, as Marija claimed, she made -mistakes on purpose after that; at any rate, she made them, and the third time -it happened Marija went on the warpath and took the matter first to the -forelady, and when she got no satisfaction there, to the superintendent. This -was unheard-of presumption, but the superintendent said he would see about it, -which Marija took to mean that she was going to get her money; after waiting -three days, she went to see the superintendent again. This time the man -frowned, and said that he had not had time to attend to it; and when Marija, -against the advice and warning of every one, tried it once more, he ordered her -back to her work in a passion. Just how things happened after that Marija was -not sure, but that afternoon the forelady told her that her services would not -be any longer required. Poor Marija could not have been more dumfounded had the -woman knocked her over the head; at first she could not believe what she heard, -and then she grew furious and swore that she would come anyway, that her place -belonged to her. In the end she sat down in the middle of the floor and wept -and wailed. -</p> - -<p> -It was a cruel lesson; but then Marija was headstrong—she should have -listened to those who had had experience. The next time she would know her -place, as the forelady expressed it; and so Marija went out, and the family -faced the problem of an existence again. -</p> - -<p> -It was especially hard this time, for Ona was to be confined before long, and -Jurgis was trying hard to save up money for this. He had heard dreadful stories -of the midwives, who grow as thick as fleas in Packingtown; and he had made up -his mind that Ona must have a man-doctor. Jurgis could be very obstinate when -he wanted to, and he was in this case, much to the dismay of the women, who -felt that a man-doctor was an impropriety, and that the matter really belonged -to them. The cheapest doctor they could find would charge them fifteen dollars, -and perhaps more when the bill came in; and here was Jurgis, declaring that he -would pay it, even if he had to stop eating in the meantime! -</p> - -<p> -Marija had only about twenty-five dollars left. Day after day she wandered -about the yards begging a job, but this time without hope of finding it. Marija -could do the work of an able-bodied man, when she was cheerful, but -discouragement wore her out easily, and she would come home at night a pitiable -object. She learned her lesson this time, poor creature; she learned it ten -times over. All the family learned it along with her—that when you have -once got a job in Packingtown, you hang on to it, come what will. -</p> - -<p> -Four weeks Marija hunted, and half of a fifth week. Of course she stopped -paying her dues to the union. She lost all interest in the union, and cursed -herself for a fool that she had ever been dragged into one. She had about made -up her mind that she was a lost soul, when somebody told her of an opening, and -she went and got a place as a “beef-trimmer.” She got this because -the boss saw that she had the muscles of a man, and so he discharged a man and -put Marija to do his work, paying her a little more than half what he had been -paying before. -</p> - -<p> -When she first came to Packingtown, Marija would have scorned such work as -this. She was in another canning factory, and her work was to trim the meat of -those diseased cattle that Jurgis had been told about not long before. She was -shut up in one of the rooms where the people seldom saw the daylight; beneath -her were the chilling rooms, where the meat was frozen, and above her were the -cooking rooms; and so she stood on an ice-cold floor, while her head was often -so hot that she could scarcely breathe. Trimming beef off the bones by the -hundred-weight, while standing up from early morning till late at night, with -heavy boots on and the floor always damp and full of puddles, liable to be -thrown out of work indefinitely because of a slackening in the trade, liable -again to be kept overtime in rush seasons, and be worked till she trembled in -every nerve and lost her grip on her slimy knife, and gave herself a poisoned -wound—that was the new life that unfolded itself before Marija. But -because Marija was a human horse she merely laughed and went at it; it would -enable her to pay her board again, and keep the family going. And as for -Tamoszius—well, they had waited a long time, and they could wait a little -longer. They could not possibly get along upon his wages alone, and the family -could not live without hers. He could come and visit her, and sit in the -kitchen and hold her hand, and he must manage to be content with that. But day -by day the music of Tamoszius’ violin became more passionate and -heartbreaking; and Marija would sit with her hands clasped and her cheeks wet -and all her body a-tremble, hearing in the wailing melodies the voices of the -unborn generations which cried out in her for life. -</p> - -<p> -Marija’s lesson came just in time to save Ona from a similar fate. Ona, -too, was dissatisfied with her place, and had far more reason than Marija. She -did not tell half of her story at home, because she saw it was a torment to -Jurgis, and she was afraid of what he might do. For a long time Ona had seen -that Miss Henderson, the forelady in her department, did not like her. At first -she thought it was the old-time mistake she had made in asking for a holiday to -get married. Then she concluded it must be because she did not give the -forelady a present occasionally—she was the kind that took presents from -the girls, Ona learned, and made all sorts of discriminations in favor of those -who gave them. In the end, however, Ona discovered that it was even worse than -that. Miss Henderson was a newcomer, and it was some time before rumor made her -out; but finally it transpired that she was a kept woman, the former mistress -of the superintendent of a department in the same building. He had put her -there to keep her quiet, it seemed—and that not altogether with success, -for once or twice they had been heard quarreling. She had the temper of a -hyena, and soon the place she ran was a witch’s caldron. There were some -of the girls who were of her own sort, who were willing to toady to her and -flatter her; and these would carry tales about the rest, and so the furies were -unchained in the place. Worse than this, the woman lived in a bawdy-house -downtown, with a coarse, red-faced Irishman named Connor, who was the boss of -the loading-gang outside, and would make free with the girls as they went to -and from their work. In the slack seasons some of them would go with Miss -Henderson to this house downtown—in fact, it would not be too much to say -that she managed her department at Brown’s in conjunction with it. -Sometimes women from the house would be given places alongside of decent girls, -and after other decent girls had been turned off to make room for them. When -you worked in this woman’s department the house downtown was never out of -your thoughts all day—there were always whiffs of it to be caught, like -the odor of the Packingtown rendering plants at night, when the wind shifted -suddenly. There would be stories about it going the rounds; the girls opposite -you would be telling them and winking at you. In such a place Ona would not -have stayed a day, but for starvation; and, as it was, she was never sure that -she could stay the next day. She understood now that the real reason that Miss -Henderson hated her was that she was a decent married girl; and she knew that -the talebearers and the toadies hated her for the same reason, and were doing -their best to make her life miserable. -</p> - -<p> -But there was no place a girl could go in Packingtown, if she was particular -about things of this sort; there was no place in it where a prostitute could -not get along better than a decent girl. Here was a population, low-class and -mostly foreign, hanging always on the verge of starvation, and dependent for -its opportunities of life upon the whim of men every bit as brutal and -unscrupulous as the old-time slave drivers; under such circumstances immorality -was exactly as inevitable, and as prevalent, as it was under the system of -chattel slavery. Things that were quite unspeakable went on there in the -packing houses all the time, and were taken for granted by everybody; only they -did not show, as in the old slavery times, because there was no difference in -color between master and slave. -</p> - -<p> -One morning Ona stayed home, and Jurgis had the man-doctor, according to his -whim, and she was safely delivered of a fine baby. It was an enormous big boy, -and Ona was such a tiny creature herself, that it seemed quite incredible. -Jurgis would stand and gaze at the stranger by the hour, unable to believe that -it had really happened. -</p> - -<p> -The coming of this boy was a decisive event with Jurgis. It made him -irrevocably a family man; it killed the last lingering impulse that he might -have had to go out in the evenings and sit and talk with the men in the -saloons. There was nothing he cared for now so much as to sit and look at the -baby. This was very curious, for Jurgis had never been interested in babies -before. But then, this was a very unusual sort of a baby. He had the brightest -little black eyes, and little black ringlets all over his head; he was the -living image of his father, everybody said—and Jurgis found this a -fascinating circumstance. It was sufficiently perplexing that this tiny mite of -life should have come into the world at all in the manner that it had; that it -should have come with a comical imitation of its father’s nose was simply -uncanny. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps, Jurgis thought, this was intended to signify that it was his baby; -that it was his and Ona’s, to care for all its life. Jurgis had never -possessed anything nearly so interesting—a baby was, when you came to -think about it, assuredly a marvelous possession. It would grow up to be a man, -a human soul, with a personality all its own, a will of its own! Such thoughts -would keep haunting Jurgis, filling him with all sorts of strange and almost -painful excitements. He was wonderfully proud of little Antanas; he was curious -about all the details of him—the washing and the dressing and the eating -and the sleeping of him, and asked all sorts of absurd questions. It took him -quite a while to get over his alarm at the incredible shortness of the little -creature’s legs. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had, alas, very little time to see his baby; he never felt the chains -about him more than just then. When he came home at night, the baby would be -asleep, and it would be the merest chance if he awoke before Jurgis had to go -to sleep himself. Then in the morning there was no time to look at him, so -really the only chance the father had was on Sundays. This was more cruel yet -for Ona, who ought to have stayed home and nursed him, the doctor said, for her -own health as well as the baby’s; but Ona had to go to work, and leave -him for Teta Elzbieta to feed upon the pale blue poison that was called milk at -the corner grocery. Ona’s confinement lost her only a week’s -wages—she would go to the factory the second Monday, and the best that -Jurgis could persuade her was to ride in the car, and let him run along behind -and help her to Brown’s when she alighted. After that it would be all -right, said Ona, it was no strain sitting still sewing hams all day; and if she -waited longer she might find that her dreadful forelady had put some one else -in her place. That would be a greater calamity than ever now, Ona continued, on -account of the baby. They would all have to work harder now on his account. It -was such a responsibility—they must not have the baby grow up to suffer -as they had. And this indeed had been the first thing that Jurgis had thought -of himself—he had clenched his hands and braced himself anew for the -struggle, for the sake of that tiny mite of human possibility. -</p> - -<p> -And so Ona went back to Brown’s and saved her place and a week’s -wages; and so she gave herself some one of the thousand ailments that women -group under the title of “womb trouble,” and was never again a well -person as long as she lived. It is difficult to convey in words all that this -meant to Ona; it seemed such a slight offense, and the punishment was so out of -all proportion, that neither she nor any one else ever connected the two. -“Womb trouble” to Ona did not mean a specialist’s diagnosis, -and a course of treatment, and perhaps an operation or two; it meant simply -headaches and pains in the back, and depression and heartsickness, and -neuralgia when she had to go to work in the rain. The great majority of the -women who worked in Packingtown suffered in the same way, and from the same -cause, so it was not deemed a thing to see the doctor about; instead Ona would -try patent medicines, one after another, as her friends told her about them. As -these all contained alcohol, or some other stimulant, she found that they all -did her good while she took them; and so she was always chasing the phantom of -good health, and losing it because she was too poor to continue. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p> -During the summer the packing houses were in full activity again, and Jurgis -made more money. He did not make so much, however, as he had the previous -summer, for the packers took on more hands. There were new men every week, it -seemed—it was a regular system; and this number they would keep over to -the next slack season, so that every one would have less than ever. Sooner or -later, by this plan, they would have all the floating labor of Chicago trained -to do their work. And how very cunning a trick was that! The men were to teach -new hands, who would some day come and break their strike; and meantime they -were kept so poor that they could not prepare for the trial! -</p> - -<p> -But let no one suppose that this superfluity of employees meant easier work for -any one! On the contrary, the speeding-up seemed to be growing more savage all -the time; they were continually inventing new devices to crowd the work -on—it was for all the world like the thumbscrew of the mediæval torture -chamber. They would get new pacemakers and pay them more; they would drive the -men on with new machinery—it was said that in the hog-killing rooms the -speed at which the hogs moved was determined by clockwork, and that it was -increased a little every day. In piecework they would reduce the time, -requiring the same work in a shorter time, and paying the same wages; and then, -after the workers had accustomed themselves to this new speed, they would -reduce the rate of payment to correspond with the reduction in time! They had -done this so often in the canning establishments that the girls were fairly -desperate; their wages had gone down by a full third in the past two years, and -a storm of discontent was brewing that was likely to break any day. Only a -month after Marija had become a beef-trimmer the canning factory that she had -left posted a cut that would divide the girls’ earnings almost squarely -in half; and so great was the indignation at this that they marched out without -even a parley, and organized in the street outside. One of the girls had read -somewhere that a red flag was the proper symbol for oppressed workers, and so -they mounted one, and paraded all about the yards, yelling with rage. A new -union was the result of this outburst, but the impromptu strike went to pieces -in three days, owing to the rush of new labor. At the end of it the girl who -had carried the red flag went downtown and got a position in a great department -store, at a salary of two dollars and a half a week. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis and Ona heard these stories with dismay, for there was no telling when -their own time might come. Once or twice there had been rumors that one of the -big houses was going to cut its unskilled men to fifteen cents an hour, and -Jurgis knew that if this was done, his turn would come soon. He had learned by -this time that Packingtown was really not a number of firms at all, but one -great firm, the Beef Trust. And every week the managers of it got together and -compared notes, and there was one scale for all the workers in the yards and -one standard of efficiency. Jurgis was told that they also fixed the price they -would pay for beef on the hoof and the price of all dressed meat in the -country; but that was something he did not understand or care about. -</p> - -<p> -The only one who was not afraid of a cut was Marija, who congratulated herself, -somewhat naïvely, that there had been one in her place only a short time before -she came. Marija was getting to be a skilled beef-trimmer, and was mounting to -the heights again. During the summer and fall Jurgis and Ona managed to pay her -back the last penny they owed her, and so she began to have a bank account. -Tamoszius had a bank account also, and they ran a race, and began to figure -upon household expenses once more. -</p> - -<p> -The possession of vast wealth entails cares and responsibilities, however, as -poor Marija found out. She had taken the advice of a friend and invested her -savings in a bank on Ashland Avenue. Of course she knew nothing about it, -except that it was big and imposing—what possible chance has a poor -foreign working girl to understand the banking business, as it is conducted in -this land of frenzied finance? So Marija lived in a continual dread lest -something should happen to her bank, and would go out of her way mornings to -make sure that it was still there. Her principal thought was of fire, for she -had deposited her money in bills, and was afraid that if they were burned up -the bank would not give her any others. Jurgis made fun of her for this, for he -was a man and was proud of his superior knowledge, telling her that the bank -had fireproof vaults, and all its millions of dollars hidden safely away in -them. -</p> - -<p> -However, one morning Marija took her usual detour, and, to her horror and -dismay, saw a crowd of people in front of the bank, filling the avenue solid -for half a block. All the blood went out of her face for terror. She broke into -a run, shouting to the people to ask what was the matter, but not stopping to -hear what they answered, till she had come to where the throng was so dense -that she could no longer advance. There was a “run on the bank,” -they told her then, but she did not know what that was, and turned from one -person to another, trying in an agony of fear to make out what they meant. Had -something gone wrong with the bank? Nobody was sure, but they thought so. -Couldn’t she get her money? There was no telling; the people were afraid -not, and they were all trying to get it. It was too early yet to tell -anything—the bank would not open for nearly three hours. So in a frenzy -of despair Marija began to claw her way toward the doors of this building, -through a throng of men, women, and children, all as excited as herself. It was -a scene of wild confusion, women shrieking and wringing their hands and -fainting, and men fighting and trampling down everything in their way. In the -midst of the mêlée Marija recollected that she did not have her bankbook, and -could not get her money anyway, so she fought her way out and started on a run -for home. This was fortunate for her, for a few minutes later the police -reserves arrived. -</p> - -<p> -In half an hour Marija was back, Teta Elzbieta with her, both of them -breathless with running and sick with fear. The crowd was now formed in a line, -extending for several blocks, with half a hundred policemen keeping guard, and -so there was nothing for them to do but to take their places at the end of it. -At nine o’clock the bank opened and began to pay the waiting throng; but -then, what good did that do Marija, who saw three thousand people before -her—enough to take out the last penny of a dozen banks? -</p> - -<p> -To make matters worse a drizzling rain came up, and soaked them to the skin; -yet all the morning they stood there, creeping slowly toward the goal—all -the afternoon they stood there, heartsick, seeing that the hour of closing was -coming, and that they were going to be left out. Marija made up her mind that, -come what might, she would stay there and keep her place; but as nearly all did -the same, all through the long, cold night, she got very little closer to the -bank for that. Toward evening Jurgis came; he had heard the story from the -children, and he brought some food and dry wraps, which made it a little -easier. -</p> - -<p> -The next morning, before daybreak, came a bigger crowd than ever, and more -policemen from downtown. Marija held on like grim death, and toward afternoon -she got into the bank and got her money—all in big silver dollars, a -handkerchief full. When she had once got her hands on them her fear vanished, -and she wanted to put them back again; but the man at the window was savage, -and said that the bank would receive no more deposits from those who had taken -part in the run. So Marija was forced to take her dollars home with her, -watching to right and left, expecting every instant that some one would try to -rob her; and when she got home she was not much better off. Until she could -find another bank there was nothing to do but sew them up in her clothes, and -so Marija went about for a week or more, loaded down with bullion, and afraid -to cross the street in front of the house, because Jurgis told her she would -sink out of sight in the mud. Weighted this way she made her way to the yards, -again in fear, this time to see if she had lost her place; but fortunately -about ten per cent of the working people of Packingtown had been depositors in -that bank, and it was not convenient to discharge that many at once. The cause -of the panic had been the attempt of a policeman to arrest a drunken man in a -saloon next door, which had drawn a crowd at the hour the people were on their -way to work, and so started the “run.” -</p> - -<p> -About this time Jurgis and Ona also began a bank account. Besides having paid -Jonas and Marija, they had almost paid for their furniture, and could have that -little sum to count on. So long as each of them could bring home nine or ten -dollars a week, they were able to get along finely. Also election day came -round again, and Jurgis made half a week’s wages out of that, all net -profit. It was a very close election that year, and the echoes of the battle -reached even to Packingtown. The two rival sets of grafters hired halls and set -off fireworks and made speeches, to try to get the people interested in the -matter. Although Jurgis did not understand it all, he knew enough by this time -to realize that it was not supposed to be right to sell your vote. However, as -every one did it, and his refusal to join would not have made the slightest -difference in the results, the idea of refusing would have seemed absurd, had -it ever come into his head. -</p> - -<p> -Now chill winds and shortening days began to warn them that the winter was -coming again. It seemed as if the respite had been too short—they had not -had time enough to get ready for it; but still it came, inexorably, and the -hunted look began to come back into the eyes of little Stanislovas. The -prospect struck fear to the heart of Jurgis also, for he knew that Ona was not -fit to face the cold and the snowdrifts this year. And suppose that some day -when a blizzard struck them and the cars were not running, Ona should have to -give up, and should come the next day to find that her place had been given to -some one who lived nearer and could be depended on? -</p> - -<p> -It was the week before Christmas that the first storm came, and then the soul -of Jurgis rose up within him like a sleeping lion. There were four days that -the Ashland Avenue cars were stalled, and in those days, for the first time in -his life, Jurgis knew what it was to be really opposed. He had faced -difficulties before, but they had been child’s play; now there was a -death struggle, and all the furies were unchained within him. The first morning -they set out two hours before dawn, Ona wrapped all in blankets and tossed upon -his shoulder like a sack of meal, and the little boy, bundled nearly out of -sight, hanging by his coat-tails. There was a raging blast beating in his face, -and the thermometer stood below zero; the snow was never short of his knees, -and in some of the drifts it was nearly up to his armpits. It would catch his -feet and try to trip him; it would build itself into a wall before him to beat -him back; and he would fling himself into it, plunging like a wounded buffalo, -puffing and snorting in rage. So foot by foot he drove his way, and when at -last he came to Durham’s he was staggering and almost blind, and leaned -against a pillar, gasping, and thanking God that the cattle came late to the -killing beds that day. In the evening the same thing had to be done again; and -because Jurgis could not tell what hour of the night he would get off, he got a -saloon-keeper to let Ona sit and wait for him in a corner. Once it was eleven -o’clock at night, and black as the pit, but still they got home. -</p> - -<p> -That blizzard knocked many a man out, for the crowd outside begging for work -was never greater, and the packers would not wait long for any one. When it was -over, the soul of Jurgis was a song, for he had met the enemy and conquered, -and felt himself the master of his fate.—So it might be with some monarch -of the forest that has vanquished his foes in fair fight, and then falls into -some cowardly trap in the night-time. -</p> - -<p> -A time of peril on the killing beds was when a steer broke loose. Sometimes, in -the haste of speeding-up, they would dump one of the animals out on the floor -before it was fully stunned, and it would get upon its feet and run amuck. Then -there would be a yell of warning—the men would drop everything and dash -for the nearest pillar, slipping here and there on the floor, and tumbling over -each other. This was bad enough in the summer, when a man could see; in -wintertime it was enough to make your hair stand up, for the room would be so -full of steam that you could not make anything out five feet in front of you. -To be sure, the steer was generally blind and frantic, and not especially bent -on hurting any one; but think of the chances of running upon a knife, while -nearly every man had one in his hand! And then, to cap the climax, the floor -boss would come rushing up with a rifle and begin blazing away! -</p> - -<p> -It was in one of these mêlées that Jurgis fell into his trap. That is the only -word to describe it; it was so cruel, and so utterly not to be foreseen. At -first he hardly noticed it, it was such a slight accident—simply that in -leaping out of the way he turned his ankle. There was a twinge of pain, but -Jurgis was used to pain, and did not coddle himself. When he came to walk home, -however, he realized that it was hurting him a great deal; and in the morning -his ankle was swollen out nearly double its size, and he could not get his foot -into his shoe. Still, even then, he did nothing more than swear a little, and -wrapped his foot in old rags, and hobbled out to take the car. It chanced to be -a rush day at Durham’s, and all the long morning he limped about with his -aching foot; by noontime the pain was so great that it made him faint, and -after a couple of hours in the afternoon he was fairly beaten, and had to tell -the boss. They sent for the company doctor, and he examined the foot and told -Jurgis to go home to bed, adding that he had probably laid himself up for -months by his folly. The injury was not one that Durham and Company could be -held responsible for, and so that was all there was to it, so far as the doctor -was concerned. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis got home somehow, scarcely able to see for the pain, and with an awful -terror in his soul, Elzbieta helped him into bed and bandaged his injured foot -with cold water and tried hard not to let him see her dismay; when the rest -came home at night she met them outside and told them, and they, too, put on a -cheerful face, saying it would only be for a week or two, and that they would -pull him through. -</p> - -<p> -When they had gotten him to sleep, however, they sat by the kitchen fire and -talked it over in frightened whispers. They were in for a siege, that was -plainly to be seen. Jurgis had only about sixty dollars in the bank, and the -slack season was upon them. Both Jonas and Marija might soon be earning no more -than enough to pay their board, and besides that there were only the wages of -Ona and the pittance of the little boy. There was the rent to pay, and still -some on the furniture; there was the insurance just due, and every month there -was sack after sack of coal. It was January, midwinter, an awful time to have -to face privation. Deep snows would come again, and who would carry Ona to her -work now? She might lose her place—she was almost certain to lose it. And -then little Stanislovas began to whimper—who would take care of him? -</p> - -<p> -It was dreadful that an accident of this sort, that no man can help, should -have meant such suffering. The bitterness of it was the daily food and drink of -Jurgis. It was of no use for them to try to deceive him; he knew as much about -the situation as they did, and he knew that the family might literally starve -to death. The worry of it fairly ate him up—he began to look haggard the -first two or three days of it. In truth, it was almost maddening for a strong -man like him, a fighter, to have to lie there helpless on his back. It was for -all the world the old story of Prometheus bound. As Jurgis lay on his bed, hour -after hour there came to him emotions that he had never known before. Before -this he had met life with a welcome—it had its trials, but none that a -man could not face. But now, in the nighttime, when he lay tossing about, there -would come stalking into his chamber a grisly phantom, the sight of which made -his flesh curl and his hair to bristle up. It was like seeing the world fall -away from underneath his feet; like plunging down into a bottomless abyss into -yawning caverns of despair. It might be true, then, after all, what others had -told him about life, that the best powers of a man might not be equal to it! It -might be true that, strive as he would, toil as he would, he might fail, and go -down and be destroyed! The thought of this was like an icy hand at his heart; -the thought that here, in this ghastly home of all horror, he and all those who -were dear to him might lie and perish of starvation and cold, and there would -be no ear to hear their cry, no hand to help them! It was true, it was -true,—that here in this huge city, with its stores of heaped-up wealth, -human creatures might be hunted down and destroyed by the wild-beast powers of -nature, just as truly as ever they were in the days of the cave men! -</p> - -<p> -Ona was now making about thirty dollars a month, and Stanislovas about -thirteen. To add to this there was the board of Jonas and Marija, about -forty-five dollars. Deducting from this the rent, interest, and installments on -the furniture, they had left sixty dollars, and deducting the coal, they had -fifty. They did without everything that human beings could do without; they -went in old and ragged clothing, that left them at the mercy of the cold, and -when the children’s shoes wore out, they tied them up with string. Half -invalid as she was, Ona would do herself harm by walking in the rain and cold -when she ought to have ridden; they bought literally nothing but food—and -still they could not keep alive on fifty dollars a month. They might have done -it, if only they could have gotten pure food, and at fair prices; or if only -they had known what to get—if they had not been so pitifully ignorant! -But they had come to a new country, where everything was different, including -the food. They had always been accustomed to eat a great deal of smoked -sausage, and how could they know that what they bought in America was not the -same—that its color was made by chemicals, and its smoky flavor by more -chemicals, and that it was full of “potato flour” besides? Potato -flour is the waste of potato after the starch and alcohol have been extracted; -it has no more food value than so much wood, and as its use as a food -adulterant is a penal offense in Europe, thousands of tons of it are shipped to -America every year. It was amazing what quantities of food such as this were -needed every day, by eleven hungry persons. A dollar sixty-five a day was -simply not enough to feed them, and there was no use trying; and so each week -they made an inroad upon the pitiful little bank account that Ona had begun. -Because the account was in her name, it was possible for her to keep this a -secret from her husband, and to keep the heartsickness of it for her own. -</p> - -<p> -It would have been better if Jurgis had been really ill; if he had not been -able to think. For he had no resources such as most invalids have; all he could -do was to lie there and toss about from side to side. Now and then he would -break into cursing, regardless of everything; and now and then his impatience -would get the better of him, and he would try to get up, and poor Teta Elzbieta -would have to plead with him in a frenzy. Elzbieta was all alone with him the -greater part of the time. She would sit and smooth his forehead by the hour, -and talk to him and try to make him forget. Sometimes it would be too cold for -the children to go to school, and they would have to play in the kitchen, where -Jurgis was, because it was the only room that was half warm. These were -dreadful times, for Jurgis would get as cross as any bear; he was scarcely to -be blamed, for he had enough to worry him, and it was hard when he was trying -to take a nap to be kept awake by noisy and peevish children. -</p> - -<p> -Elzbieta’s only resource in those times was little Antanas; indeed, it -would be hard to say how they could have gotten along at all if it had not been -for little Antanas. It was the one consolation of Jurgis’ long -imprisonment that now he had time to look at his baby. Teta Elzbieta would put -the clothes-basket in which the baby slept alongside of his mattress, and -Jurgis would lie upon one elbow and watch him by the hour, imagining things. -Then little Antanas would open his eyes—he was beginning to take notice -of things now; and he would smile—how he would smile! So Jurgis would -begin to forget and be happy because he was in a world where there was a thing -so beautiful as the smile of little Antanas, and because such a world could not -but be good at the heart of it. He looked more like his father every hour, -Elzbieta would say, and said it many times a day, because she saw that it -pleased Jurgis; the poor little terror-stricken woman was planning all day and -all night to soothe the prisoned giant who was intrusted to her care. Jurgis, -who knew nothing about the age-long and everlasting hypocrisy of woman, would -take the bait and grin with delight; and then he would hold his finger in front -of little Antanas’ eyes, and move it this way and that, and laugh with -glee to see the baby follow it. There is no pet quite so fascinating as a baby; -he would look into Jurgis’ face with such uncanny seriousness, and Jurgis -would start and cry: “<i>Palauk!</i> Look, Muma, he knows his papa! He -does, he does! <i>Tu mano szirdele</i>, the little rascal!” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<p> -For three weeks after his injury Jurgis never got up from bed. It was a very -obstinate sprain; the swelling would not go down, and the pain still continued. -At the end of that time, however, he could contain himself no longer, and began -trying to walk a little every day, laboring to persuade himself that he was -better. No arguments could stop him, and three or four days later he declared -that he was going back to work. He limped to the cars and got to Brown’s, -where he found that the boss had kept his place—that is, was willing to -turn out into the snow the poor devil he had hired in the meantime. Every now -and then the pain would force Jurgis to stop work, but he stuck it out till -nearly an hour before closing. Then he was forced to acknowledge that he could -not go on without fainting; it almost broke his heart to do it, and he stood -leaning against a pillar and weeping like a child. Two of the men had to help -him to the car, and when he got out he had to sit down and wait in the snow -till some one came along. -</p> - -<p> -So they put him to bed again, and sent for the doctor, as they ought to have -done in the beginning. It transpired that he had twisted a tendon out of place, -and could never have gotten well without attention. Then he gripped the sides -of the bed, and shut his teeth together, and turned white with agony, while the -doctor pulled and wrenched away at his swollen ankle. When finally the doctor -left, he told him that he would have to lie quiet for two months, and that if -he went to work before that time he might lame himself for life. -</p> - -<p> -Three days later there came another heavy snowstorm, and Jonas and Marija and -Ona and little Stanislovas all set out together, an hour before daybreak, to -try to get to the yards. About noon the last two came back, the boy screaming -with pain. His fingers were all frosted, it seemed. They had had to give up -trying to get to the yards, and had nearly perished in a drift. All that they -knew how to do was to hold the frozen fingers near the fire, and so little -Stanislovas spent most of the day dancing about in horrible agony, till Jurgis -flew into a passion of nervous rage and swore like a madman, declaring that he -would kill him if he did not stop. All that day and night the family was -half-crazed with fear that Ona and the boy had lost their places; and in the -morning they set out earlier than ever, after the little fellow had been beaten -with a stick by Jurgis. There could be no trifling in a case like this, it was -a matter of life and death; little Stanislovas could not be expected to realize -that he might a great deal better freeze in the snowdrift than lose his job at -the lard machine. Ona was quite certain that she would find her place gone, and -was all unnerved when she finally got to Brown’s, and found that the -forelady herself had failed to come, and was therefore compelled to be lenient. -</p> - -<p> -One of the consequences of this episode was that the first joints of three of -the little boy’s fingers were permanently disabled, and another that -thereafter he always had to be beaten before he set out to work, whenever there -was fresh snow on the ground. Jurgis was called upon to do the beating, and as -it hurt his foot he did it with a vengeance; but it did not tend to add to the -sweetness of his temper. They say that the best dog will turn cross if he be -kept chained all the time, and it was the same with the man; he had not a thing -to do all day but lie and curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to -curse everything. -</p> - -<p> -This was never for very long, however, for when Ona began to cry, Jurgis could -not stay angry. The poor fellow looked like a homeless ghost, with his cheeks -sunken in and his long black hair straggling into his eyes; he was too -discouraged to cut it, or to think about his appearance. His muscles were -wasting away, and what were left were soft and flabby. He had no appetite, and -they could not afford to tempt him with delicacies. It was better, he said, -that he should not eat, it was a saving. About the end of March he had got hold -of Ona’s bankbook, and learned that there was only three dollars left to -them in the world. -</p> - -<p> -But perhaps the worst of the consequences of this long siege was that they lost -another member of their family; Brother Jonas disappeared. One Saturday night -he did not come home, and thereafter all their efforts to get trace of him were -futile. It was said by the boss at Durham’s that he had gotten his -week’s money and left there. That might not be true, of course, for -sometimes they would say that when a man had been killed; it was the easiest -way out of it for all concerned. When, for instance, a man had fallen into one -of the rendering tanks and had been made into pure leaf lard and peerless -fertilizer, there was no use letting the fact out and making his family -unhappy. More probable, however, was the theory that Jonas had deserted them, -and gone on the road, seeking happiness. He had been discontented for a long -time, and not without some cause. He paid good board, and was yet obliged to -live in a family where nobody had enough to eat. And Marija would keep giving -them all her money, and of course he could not but feel that he was called upon -to do the same. Then there were crying brats, and all sorts of misery; a man -would have had to be a good deal of a hero to stand it all without grumbling, -and Jonas was not in the least a hero—he was simply a weatherbeaten old -fellow who liked to have a good supper and sit in the corner by the fire and -smoke his pipe in peace before he went to bed. Here there was not room by the -fire, and through the winter the kitchen had seldom been warm enough for -comfort. So, with the springtime, what was more likely than that the wild idea -of escaping had come to him? Two years he had been yoked like a horse to a -half-ton truck in Durham’s dark cellars, with never a rest, save on -Sundays and four holidays in the year, and with never a word of -thanks—only kicks and blows and curses, such as no decent dog would have -stood. And now the winter was over, and the spring winds were blowing—and -with a day’s walk a man might put the smoke of Packingtown behind him -forever, and be where the grass was green and the flowers all the colors of the -rainbow! -</p> - -<p> -But now the income of the family was cut down more than one-third, and the food -demand was cut only one-eleventh, so that they were worse off than ever. Also -they were borrowing money from Marija, and eating up her bank account, and -spoiling once again her hopes of marriage and happiness. And they were even -going into debt to Tamoszius Kuszleika and letting him impoverish himself. Poor -Tamoszius was a man without any relatives, and with a wonderful talent besides, -and he ought to have made money and prospered; but he had fallen in love, and -so given hostages to fortune, and was doomed to be dragged down too. -</p> - -<p> -So it was finally decided that two more of the children would have to leave -school. Next to Stanislovas, who was now fifteen, there was a girl, little -Kotrina, who was two years younger, and then two boys, Vilimas, who was eleven, -and Nikalojus, who was ten. Both of these last were bright boys, and there was -no reason why their family should starve when tens of thousands of children no -older were earning their own livings. So one morning they were given a quarter -apiece and a roll with a sausage in it, and, with their minds top-heavy with -good advice, were sent out to make their way to the city and learn to sell -newspapers. They came back late at night in tears, having walked for the five -or six miles to report that a man had offered to take them to a place where -they sold newspapers, and had taken their money and gone into a store to get -them, and nevermore been seen. So they both received a whipping, and the next -morning set out again. This time they found the newspaper place, and procured -their stock; and after wandering about till nearly noontime, saying -“Paper?” to every one they saw, they had all their stock taken away -and received a thrashing besides from a big newsman upon whose territory they -had trespassed. Fortunately, however, they had already sold some papers, and -came back with nearly as much as they started with. -</p> - -<p> -After a week of mishaps such as these, the two little fellows began to learn -the ways of the trade—the names of the different papers, and how many of -each to get, and what sort of people to offer them to, and where to go and -where to stay away from. After this, leaving home at four o’clock in the -morning, and running about the streets, first with morning papers and then with -evening, they might come home late at night with twenty or thirty cents -apiece—possibly as much as forty cents. From this they had to deduct -their carfare, since the distance was so great; but after a while they made -friends, and learned still more, and then they would save their carfare. They -would get on a car when the conductor was not looking, and hide in the crowd; -and three times out of four he would not ask for their fares, either not seeing -them, or thinking they had already paid; or if he did ask, they would hunt -through their pockets, and then begin to cry, and either have their fares paid -by some kind old lady, or else try the trick again on a new car. All this was -fair play, they felt. Whose fault was it that at the hours when workingmen were -going to their work and back, the cars were so crowded that the conductors -could not collect all the fares? And besides, the companies were thieves, -people said—had stolen all their franchises with the help of scoundrelly -politicians! -</p> - -<p> -Now that the winter was by, and there was no more danger of snow, and no more -coal to buy, and another room warm enough to put the children into when they -cried, and enough money to get along from week to week with, Jurgis was less -terrible than he had been. A man can get used to anything in the course of -time, and Jurgis had gotten used to lying about the house. Ona saw this, and -was very careful not to destroy his peace of mind, by letting him know how very -much pain she was suffering. It was now the time of the spring rains, and Ona -had often to ride to her work, in spite of the expense; she was getting paler -every day, and sometimes, in spite of her good resolutions, it pained her that -Jurgis did not notice it. She wondered if he cared for her as much as ever, if -all this misery was not wearing out his love. She had to be away from him all -the time, and bear her own troubles while he was bearing his; and then, when -she came home, she was so worn out; and whenever they talked they had only -their worries to talk of—truly it was hard, in such a life, to keep any -sentiment alive. The woe of this would flame up in Ona sometimes—at night -she would suddenly clasp her big husband in her arms and break into passionate -weeping, demanding to know if he really loved her. Poor Jurgis, who had in -truth grown more matter-of-fact, under the endless pressure of penury, would -not know what to make of these things, and could only try to recollect when he -had last been cross; and so Ona would have to forgive him and sob herself to -sleep. -</p> - -<p> -The latter part of April Jurgis went to see the doctor, and was given a bandage -to lace about his ankle, and told that he might go back to work. It needed more -than the permission of the doctor, however, for when he showed up on the -killing floor of Brown’s, he was told by the foreman that it had not been -possible to keep his job for him. Jurgis knew that this meant simply that the -foreman had found some one else to do the work as well and did not want to -bother to make a change. He stood in the doorway, looking mournfully on, seeing -his friends and companions at work, and feeling like an outcast. Then he went -out and took his place with the mob of the unemployed. -</p> - -<p> -This time, however, Jurgis did not have the same fine confidence, nor the same -reason for it. He was no longer the finest-looking man in the throng, and the -bosses no longer made for him; he was thin and haggard, and his clothes were -seedy, and he looked miserable. And there were hundreds who looked and felt -just like him, and who had been wandering about Packingtown for months begging -for work. This was a critical time in Jurgis’ life, and if he had been a -weaker man he would have gone the way the rest did. Those out-of-work wretches -would stand about the packing houses every morning till the police drove them -away, and then they would scatter among the saloons. Very few of them had the -nerve to face the rebuffs that they would encounter by trying to get into the -buildings to interview the bosses; if they did not get a chance in the morning, -there would be nothing to do but hang about the saloons the rest of the day and -night. Jurgis was saved from all this—partly, to be sure, because it was -pleasant weather, and there was no need to be indoors; but mainly because he -carried with him always the pitiful little face of his wife. He must get work, -he told himself, fighting the battle with despair every hour of the day. He -must get work! He must have a place again and some money saved up, before the -next winter came. -</p> - -<p> -But there was no work for him. He sought out all the members of his -union—Jurgis had stuck to the union through all this—and begged -them to speak a word for him. He went to every one he knew, asking for a -chance, there or anywhere. He wandered all day through the buildings; and in a -week or two, when he had been all over the yards, and into every room to which -he had access, and learned that there was not a job anywhere, he persuaded -himself that there might have been a change in the places he had first visited, -and began the round all over; till finally the watchmen and the -“spotters” of the companies came to know him by sight and to order -him out with threats. Then there was nothing more for him to do but go with the -crowd in the morning, and keep in the front row and look eager, and when he -failed, go back home, and play with little Kotrina and the baby. -</p> - -<p> -The peculiar bitterness of all this was that Jurgis saw so plainly the meaning -of it. In the beginning he had been fresh and strong, and he had gotten a job -the first day; but now he was second-hand, a damaged article, so to speak, and -they did not want him. They had got the best of him—they had worn him -out, with their speeding-up and their carelessness, and now they had thrown him -away! And Jurgis would make the acquaintance of others of these unemployed men -and find that they had all had the same experience. There were some, of course, -who had wandered in from other places, who had been ground up in other mills; -there were others who were out from their own fault—some, for instance, -who had not been able to stand the awful grind without drink. The vast -majority, however, were simply the worn-out parts of the great merciless -packing machine; they had toiled there, and kept up with the pace, some of them -for ten or twenty years, until finally the time had come when they could not -keep up with it any more. Some had been frankly told that they were too old, -that a sprier man was needed; others had given occasion, by some act of -carelessness or incompetence; with most, however, the occasion had been the -same as with Jurgis. They had been overworked and underfed so long, and finally -some disease had laid them on their backs; or they had cut themselves, and had -blood poisoning, or met with some other accident. When a man came back after -that, he would get his place back only by the courtesy of the boss. To this -there was no exception, save when the accident was one for which the firm was -liable; in that case they would send a slippery lawyer to see him, first to try -to get him to sign away his claims, but if he was too smart for that, to -promise him that he and his should always be provided with work. This promise -they would keep, strictly and to the letter—for two years. Two years was -the “statute of limitations,” and after that the victim could not -sue. -</p> - -<p> -What happened to a man after any of these things, all depended upon the -circumstances. If he were of the highly skilled workers, he would probably have -enough saved up to tide him over. The best paid men, the -“splitters,” made fifty cents an hour, which would be five or six -dollars a day in the rush seasons, and one or two in the dullest. A man could -live and save on that; but then there were only half a dozen splitters in each -place, and one of them that Jurgis knew had a family of twenty-two children, -all hoping to grow up to be splitters like their father. For an unskilled man, -who made ten dollars a week in the rush seasons and five in the dull, it all -depended upon his age and the number he had dependent upon him. An unmarried -man could save, if he did not drink, and if he was absolutely -selfish—that is, if he paid no heed to the demands of his old parents, or -of his little brothers and sisters, or of any other relatives he might have, as -well as of the members of his union, and his chums, and the people who might be -starving to death next door. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<p> -During this time that Jurgis was looking for work occurred the death of little -Kristoforas, one of the children of Teta Elzbieta. Both Kristoforas and his -brother, Juozapas, were cripples, the latter having lost one leg by having it -run over, and Kristoforas having congenital dislocation of the hip, which made -it impossible for him ever to walk. He was the last of Teta Elzbieta’s -children, and perhaps he had been intended by nature to let her know that she -had had enough. At any rate he was wretchedly sick and undersized; he had the -rickets, and though he was over three years old, he was no bigger than an -ordinary child of one. All day long he would crawl around the floor in a filthy -little dress, whining and fretting; because the floor was full of drafts he was -always catching cold, and snuffling because his nose ran. This made him a -nuisance, and a source of endless trouble in the family. For his mother, with -unnatural perversity, loved him best of all her children, and made a perpetual -fuss over him—would let him do anything undisturbed, and would burst into -tears when his fretting drove Jurgis wild. -</p> - -<p> -And now he died. Perhaps it was the smoked sausage he had eaten that -morning—which may have been made out of some of the tubercular pork that -was condemned as unfit for export. At any rate, an hour after eating it, the -child had begun to cry with pain, and in another hour he was rolling about on -the floor in convulsions. Little Kotrina, who was all alone with him, ran out -screaming for help, and after a while a doctor came, but not until Kristoforas -had howled his last howl. No one was really sorry about this except poor -Elzbieta, who was inconsolable. Jurgis announced that so far as he was -concerned the child would have to be buried by the city, since they had no -money for a funeral; and at this the poor woman almost went out of her senses, -wringing her hands and screaming with grief and despair. Her child to be buried -in a pauper’s grave! And her stepdaughter to stand by and hear it said -without protesting! It was enough to make Ona’s father rise up out of his -grave to rebuke her! If it had come to this, they might as well give up at -once, and be buried all of them together! . . . In the end Marija said that she -would help with ten dollars; and Jurgis being still obdurate, Elzbieta went in -tears and begged the money from the neighbors, and so little Kristoforas had a -mass and a hearse with white plumes on it, and a tiny plot in a graveyard with -a wooden cross to mark the place. The poor mother was not the same for months -after that; the mere sight of the floor where little Kristoforas had crawled -about would make her weep. He had never had a fair chance, poor little fellow, -she would say. He had been handicapped from his birth. If only she had heard -about it in time, so that she might have had that great doctor to cure him of -his lameness! . . . Some time ago, Elzbieta was told, a Chicago billionaire had -paid a fortune to bring a great European surgeon over to cure his little -daughter of the same disease from which Kristoforas had suffered. And because -this surgeon had to have bodies to demonstrate upon, he announced that he would -treat the children of the poor, a piece of magnanimity over which the papers -became quite eloquent. Elzbieta, alas, did not read the papers, and no one had -told her; but perhaps it was as well, for just then they would not have had the -carfare to spare to go every day to wait upon the surgeon, nor for that matter -anybody with the time to take the child. -</p> - -<p> -All this while that he was seeking for work, there was a dark shadow hanging -over Jurgis; as if a savage beast were lurking somewhere in the pathway of his -life, and he knew it, and yet could not help approaching the place. There are -all stages of being out of work in Packingtown, and he faced in dread the -prospect of reaching the lowest. There is a place that waits for the lowest -man—the fertilizer plant! -</p> - -<p> -The men would talk about it in awe-stricken whispers. Not more than one in ten -had ever really tried it; the other nine had contented themselves with hearsay -evidence and a peep through the door. There were some things worse than even -starving to death. They would ask Jurgis if he had worked there yet, and if he -meant to; and Jurgis would debate the matter with himself. As poor as they -were, and making all the sacrifices that they were, would he dare to refuse any -sort of work that was offered to him, be it as horrible as ever it could? Would -he dare to go home and eat bread that had been earned by Ona, weak and -complaining as she was, knowing that he had been given a chance, and had not -had the nerve to take it?—And yet he might argue that way with himself -all day, and one glimpse into the fertilizer works would send him away again -shuddering. He was a man, and he would do his duty; he went and made -application—but surely he was not also required to hope for success! -</p> - -<p> -The fertilizer works of Durham’s lay away from the rest of the plant. Few -visitors ever saw them, and the few who did would come out looking like Dante, -of whom the peasants declared that he had been into hell. To this part of the -yards came all the “tankage” and the waste products of all sorts; -here they dried out the bones,—and in suffocating cellars where the -daylight never came you might see men and women and children bending over -whirling machines and sawing bits of bone into all sorts of shapes, breathing -their lungs full of the fine dust, and doomed to die, every one of them, within -a certain definite time. Here they made the blood into albumen, and made other -foul-smelling things into things still more foul-smelling. In the corridors and -caverns where it was done you might lose yourself as in the great caves of -Kentucky. In the dust and the steam the electric lights would shine like -far-off twinkling stars—red and blue-green and purple stars, according to -the color of the mist and the brew from which it came. For the odors of these -ghastly charnel houses there may be words in Lithuanian, but there are none in -English. The person entering would have to summon his courage as for a -cold-water plunge. He would go in like a man swimming under water; he would put -his handkerchief over his face, and begin to cough and choke; and then, if he -were still obstinate, he would find his head beginning to ring, and the veins -in his forehead to throb, until finally he would be assailed by an overpowering -blast of ammonia fumes, and would turn and run for his life, and come out -half-dazed. -</p> - -<p> -On top of this were the rooms where they dried the “tankage,” the -mass of brown stringy stuff that was left after the waste portions of the -carcasses had had the lard and tallow dried out of them. This dried material -they would then grind to a fine powder, and after they had mixed it up well -with a mysterious but inoffensive brown rock which they brought in and ground -up by the hundreds of carloads for that purpose, the substance was ready to be -put into bags and sent out to the world as any one of a hundred different -brands of standard bone phosphate. And then the farmer in Maine or California -or Texas would buy this, at say twenty-five dollars a ton, and plant it with -his corn; and for several days after the operation the fields would have a -strong odor, and the farmer and his wagon and the very horses that had hauled -it would all have it too. In Packingtown the fertilizer is pure, instead of -being a flavoring, and instead of a ton or so spread out on several acres under -the open sky, there are hundreds and thousands of tons of it in one building, -heaped here and there in haystack piles, covering the floor several inches -deep, and filling the air with a choking dust that becomes a blinding sandstorm -when the wind stirs. -</p> - -<p> -It was to this building that Jurgis came daily, as if dragged by an unseen -hand. The month of May was an exceptionally cool one, and his secret prayers -were granted; but early in June there came a record-breaking hot spell, and -after that there were men wanted in the fertilizer mill. -</p> - -<p> -The boss of the grinding room had come to know Jurgis by this time, and had -marked him for a likely man; and so when he came to the door about two -o’clock this breathless hot day, he felt a sudden spasm of pain shoot -through him—the boss beckoned to him! In ten minutes more Jurgis had -pulled off his coat and overshirt, and set his teeth together and gone to work. -Here was one more difficulty for him to meet and conquer! -</p> - -<p> -His labor took him about one minute to learn. Before him was one of the vents -of the mill in which the fertilizer was being ground—rushing forth in a -great brown river, with a spray of the finest dust flung forth in clouds. -Jurgis was given a shovel, and along with half a dozen others it was his task -to shovel this fertilizer into carts. That others were at work he knew by the -sound, and by the fact that he sometimes collided with them; otherwise they -might as well not have been there, for in the blinding dust storm a man could -not see six feet in front of his face. When he had filled one cart he had to -grope around him until another came, and if there was none on hand he continued -to grope till one arrived. In five minutes he was, of course, a mass of -fertilizer from head to feet; they gave him a sponge to tie over his mouth, so -that he could breathe, but the sponge did not prevent his lips and eyelids from -caking up with it and his ears from filling solid. He looked like a brown ghost -at twilight—from hair to shoes he became the color of the building and of -everything in it, and for that matter a hundred yards outside it. The building -had to be left open, and when the wind blew Durham and Company lost a great -deal of fertilizer. -</p> - -<p> -Working in his shirt sleeves, and with the thermometer at over a hundred, the -phosphates soaked in through every pore of Jurgis’ skin, and in five -minutes he had a headache, and in fifteen was almost dazed. The blood was -pounding in his brain like an engine’s throbbing; there was a frightful -pain in the top of his skull, and he could hardly control his hands. Still, -with the memory of his four months’ siege behind him, he fought on, in a -frenzy of determination; and half an hour later he began to vomit—he -vomited until it seemed as if his inwards must be torn into shreds. A man could -get used to the fertilizer mill, the boss had said, if he would make up his -mind to it; but Jurgis now began to see that it was a question of making up his -stomach. -</p> - -<p> -At the end of that day of horror, he could scarcely stand. He had to catch -himself now and then, and lean against a building and get his bearings. Most of -the men, when they came out, made straight for a saloon—they seemed to -place fertilizer and rattlesnake poison in one class. But Jurgis was too ill to -think of drinking—he could only make his way to the street and stagger on -to a car. He had a sense of humor, and later on, when he became an old hand, he -used to think it fun to board a streetcar and see what happened. Now, however, -he was too ill to notice it—how the people in the car began to gasp and -sputter, to put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and transfix him with -furious glances. Jurgis only knew that a man in front of him immediately got up -and gave him a seat; and that half a minute later the two people on each side -of him got up; and that in a full minute the crowded car was nearly -empty—those passengers who could not get room on the platform having -gotten out to walk. -</p> - -<p> -Of course Jurgis had made his home a miniature fertilizer mill a minute after -entering. The stuff was half an inch deep in his skin—his whole system -was full of it, and it would have taken a week not merely of scrubbing, but of -vigorous exercise, to get it out of him. As it was, he could be compared with -nothing known to men, save that newest discovery of the savants, a substance -which emits energy for an unlimited time, without being itself in the least -diminished in power. He smelled so that he made all the food at the table -taste, and set the whole family to vomiting; for himself it was three days -before he could keep anything upon his stomach—he might wash his hands, -and use a knife and fork, but were not his mouth and throat filled with the -poison? -</p> - -<p> -And still Jurgis stuck it out! In spite of splitting headaches he would stagger -down to the plant and take up his stand once more, and begin to shovel in the -blinding clouds of dust. And so at the end of the week he was a fertilizer man -for life—he was able to eat again, and though his head never stopped -aching, it ceased to be so bad that he could not work. -</p> - -<p> -So there passed another summer. It was a summer of prosperity, all over the -country, and the country ate generously of packing house products, and there -was plenty of work for all the family, in spite of the packers’ efforts -to keep a superfluity of labor. They were again able to pay their debts and to -begin to save a little sum; but there were one or two sacrifices they -considered too heavy to be made for long—it was too bad that the boys -should have to sell papers at their age. It was utterly useless to caution them -and plead with them; quite without knowing it, they were taking on the tone of -their new environment. They were learning to swear in voluble English; they -were learning to pick up cigar stumps and smoke them, to pass hours of their -time gambling with pennies and dice and cigarette cards; they were learning the -location of all the houses of prostitution on the “Lêvée,” and the -names of the “madames” who kept them, and the days when they gave -their state banquets, which the police captains and the big politicians all -attended. If a visiting “country customer” were to ask them, they -could show him which was “Hinkydink’s” famous saloon, and -could even point out to him by name the different gamblers and thugs and -“hold-up men” who made the place their headquarters. And worse yet, -the boys were getting out of the habit of coming home at night. What was the -use, they would ask, of wasting time and energy and a possible carfare riding -out to the stockyards every night when the weather was pleasant and they could -crawl under a truck or into an empty doorway and sleep exactly as well? So long -as they brought home a half dollar for each day, what mattered it when they -brought it? But Jurgis declared that from this to ceasing to come at all would -not be a very long step, and so it was decided that Vilimas and Nikalojus -should return to school in the fall, and that instead Elzbieta should go out -and get some work, her place at home being taken by her younger daughter. -</p> - -<p> -Little Kotrina was like most children of the poor, prematurely made old; she -had to take care of her little brother, who was a cripple, and also of the -baby; she had to cook the meals and wash the dishes and clean house, and have -supper ready when the workers came home in the evening. She was only thirteen, -and small for her age, but she did all this without a murmur; and her mother -went out, and after trudging a couple of days about the yards, settled down as -a servant of a “sausage machine.” -</p> - -<p> -Elzbieta was used to working, but she found this change a hard one, for the -reason that she had to stand motionless upon her feet from seven o’clock -in the morning till half-past twelve, and again from one till half-past five. -For the first few days it seemed to her that she could not stand it—she -suffered almost as much as Jurgis had from the fertilizer, and would come out -at sundown with her head fairly reeling. Besides this, she was working in one -of the dark holes, by electric light, and the dampness, too, was -deadly—there were always puddles of water on the floor, and a sickening -odor of moist flesh in the room. The people who worked here followed the -ancient custom of nature, whereby the ptarmigan is the color of dead leaves in -the fall and of snow in the winter, and the chameleon, who is black when he -lies upon a stump and turns green when he moves to a leaf. The men and women -who worked in this department were precisely the color of the “fresh -country sausage” they made. -</p> - -<p> -The sausage-room was an interesting place to visit, for two or three minutes, -and provided that you did not look at the people; the machines were perhaps the -most wonderful things in the entire plant. Presumably sausages were once -chopped and stuffed by hand, and if so it would be interesting to know how many -workers had been displaced by these inventions. On one side of the room were -the hoppers, into which men shoveled loads of meat and wheelbarrows full of -spices; in these great bowls were whirling knives that made two thousand -revolutions a minute, and when the meat was ground fine and adulterated with -potato flour, and well mixed with water, it was forced to the stuffing machines -on the other side of the room. The latter were tended by women; there was a -sort of spout, like the nozzle of a hose, and one of the women would take a -long string of “casing” and put the end over the nozzle and then -work the whole thing on, as one works on the finger of a tight glove. This -string would be twenty or thirty feet long, but the woman would have it all on -in a jiffy; and when she had several on, she would press a lever, and a stream -of sausage meat would be shot out, taking the casing with it as it came. Thus -one might stand and see appear, miraculously born from the machine, a wriggling -snake of sausage of incredible length. In front was a big pan which caught -these creatures, and two more women who seized them as fast as they appeared -and twisted them into links. This was for the uninitiated the most perplexing -work of all; for all that the woman had to give was a single turn of the wrist; -and in some way she contrived to give it so that instead of an endless chain of -sausages, one after another, there grew under her hands a bunch of strings, all -dangling from a single center. It was quite like the feat of a -prestidigitator—for the woman worked so fast that the eye could literally -not follow her, and there was only a mist of motion, and tangle after tangle of -sausages appearing. In the midst of the mist, however, the visitor would -suddenly notice the tense set face, with the two wrinkles graven in the -forehead, and the ghastly pallor of the cheeks; and then he would suddenly -recollect that it was time he was going on. The woman did not go on; she stayed -right there—hour after hour, day after day, year after year, twisting -sausage links and racing with death. It was piecework, and she was apt to have -a family to keep alive; and stern and ruthless economic laws had arranged it -that she could only do this by working just as she did, with all her soul upon -her work, and with never an instant for a glance at the well-dressed ladies and -gentlemen who came to stare at her, as at some wild beast in a menagerie. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<p> -With one member trimming beef in a cannery, and another working in a sausage -factory, the family had a first-hand knowledge of the great majority of -Packingtown swindles. For it was the custom, as they found, whenever meat was -so spoiled that it could not be used for anything else, either to can it or -else to chop it up into sausage. With what had been told them by Jonas, who had -worked in the pickle rooms, they could now study the whole of the spoiled-meat -industry on the inside, and read a new and grim meaning into that old -Packingtown jest—that they use everything of the pig except the squeal. -</p> - -<p> -Jonas had told them how the meat that was taken out of pickle would often be -found sour, and how they would rub it up with soda to take away the smell, and -sell it to be eaten on free-lunch counters; also of all the miracles of -chemistry which they performed, giving to any sort of meat, fresh or salted, -whole or chopped, any color and any flavor and any odor they chose. In the -pickling of hams they had an ingenious apparatus, by which they saved time and -increased the capacity of the plant—a machine consisting of a hollow -needle attached to a pump; by plunging this needle into the meat and working -with his foot, a man could fill a ham with pickle in a few seconds. And yet, in -spite of this, there would be hams found spoiled, some of them with an odor so -bad that a man could hardly bear to be in the room with them. To pump into -these the packers had a second and much stronger pickle which destroyed the -odor—a process known to the workers as “giving them thirty per -cent.” Also, after the hams had been smoked, there would be found some -that had gone to the bad. Formerly these had been sold as “Number Three -Grade,” but later on some ingenious person had hit upon a new device, and -now they would extract the bone, about which the bad part generally lay, and -insert in the hole a white-hot iron. After this invention there was no longer -Number One, Two, and Three Grade—there was only Number One Grade. The -packers were always originating such schemes—they had what they called -“boneless hams,” which were all the odds and ends of pork stuffed -into casings; and “California hams,” which were the shoulders, with -big knuckle joints, and nearly all the meat cut out; and fancy “skinned -hams,” which were made of the oldest hogs, whose skins were so heavy and -coarse that no one would buy them—that is, until they had been cooked and -chopped fine and labeled “head cheese!” -</p> - -<p> -It was only when the whole ham was spoiled that it came into the department of -Elzbieta. Cut up by the two-thousand-revolutions-a-minute flyers, and mixed -with half a ton of other meat, no odor that ever was in a ham could make any -difference. There was never the least attention paid to what was cut up for -sausage; there would come all the way back from Europe old sausage that had -been rejected, and that was moldy and white—it would be dosed with borax -and glycerine, and dumped into the hoppers, and made over again for home -consumption. There would be meat that had tumbled out on the floor, in the dirt -and sawdust, where the workers had tramped and spit uncounted billions of -consumption germs. There would be meat stored in great piles in rooms; and the -water from leaky roofs would drip over it, and thousands of rats would race -about on it. It was too dark in these storage places to see well, but a man -could run his hand over these piles of meat and sweep off handfuls of the dried -dung of rats. These rats were nuisances, and the packers would put poisoned -bread out for them; they would die, and then rats, bread, and meat would go -into the hoppers together. This is no fairy story and no joke; the meat would -be shoveled into carts, and the man who did the shoveling would not trouble to -lift out a rat even when he saw one—there were things that went into the -sausage in comparison with which a poisoned rat was a tidbit. There was no -place for the men to wash their hands before they ate their dinner, and so they -made a practice of washing them in the water that was to be ladled into the -sausage. There were the butt-ends of smoked meat, and the scraps of corned -beef, and all the odds and ends of the waste of the plants, that would be -dumped into old barrels in the cellar and left there. Under the system of rigid -economy which the packers enforced, there were some jobs that it only paid to -do once in a long time, and among these was the cleaning out of the waste -barrels. Every spring they did it; and in the barrels would be dirt and rust -and old nails and stale water—and cartload after cartload of it would be -taken up and dumped into the hoppers with fresh meat, and sent out to the -public’s breakfast. Some of it they would make into “smoked” -sausage—but as the smoking took time, and was therefore expensive, they -would call upon their chemistry department, and preserve it with borax and -color it with gelatine to make it brown. All of their sausage came out of the -same bowl, but when they came to wrap it they would stamp some of it -“special,” and for this they would charge two cents more a pound. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the new surroundings in which Elzbieta was placed, and such was the -work she was compelled to do. It was stupefying, brutalizing work; it left her -no time to think, no strength for anything. She was part of the machine she -tended, and every faculty that was not needed for the machine was doomed to be -crushed out of existence. There was only one mercy about the cruel -grind—that it gave her the gift of insensibility. Little by little she -sank into a torpor—she fell silent. She would meet Jurgis and Ona in the -evening, and the three would walk home together, often without saying a word. -Ona, too, was falling into a habit of silence—Ona, who had once gone -about singing like a bird. She was sick and miserable, and often she would -barely have strength enough to drag herself home. And there they would eat what -they had to eat, and afterward, because there was only their misery to talk of, -they would crawl into bed and fall into a stupor and never stir until it was -time to get up again, and dress by candlelight, and go back to the machines. -They were so numbed that they did not even suffer much from hunger, now; only -the children continued to fret when the food ran short. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the soul of Ona was not dead—the souls of none of them were dead, but -only sleeping; and now and then they would waken, and these were cruel times. -The gates of memory would roll open—old joys would stretch out their arms -to them, old hopes and dreams would call to them, and they would stir beneath -the burden that lay upon them, and feel its forever immeasurable weight. They -could not even cry out beneath it; but anguish would seize them, more dreadful -than the agony of death. It was a thing scarcely to be spoken—a thing -never spoken by all the world, that will not know its own defeat. -</p> - -<p> -They were beaten; they had lost the game, they were swept aside. It was not -less tragic because it was so sordid, because it had to do with wages and -grocery bills and rents. They had dreamed of freedom; of a chance to look about -them and learn something; to be decent and clean, to see their child grow up to -be strong. And now it was all gone—it would never be! They had played the -game and they had lost. Six years more of toil they had to face before they -could expect the least respite, the cessation of the payments upon the house; -and how cruelly certain it was that they could never stand six years of such a -life as they were living! They were lost, they were going down—and there -was no deliverance for them, no hope; for all the help it gave them the vast -city in which they lived might have been an ocean waste, a wilderness, a -desert, a tomb. So often this mood would come to Ona, in the nighttime, when -something wakened her; she would lie, afraid of the beating of her own heart, -fronting the blood-red eyes of the old primeval terror of life. Once she cried -aloud, and woke Jurgis, who was tired and cross. After that she learned to weep -silently—their moods so seldom came together now! It was as if their -hopes were buried in separate graves. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis, being a man, had troubles of his own. There was another specter -following him. He had never spoken of it, nor would he allow any one else to -speak of it—he had never acknowledged its existence to himself. Yet the -battle with it took all the manhood that he had—and once or twice, alas, -a little more. Jurgis had discovered drink. -</p> - -<p> -He was working in the steaming pit of hell; day after day, week after -week—until now, there was not an organ of his body that did its work -without pain, until the sound of ocean breakers echoed in his head day and -night, and the buildings swayed and danced before him as he went down the -street. And from all the unending horror of this there was a respite, a -deliverance—he could drink! He could forget the pain, he could slip off -the burden; he would see clearly again, he would be master of his brain, of his -thoughts, of his will. His dead self would stir in him, and he would find -himself laughing and cracking jokes with his companions—he would be a man -again, and master of his life. -</p> - -<p> -It was not an easy thing for Jurgis to take more than two or three drinks. With -the first drink he could eat a meal, and he could persuade himself that that -was economy; with the second he could eat another meal—but there would -come a time when he could eat no more, and then to pay for a drink was an -unthinkable extravagance, a defiance of the age-long instincts of his -hunger-haunted class. One day, however, he took the plunge, and drank up all -that he had in his pockets, and went home half “piped,” as the men -phrase it. He was happier than he had been in a year; and yet, because he knew -that the happiness would not last, he was savage, too with those who would -wreck it, and with the world, and with his life; and then again, beneath this, -he was sick with the shame of himself. Afterward, when he saw the despair of -his family, and reckoned up the money he had spent, the tears came into his -eyes, and he began the long battle with the specter. -</p> - -<p> -It was a battle that had no end, that never could have one. But Jurgis did not -realize that very clearly; he was not given much time for reflection. He simply -knew that he was always fighting. Steeped in misery and despair as he was, -merely to walk down the street was to be put upon the rack. There was surely a -saloon on the corner—perhaps on all four corners, and some in the middle -of the block as well; and each one stretched out a hand to him each one had a -personality of its own, allurements unlike any other. Going and -coming—before sunrise and after dark—there was warmth and a glow of -light, and the steam of hot food, and perhaps music, or a friendly face, and a -word of good cheer. Jurgis developed a fondness for having Ona on his arm -whenever he went out on the street, and he would hold her tightly, and walk -fast. It was pitiful to have Ona know of this—it drove him wild to think -of it; the thing was not fair, for Ona had never tasted drink, and so could not -understand. Sometimes, in desperate hours, he would find himself wishing that -she might learn what it was, so that he need not be ashamed in her presence. -They might drink together, and escape from the horror—escape for a while, -come what would. -</p> - -<p> -So there came a time when nearly all the conscious life of Jurgis consisted of -a struggle with the craving for liquor. He would have ugly moods, when he hated -Ona and the whole family, because they stood in his way. He was a fool to have -married; he had tied himself down, had made himself a slave. It was all because -he was a married man that he was compelled to stay in the yards; if it had not -been for that he might have gone off like Jonas, and to hell with the packers. -There were few single men in the fertilizer mill—and those few were -working only for a chance to escape. Meantime, too, they had something to think -about while they worked,—they had the memory of the last time they had -been drunk, and the hope of the time when they would be drunk again. As for -Jurgis, he was expected to bring home every penny; he could not even go with -the men at noontime—he was supposed to sit down and eat his dinner on a -pile of fertilizer dust. -</p> - -<p> -This was not always his mood, of course; he still loved his family. But just -now was a time of trial. Poor little Antanas, for instance—who had never -failed to win him with a smile—little Antanas was not smiling just now, -being a mass of fiery red pimples. He had had all the diseases that babies are -heir to, in quick succession, scarlet fever, mumps, and whooping cough in the -first year, and now he was down with the measles. There was no one to attend -him but Kotrina; there was no doctor to help him, because they were too poor, -and children did not die of the measles—at least not often. Now and then -Kotrina would find time to sob over his woes, but for the greater part of the -time he had to be left alone, barricaded upon the bed. The floor was full of -drafts, and if he caught cold he would die. At night he was tied down, lest he -should kick the covers off him, while the family lay in their stupor of -exhaustion. He would lie and scream for hours, almost in convulsions; and then, -when he was worn out, he would lie whimpering and wailing in his torment. He -was burning up with fever, and his eyes were running sores; in the daytime he -was a thing uncanny and impish to behold, a plaster of pimples and sweat, a -great purple lump of misery. -</p> - -<p> -Yet all this was not really as cruel as it sounds, for, sick as he was, little -Antanas was the least unfortunate member of that family. He was quite able to -bear his sufferings—it was as if he had all these complaints to show what -a prodigy of health he was. He was the child of his parents’ youth and -joy; he grew up like the conjurer’s rosebush, and all the world was his -oyster. In general, he toddled around the kitchen all day with a lean and -hungry look—the portion of the family’s allowance that fell to him -was not enough, and he was unrestrainable in his demand for more. Antanas was -but little over a year old, and already no one but his father could manage him. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if he had taken all of his mother’s strength—had left -nothing for those that might come after him. Ona was with child again now, and -it was a dreadful thing to contemplate; even Jurgis, dumb and despairing as he -was, could not but understand that yet other agonies were on the way, and -shudder at the thought of them. -</p> - -<p> -For Ona was visibly going to pieces. In the first place she was developing a -cough, like the one that had killed old Dede Antanas. She had had a trace of it -ever since that fatal morning when the greedy streetcar corporation had turned -her out into the rain; but now it was beginning to grow serious, and to wake -her up at night. Even worse than that was the fearful nervousness from which -she suffered; she would have frightful headaches and fits of aimless weeping; -and sometimes she would come home at night shuddering and moaning, and would -fling herself down upon the bed and burst into tears. Several times she was -quite beside herself and hysterical; and then Jurgis would go half-mad with -fright. Elzbieta would explain to him that it could not be helped, that a woman -was subject to such things when she was pregnant; but he was hardly to be -persuaded, and would beg and plead to know what had happened. She had never -been like this before, he would argue—it was monstrous and unthinkable. -It was the life she had to live, the accursed work she had to do, that was -killing her by inches. She was not fitted for it—no woman was fitted for -it, no woman ought to be allowed to do such work; if the world could not keep -them alive any other way it ought to kill them at once and be done with it. -They ought not to marry, to have children; no workingman ought to -marry—if he, Jurgis, had known what a woman was like, he would have had -his eyes torn out first. So he would carry on, becoming half hysterical -himself, which was an unbearable thing to see in a big man; Ona would pull -herself together and fling herself into his arms, begging him to stop, to be -still, that she would be better, it would be all right. So she would lie and -sob out her grief upon his shoulder, while he gazed at her, as helpless as a -wounded animal, the target of unseen enemies. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> - -<p> -The beginning of these perplexing things was in the summer; and each time Ona -would promise him with terror in her voice that it would not happen -again—but in vain. Each crisis would leave Jurgis more and more -frightened, more disposed to distrust Elzbieta’s consolations, and to -believe that there was some terrible thing about all this that he was not -allowed to know. Once or twice in these outbreaks he caught Ona’s eye, -and it seemed to him like the eye of a hunted animal; there were broken phrases -of anguish and despair now and then, amid her frantic weeping. It was only -because he was so numb and beaten himself that Jurgis did not worry more about -this. But he never thought of it, except when he was dragged to it—he -lived like a dumb beast of burden, knowing only the moment in which he was. -</p> - -<p> -The winter was coming on again, more menacing and cruel than ever. It was -October, and the holiday rush had begun. It was necessary for the packing -machines to grind till late at night to provide food that would be eaten at -Christmas breakfasts; and Marija and Elzbieta and Ona, as part of the machine, -began working fifteen or sixteen hours a day. There was no choice about -this—whatever work there was to be done they had to do, if they wished to -keep their places; besides that, it added another pittance to their incomes. So -they staggered on with the awful load. They would start work every morning at -seven, and eat their dinners at noon, and then work until ten or eleven at -night without another mouthful of food. Jurgis wanted to wait for them, to help -them home at night, but they would not think of this; the fertilizer mill was -not running overtime, and there was no place for him to wait save in a saloon. -Each would stagger out into the darkness, and make her way to the corner, where -they met; or if the others had already gone, would get into a car, and begin a -painful struggle to keep awake. When they got home they were always too tired -either to eat or to undress; they would crawl into bed with their shoes on, and -lie like logs. If they should fail, they would certainly be lost; if they held -out, they might have enough coal for the winter. -</p> - -<p> -A day or two before Thanksgiving Day there came a snowstorm. It began in the -afternoon, and by evening two inches had fallen. Jurgis tried to wait for the -women, but went into a saloon to get warm, and took two drinks, and came out -and ran home to escape from the demon; there he lay down to wait for them, and -instantly fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again he was in the midst of a -nightmare, and found Elzbieta shaking him and crying out. At first he could not -realize what she was saying—Ona had not come home. What time was it, he -asked. It was morning—time to be up. Ona had not been home that night! -And it was bitter cold, and a foot of snow on the ground. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis sat up with a start. Marija was crying with fright and the children were -wailing in sympathy—little Stanislovas in addition, because the terror of -the snow was upon him. Jurgis had nothing to put on but his shoes and his coat, -and in half a minute he was out of the door. Then, however, he realized that -there was no need of haste, that he had no idea where to go. It was still dark -as midnight, and the thick snowflakes were sifting down—everything was so -silent that he could hear the rustle of them as they fell. In the few seconds -that he stood there hesitating he was covered white. -</p> - -<p> -He set off at a run for the yards, stopping by the way to inquire in the -saloons that were open. Ona might have been overcome on the way; or else she -might have met with an accident in the machines. When he got to the place where -she worked he inquired of one of the watchmen—there had not been any -accident, so far as the man had heard. At the time office, which he found -already open, the clerk told him that Ona’s check had been turned in the -night before, showing that she had left her work. -</p> - -<p> -After that there was nothing for him to do but wait, pacing back and forth in -the snow, meantime, to keep from freezing. Already the yards were full of -activity; cattle were being unloaded from the cars in the distance, and across -the way the “beef-luggers” were toiling in the darkness, carrying -two-hundred-pound quarters of bullocks into the refrigerator cars. Before the -first streaks of daylight there came the crowding throngs of workingmen, -shivering, and swinging their dinner pails as they hurried by. Jurgis took up -his stand by the time-office window, where alone there was light enough for him -to see; the snow fell so quick that it was only by peering closely that he -could make sure that Ona did not pass him. -</p> - -<p> -Seven o’clock came, the hour when the great packing machine began to -move. Jurgis ought to have been at his place in the fertilizer mill; but -instead he was waiting, in an agony of fear, for Ona. It was fifteen minutes -after the hour when he saw a form emerge from the snow mist, and sprang toward -it with a cry. It was she, running swiftly; as she saw him, she staggered -forward, and half fell into his outstretched arms. -</p> - -<p> -“What has been the matter?” he cried, anxiously. “Where have -you been?” -</p> - -<p> -It was several seconds before she could get breath to answer him. “I -couldn’t get home,” she exclaimed. “The snow—the cars -had stopped.” -</p> - -<p> -“But where were you then?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“I had to go home with a friend,” she panted—“with -Jadvyga.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis drew a deep breath; but then he noticed that she was sobbing and -trembling—as if in one of those nervous crises that he dreaded so. -“But what’s the matter?” he cried. “What has -happened?” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh, Jurgis, I was so frightened!” she said, clinging to him -wildly. “I have been so worried!” -</p> - -<p> -They were near the time station window, and people were staring at them. Jurgis -led her away. “How do you mean?” he asked, in perplexity. -</p> - -<p> -“I was afraid—I was just afraid!” sobbed Ona. “I knew -you wouldn’t know where I was, and I didn’t know what you might do. -I tried to get home, but I was so tired. Oh, Jurgis, Jurgis!” -</p> - -<p> -He was so glad to get her back that he could not think clearly about anything -else. It did not seem strange to him that she should be so very much upset; all -her fright and incoherent protestations did not matter since he had her back. -He let her cry away her tears; and then, because it was nearly eight -o’clock, and they would lose another hour if they delayed, he left her at -the packing house door, with her ghastly white face and her haunted eyes of -terror. -</p> - -<p> -There was another brief interval. Christmas was almost come; and because the -snow still held, and the searching cold, morning after morning Jurgis half -carried his wife to her post, staggering with her through the darkness; until -at last, one night, came the end. -</p> - -<p> -It lacked but three days of the holidays. About midnight Marija and Elzbieta -came home, exclaiming in alarm when they found that Ona had not come. The two -had agreed to meet her; and, after waiting, had gone to the room where she -worked; only to find that the ham-wrapping girls had quit work an hour before, -and left. There was no snow that night, nor was it especially cold; and still -Ona had not come! Something more serious must be wrong this time. -</p> - -<p> -They aroused Jurgis, and he sat up and listened crossly to the story. She must -have gone home again with Jadvyga, he said; Jadvyga lived only two blocks from -the yards, and perhaps she had been tired. Nothing could have happened to -her—and even if there had, there was nothing could be done about it until -morning. Jurgis turned over in his bed, and was snoring again before the two -had closed the door. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning, however, he was up and out nearly an hour before the usual -time. Jadvyga Marcinkus lived on the other side of the yards, beyond Halsted -Street, with her mother and sisters, in a single basement room—for -Mikolas had recently lost one hand from blood poisoning, and their marriage had -been put off forever. The door of the room was in the rear, reached by a narrow -court, and Jurgis saw a light in the window and heard something frying as he -passed; he knocked, half expecting that Ona would answer. -</p> - -<p> -Instead there was one of Jadvyga’s little sisters, who gazed at him -through a crack in the door. “Where’s Ona?” he demanded; and -the child looked at him in perplexity. “Ona?” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “isn’t she here?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said the child, and Jurgis gave a start. A moment later came -Jadvyga, peering over the child’s head. When she saw who it was, she slid -around out of sight, for she was not quite dressed. Jurgis must excuse her, she -began, her mother was very ill— -</p> - -<p> -“Ona isn’t here?” Jurgis demanded, too alarmed to wait for -her to finish. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, no,” said Jadvyga. “What made you think she would be -here? Had she said she was coming?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” he answered. “But she hasn’t come home—and -I thought she would be here the same as before.” -</p> - -<p> -“As before?” echoed Jadvyga, in perplexity. -</p> - -<p> -“The time she spent the night here,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“There must be some mistake,” she answered, quickly. “Ona has -never spent the night here.” -</p> - -<p> -He was only half able to realize the words. “Why—why—” -he exclaimed. “Two weeks ago. Jadvyga! She told me so the night it -snowed, and she could not get home.” -</p> - -<p> -“There must be some mistake,” declared the girl, again; “she -didn’t come here.” -</p> - -<p> -He steadied himself by the door-sill; and Jadvyga in her anxiety—for she -was fond of Ona—opened the door wide, holding her jacket across her -throat. “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand her?” she -cried. “She must have meant somewhere else. She—” -</p> - -<p> -“She said here,” insisted Jurgis. “She told me all about you, -and how you were, and what you said. Are you sure? You haven’t forgotten? -You weren’t away?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, no!” she exclaimed—and then came a peevish -voice—“Jadvyga, you are giving the baby a cold. Shut the -door!” Jurgis stood for half a minute more, stammering his perplexity -through an eighth of an inch of crack; and then, as there was really nothing -more to be said, he excused himself and went away. -</p> - -<p> -He walked on half dazed, without knowing where he went. Ona had deceived him! -She had lied to him! And what could it mean—where had she been? Where was -she now? He could hardly grasp the thing—much less try to solve it; but a -hundred wild surmises came to him, a sense of impending calamity overwhelmed -him. -</p> - -<p> -Because there was nothing else to do, he went back to the time office to watch -again. He waited until nearly an hour after seven, and then went to the room -where Ona worked to make inquiries of Ona’s “forelady.” The -“forelady,” he found, had not yet come; all the lines of cars that -came from downtown were stalled—there had been an accident in the -powerhouse, and no cars had been running since last night. Meantime, however, -the ham-wrappers were working away, with some one else in charge of them. The -girl who answered Jurgis was busy, and as she talked she looked to see if she -were being watched. Then a man came up, wheeling a truck; he knew Jurgis for -Ona’s husband, and was curious about the mystery. -</p> - -<p> -“Maybe the cars had something to do with it,” he -suggested—“maybe she had gone down-town.” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Jurgis, “she never went down-town.” -</p> - -<p> -“Perhaps not,” said the man. Jurgis thought he saw him exchange a -swift glance with the girl as he spoke, and he demanded quickly. “What do -you know about it?” -</p> - -<p> -But the man had seen that the boss was watching him; he started on again, -pushing his truck. “I don’t know anything about it,” he said, -over his shoulder. “How should I know where your wife goes?” -</p> - -<p> -Then Jurgis went out again and paced up and down before the building. All the -morning he stayed there, with no thought of his work. About noon he went to the -police station to make inquiries, and then came back again for another anxious -vigil. Finally, toward the middle of the afternoon, he set out for home once -more. -</p> - -<p> -He was walking out Ashland Avenue. The streetcars had begun running again, and -several passed him, packed to the steps with people. The sight of them set -Jurgis to thinking again of the man’s sarcastic remark; and half -involuntarily he found himself watching the cars—with the result that he -gave a sudden startled exclamation, and stopped short in his tracks. -</p> - -<p> -Then he broke into a run. For a whole block he tore after the car, only a -little ways behind. That rusty black hat with the drooping red flower, it might -not be Ona’s, but there was very little likelihood of it. He would know -for certain very soon, for she would get out two blocks ahead. He slowed down, -and let the car go on. -</p> - -<p> -She got out: and as soon as she was out of sight on the side street Jurgis -broke into a run. Suspicion was rife in him now, and he was not ashamed to -shadow her: he saw her turn the corner near their home, and then he ran again, -and saw her as she went up the porch steps of the house. After that he turned -back, and for five minutes paced up and down, his hands clenched tightly and -his lips set, his mind in a turmoil. Then he went home and entered. -</p> - -<p> -As he opened the door, he saw Elzbieta, who had also been looking for Ona, and -had come home again. She was now on tiptoe, and had a finger on her lips. -Jurgis waited until she was close to him. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t make any noise,” she whispered, hurriedly. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s the matter’?” he asked. “Ona is -asleep,” she panted. “She’s been very ill. I’m afraid -her mind’s been wandering, Jurgis. She was lost on the street all night, -and I’ve only just succeeded in getting her quiet.” -</p> - -<p> -“When did she come in?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Soon after you left this morning,” said Elzbieta. -</p> - -<p> -“And has she been out since?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, of course not. She’s so weak, Jurgis, she—” -</p> - -<p> -And he set his teeth hard together. “You are lying to me,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -Elzbieta started, and turned pale. “Why!” she gasped. “What -do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -But Jurgis did not answer. He pushed her aside, and strode to the bedroom door -and opened it. -</p> - -<p> -Ona was sitting on the bed. She turned a startled look upon him as he entered. -He closed the door in Elzbieta’s face, and went toward his wife. -“Where have you been?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he saw that her face was as -white as paper, and drawn with pain. She gasped once or twice as she tried to -answer him, and then began, speaking low, and swiftly. “Jurgis, I—I -think I have been out of my mind. I started to come last night, and I could not -find the way. I walked—I walked all night, I think, and—and I only -got home—this morning.” -</p> - -<p> -“You needed a rest,” he said, in a hard tone. “Why did you go -out again?” -</p> - -<p> -He was looking her fairly in the face, and he could read the sudden fear and -wild uncertainty that leaped into her eyes. “I—I had to go -to—to the store,” she gasped, almost in a whisper, “I had to -go—” -</p> - -<p> -“You are lying to me,” said Jurgis. Then he clenched his hands and -took a step toward her. “Why do you lie to me?” he cried, fiercely. -“What are you doing that you have to lie to me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Jurgis!” she exclaimed, starting up in fright. “Oh, Jurgis, -how can you?” -</p> - -<p> -“You have lied to me, I say!” he cried. “You told me you had -been to Jadvyga’s house that other night, and you hadn’t. You had -been where you were last night—somewheres downtown, for I saw you get off -the car. Where were you?” -</p> - -<p> -It was as if he had struck a knife into her. She seemed to go all to pieces. -For half a second she stood, reeling and swaying, staring at him with horror in -her eyes; then, with a cry of anguish, she tottered forward, stretching out her -arms to him. But he stepped aside, deliberately, and let her fall. She caught -herself at the side of the bed, and then sank down, burying her face in her -hands and bursting into frantic weeping. -</p> - -<p> -There came one of those hysterical crises that had so often dismayed him. Ona -sobbed and wept, her fear and anguish building themselves up into long -climaxes. Furious gusts of emotion would come sweeping over her, shaking her as -the tempest shakes the trees upon the hills; all her frame would quiver and -throb with them—it was as if some dreadful thing rose up within her and -took possession of her, torturing her, tearing her. This thing had been wont to -set Jurgis quite beside himself; but now he stood with his lips set tightly and -his hands clenched—she might weep till she killed herself, but she should -not move him this time—not an inch, not an inch. Because the sounds she -made set his blood to running cold and his lips to quivering in spite of -himself, he was glad of the diversion when Teta Elzbieta, pale with fright, -opened the door and rushed in; yet he turned upon her with an oath. “Go -out!” he cried, “go out!” And then, as she stood hesitating, -about to speak, he seized her by the arm, and half flung her from the room, -slamming the door and barring it with a table. Then he turned again and faced -Ona, crying—“Now, answer me!” -</p> - -<p> -Yet she did not hear him—she was still in the grip of the fiend. Jurgis -could see her outstretched hands, shaking and twitching, roaming here and there -over the bed at will, like living things; he could see convulsive shudderings -start in her body and run through her limbs. She was sobbing and -choking—it was as if there were too many sounds for one throat, they came -chasing each other, like waves upon the sea. Then her voice would begin to rise -into screams, louder and louder until it broke in wild, horrible peals of -laughter. Jurgis bore it until he could bear it no longer, and then he sprang -at her, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her, shouting into her ear: -“Stop it, I say! Stop it!” -</p> - -<p> -She looked up at him, out of her agony; then she fell forward at his feet. She -caught them in her hands, in spite of his efforts to step aside, and with her -face upon the floor lay writhing. It made a choking in Jurgis’ throat to -hear her, and he cried again, more savagely than before: “Stop it, I -say!” -</p> - -<p> -This time she heeded him, and caught her breath and lay silent, save for the -gasping sobs that wrenched all her frame. For a long minute she lay there, -perfectly motionless, until a cold fear seized her husband, thinking that she -was dying. Suddenly, however, he heard her voice, faintly: “Jurgis! -Jurgis!” -</p> - -<p> -“What is it?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -He had to bend down to her, she was so weak. She was pleading with him, in -broken phrases, painfully uttered: “Have faith in me! Believe me!” -</p> - -<p> -“Believe what?” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Believe that I—that I know best—that I love you! And do not -ask me—what you did. Oh, Jurgis, please, please! It is for the -best—it is—” -</p> - -<p> -He started to speak again, but she rushed on frantically, heading him off. -“If you will only do it! If you will only—only believe me! It -wasn’t my fault—I couldn’t help it—it will be all -right—it is nothing—it is no harm. Oh, Jurgis—please, -please!” -</p> - -<p> -She had hold of him, and was trying to raise herself to look at him; he could -feel the palsied shaking of her hands and the heaving of the bosom she pressed -against him. She managed to catch one of his hands and gripped it convulsively, -drawing it to her face, and bathing it in her tears. “Oh, believe me, -believe me!” she wailed again; and he shouted in fury, “I will -not!” -</p> - -<p> -But still she clung to him, wailing aloud in her despair: “Oh, Jurgis, -think what you are doing! It will ruin us—it will ruin us! Oh, no, you -must not do it! No, don’t, don’t do it. You must not do it! It will -drive me mad—it will kill me—no, no, Jurgis, I am crazy—it is -nothing. You do not really need to know. We can be happy—we can love each -other just the same. Oh, please, please, believe me!” -</p> - -<p> -Her words fairly drove him wild. He tore his hands loose, and flung her off. -“Answer me,” he cried. “God damn it, I say—answer -me!” -</p> - -<p> -She sank down upon the floor, beginning to cry again. It was like listening to -the moan of a damned soul, and Jurgis could not stand it. He smote his fist -upon the table by his side, and shouted again at her, “Answer me!” -</p> - -<p> -She began to scream aloud, her voice like the voice of some wild beast: -“Ah! Ah! I can’t! I can’t do it!” -</p> - -<p> -“Why can’t you do it?” he shouted. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know how!” -</p> - -<p> -He sprang and caught her by the arm, lifting her up, and glaring into her face. -“Tell me where you were last night!” he panted. “Quick, out -with it!” -</p> - -<p> -Then she began to whisper, one word at a time: “I—was in—a -house—downtown—” -</p> - -<p> -“What house? What do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -She tried to hide her eyes away, but he held her. “Miss Henderson’s -house,” she gasped. He did not understand at first. “Miss -Henderson’s house,” he echoed. And then suddenly, as in an -explosion, the horrible truth burst over him, and he reeled and staggered back -with a scream. He caught himself against the wall, and put his hand to his -forehead, staring about him, and whispering, “Jesus! Jesus!” -</p> - -<p> -An instant later he leaped at her, as she lay groveling at his feet. He seized -her by the throat. “Tell me!” he gasped, hoarsely. “Quick! -Who took you to that place?” -</p> - -<p> -She tried to get away, making him furious; he thought it was fear, of the pain -of his clutch—he did not understand that it was the agony of her shame. -Still she answered him, “Connor.” -</p> - -<p> -“Connor,” he gasped. “Who is Connor?” -</p> - -<p> -“The boss,” she answered. “The man—” -</p> - -<p> -He tightened his grip, in his frenzy, and only when he saw her eyes closing did -he realize that he was choking her. Then he relaxed his fingers, and crouched, -waiting, until she opened her lids again. His breath beat hot into her face. -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me,” he whispered, at last, “tell me about it.” -</p> - -<p> -She lay perfectly motionless, and he had to hold his breath to catch her words. -“I did not want—to do it,” she said; “I tried—I -tried not to do it. I only did it—to save us. It was our only -chance.” -</p> - -<p> -Again, for a space, there was no sound but his panting. Ona’s eyes closed -and when she spoke again she did not open them. “He told me—he -would have me turned off. He told me he would—we would all of us lose our -places. We could never get anything to do—here—again. He—he -meant it—he would have ruined us.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis’ arms were shaking so that he could scarcely hold himself up, and -lurched forward now and then as he listened. “When—when did this -begin?” he gasped. -</p> - -<p> -“At the very first,” she said. She spoke as if in a trance. -“It was all—it was their plot—Miss Henderson’s plot. -She hated me. And he—he wanted me. He used to speak to me—out on -the platform. Then he began to—to make love to me. He offered me money. -He begged me—he said he loved me. Then he threatened me. He knew all -about us, he knew we would starve. He knew your boss—he knew -Marija’s. He would hound us to death, he said—then he said if I -would—if I—we would all of us be sure of work—always. Then -one day he caught hold of me—he would not let -go—he—he—” -</p> - -<p> -“Where was this?” -</p> - -<p> -“In the hallway—at night—after every one had gone. I could -not help it. I thought of you—of the baby—of mother and the -children. I was afraid of him—afraid to cry out.” -</p> - -<p> -A moment ago her face had been ashen gray, now it was scarlet. She was -beginning to breathe hard again. Jurgis made not a sound. -</p> - -<p> -“That was two months ago. Then he wanted me to come—to that house. -He wanted me to stay there. He said all of us—that we would not have to -work. He made me come there—in the evenings. I told you—you thought -I was at the factory. Then—one night it snowed, and I couldn’t get -back. And last night—the cars were stopped. It was such a little -thing—to ruin us all. I tried to walk, but I couldn’t. I -didn’t want you to know. It would have—it would have been all -right. We could have gone on—just the same—you need never have -known about it. He was getting tired of me—he would have let me alone -soon. I am going to have a baby—I am getting ugly. He told me -that—twice, he told me, last night. He kicked me—last -night—too. And now you will kill him—you—you will kill -him—and we shall die.” -</p> - -<p> -All this she had said without a quiver; she lay still as death, not an eyelid -moving. And Jurgis, too, said not a word. He lifted himself by the bed, and -stood up. He did not stop for another glance at her, but went to the door and -opened it. He did not see Elzbieta, crouching terrified in the corner. He went -out, hatless, leaving the street door open behind him. The instant his feet -were on the sidewalk he broke into a run. -</p> - -<p> -He ran like one possessed, blindly, furiously, looking neither to the right nor -left. He was on Ashland Avenue before exhaustion compelled him to slow down, -and then, noticing a car, he made a dart for it and drew himself aboard. His -eyes were wild and his hair flying, and he was breathing hoarsely, like a -wounded bull; but the people on the car did not notice this -particularly—perhaps it seemed natural to them that a man who smelled as -Jurgis smelled should exhibit an aspect to correspond. They began to give way -before him as usual. The conductor took his nickel gingerly, with the tips of -his fingers, and then left him with the platform to himself. Jurgis did not -even notice it—his thoughts were far away. Within his soul it was like a -roaring furnace; he stood waiting, waiting, crouching as if for a spring. -</p> - -<p> -He had some of his breath back when the car came to the entrance of the yards, -and so he leaped off and started again, racing at full speed. People turned and -stared at him, but he saw no one—there was the factory, and he bounded -through the doorway and down the corridor. He knew the room where Ona worked, -and he knew Connor, the boss of the loading-gang outside. He looked for the man -as he sprang into the room. -</p> - -<p> -The truckmen were hard at work, loading the freshly packed boxes and barrels -upon the cars. Jurgis shot one swift glance up and down the platform—the -man was not on it. But then suddenly he heard a voice in the corridor, and -started for it with a bound. In an instant more he fronted the boss. -</p> - -<p> -He was a big, red-faced Irishman, coarse-featured, and smelling of liquor. He -saw Jurgis as he crossed the threshold, and turned white. He hesitated one -second, as if meaning to run; and in the next his assailant was upon him. He -put up his hands to protect his face, but Jurgis, lunging with all the power of -his arm and body, struck him fairly between the eyes and knocked him backward. -The next moment he was on top of him, burying his fingers in his throat. -</p> - -<p> -To Jurgis this man’s whole presence reeked of the crime he had committed; -the touch of his body was madness to him—it set every nerve of him -a-tremble, it aroused all the demon in his soul. It had worked its will upon -Ona, this great beast—and now he had it, he had it! It was his turn now! -Things swam blood before him, and he screamed aloud in his fury, lifting his -victim and smashing his head upon the floor. -</p> - -<p> -The place, of course, was in an uproar; women fainting and shrieking, and men -rushing in. Jurgis was so bent upon his task that he knew nothing of this, and -scarcely realized that people were trying to interfere with him; it was only -when half a dozen men had seized him by the legs and shoulders and were pulling -at him, that he understood that he was losing his prey. In a flash he had bent -down and sunk his teeth into the man’s cheek; and when they tore him away -he was dripping with blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his -mouth. -</p> - -<p> -They got him down upon the floor, clinging to him by his arms and legs, and -still they could hardly hold him. He fought like a tiger, writhing and -twisting, half flinging them off, and starting toward his unconscious enemy. -But yet others rushed in, until there was a little mountain of twisted limbs -and bodies, heaving and tossing, and working its way about the room. In the -end, by their sheer weight, they choked the breath out of him, and then they -carried him to the company police station, where he lay still until they had -summoned a patrol wagon to take him away. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> - -<p> -When Jurgis got up again he went quietly enough. He was exhausted and -half-dazed, and besides he saw the blue uniforms of the policemen. He drove in -a patrol wagon with half a dozen of them watching him; keeping as far away as -possible, however, on account of the fertilizer. Then he stood before the -sergeant’s desk and gave his name and address, and saw a charge of -assault and battery entered against him. On his way to his cell a burly -policeman cursed him because he started down the wrong corridor, and then added -a kick when he was not quick enough; nevertheless, Jurgis did not even lift his -eyes—he had lived two years and a half in Packingtown, and he knew what -the police were. It was as much as a man’s very life was worth to anger -them, here in their inmost lair; like as not a dozen would pile on to him at -once, and pound his face into a pulp. It would be nothing unusual if he got his -skull cracked in the mêlée—in which case they would report that he had -been drunk and had fallen down, and there would be no one to know the -difference or to care. -</p> - -<p> -So a barred door clanged upon Jurgis and he sat down upon a bench and buried -his face in his hands. He was alone; he had the afternoon and all of the night -to himself. -</p> - -<p> -At first he was like a wild beast that has glutted itself; he was in a dull -stupor of satisfaction. He had done up the scoundrel pretty well—not as -well as he would have if they had given him a minute more, but pretty well, all -the same; the ends of his fingers were still tingling from their contact with -the fellow’s throat. But then, little by little, as his strength came -back and his senses cleared, he began to see beyond his momentary -gratification; that he had nearly killed the boss would not help Ona—not -the horrors that she had borne, nor the memory that would haunt her all her -days. It would not help to feed her and her child; she would certainly lose her -place, while he—what was to happen to him God only knew. -</p> - -<p> -Half the night he paced the floor, wrestling with this nightmare; and when he -was exhausted he lay down, trying to sleep, but finding instead, for the first -time in his life, that his brain was too much for him. In the cell next to him -was a drunken wife-beater and in the one beyond a yelling maniac. At midnight -they opened the station house to the homeless wanderers who were crowded about -the door, shivering in the winter blast, and they thronged into the corridor -outside of the cells. Some of them stretched themselves out on the bare stone -floor and fell to snoring, others sat up, laughing and talking, cursing and -quarreling. The air was fetid with their breath, yet in spite of this some of -them smelled Jurgis and called down the torments of hell upon him, while he lay -in a far corner of his cell, counting the throbbings of the blood in his -forehead. -</p> - -<p> -They had brought him his supper, which was “duffers and -dope”—being hunks of dry bread on a tin plate, and coffee, called -“dope” because it was drugged to keep the prisoners quiet. Jurgis -had not known this, or he would have swallowed the stuff in desperation; as it -was, every nerve of him was a-quiver with shame and rage. Toward morning the -place fell silent, and he got up and began to pace his cell; and then within -the soul of him there rose up a fiend, red-eyed and cruel, and tore out the -strings of his heart. -</p> - -<p> -It was not for himself that he suffered—what did a man who worked in -Durham’s fertilizer mill care about anything that the world might do to -him! What was any tyranny of prison compared with the tyranny of the past, of -the thing that had happened and could not be recalled, of the memory that could -never be effaced! The horror of it drove him mad; he stretched out his arms to -heaven, crying out for deliverance from it—and there was no deliverance, -there was no power even in heaven that could undo the past. It was a ghost that -would not drown; it followed him, it seized upon him and beat him to the -ground. Ah, if only he could have foreseen it—but then, he would have -foreseen it, if he had not been a fool! He smote his hands upon his forehead, -cursing himself because he had ever allowed Ona to work where she had, because -he had not stood between her and a fate which every one knew to be so common. -He should have taken her away, even if it were to lie down and die of -starvation in the gutters of Chicago’s streets! And now—oh, it -could not be true; it was too monstrous, too horrible. -</p> - -<p> -It was a thing that could not be faced; a new shuddering seized him every time -he tried to think of it. No, there was no bearing the load of it, there was no -living under it. There would be none for her—he knew that he might pardon -her, might plead with her on his knees, but she would never look him in the -face again, she would never be his wife again. The shame of it would kill -her—there could be no other deliverance, and it was best that she should -die. -</p> - -<p> -This was simple and clear, and yet, with cruel inconsistency, whenever he -escaped from this nightmare it was to suffer and cry out at the vision of Ona -starving. They had put him in jail, and they would keep him here a long time, -years maybe. And Ona would surely not go to work again, broken and crushed as -she was. And Elzbieta and Marija, too, might lose their places—if that -hell fiend Connor chose to set to work to ruin them, they would all be turned -out. And even if he did not, they could not live—even if the boys left -school again, they could surely not pay all the bills without him and Ona. They -had only a few dollars now—they had just paid the rent of the house a -week ago, and that after it was two weeks overdue. So it would be due again in -a week! They would have no money to pay it then—and they would lose the -house, after all their long, heartbreaking struggle. Three times now the agent -had warned him that he would not tolerate another delay. Perhaps it was very -base of Jurgis to be thinking about the house when he had the other unspeakable -thing to fill his mind; yet, how much he had suffered for this house, how much -they had all of them suffered! It was their one hope of respite, as long as -they lived; they had put all their money into it—and they were working -people, poor people, whose money was their strength, the very substance of -them, body and soul, the thing by which they lived and for lack of which they -died. -</p> - -<p> -And they would lose it all; they would be turned out into the streets, and have -to hide in some icy garret, and live or die as best they could! Jurgis had all -the night—and all of many more nights—to think about this, and he -saw the thing in its details; he lived it all, as if he were there. They would -sell their furniture, and then run into debt at the stores, and then be refused -credit; they would borrow a little from the Szedvilases, whose delicatessen -store was tottering on the brink of ruin; the neighbors would come and help -them a little—poor, sick Jadvyga would bring a few spare pennies, as she -always did when people were starving, and Tamoszius Kuszleika would bring them -the proceeds of a night’s fiddling. So they would struggle to hang on -until he got out of jail—or would they know that he was in jail, would -they be able to find out anything about him? Would they be allowed to see -him—or was it to be part of his punishment to be kept in ignorance about -their fate? -</p> - -<p> -His mind would hang upon the worst possibilities; he saw Ona ill and tortured, -Marija out of her place, little Stanislovas unable to get to work for the snow, -the whole family turned out on the street. God Almighty! would they actually -let them lie down in the street and die? Would there be no help even -then—would they wander about in the snow till they froze? Jurgis had -never seen any dead bodies in the streets, but he had seen people evicted and -disappear, no one knew where; and though the city had a relief bureau, though -there was a charity organization society in the stockyards district, in all his -life there he had never heard of either of them. They did not advertise their -activities, having more calls than they could attend to without that. -</p> - -<p> -—So on until morning. Then he had another ride in the patrol wagon, along -with the drunken wife-beater and the maniac, several “plain drunks” -and “saloon fighters,” a burglar, and two men who had been arrested -for stealing meat from the packing houses. Along with them he was driven into a -large, white-walled room, stale-smelling and crowded. In front, upon a raised -platform behind a rail, sat a stout, florid-faced personage, with a nose broken -out in purple blotches. -</p> - -<p> -Our friend realized vaguely that he was about to be tried. He wondered what -for—whether or not his victim might be dead, and if so, what they would -do with him. Hang him, perhaps, or beat him to death—nothing would have -surprised Jurgis, who knew little of the laws. Yet he had picked up gossip -enough to have it occur to him that the loud-voiced man upon the bench might be -the notorious Justice Callahan, about whom the people of Packingtown spoke with -bated breath. -</p> - -<p> -“Pat” Callahan—“Growler” Pat, as he had been -known before he ascended the bench—had begun life as a butcher boy and a -bruiser of local reputation; he had gone into politics almost as soon as he had -learned to talk, and had held two offices at once before he was old enough to -vote. If Scully was the thumb, Pat Callahan was the first finger of the unseen -hand whereby the packers held down the people of the district. No politician in -Chicago ranked higher in their confidence; he had been at it a long -time—had been the business agent in the city council of old Durham, the -self-made merchant, way back in the early days, when the whole city of Chicago -had been up at auction. “Growler” Pat had given up holding city -offices very early in his career—caring only for party power, and giving -the rest of his time to superintending his dives and brothels. Of late years, -however, since his children were growing up, he had begun to value -respectability, and had had himself made a magistrate; a position for which he -was admirably fitted, because of his strong conservatism and his contempt for -“foreigners.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis sat gazing about the room for an hour or two; he was in hopes that some -one of the family would come, but in this he was disappointed. Finally, he was -led before the bar, and a lawyer for the company appeared against him. Connor -was under the doctor’s care, the lawyer explained briefly, and if his -Honor would hold the prisoner for a week—“Three hundred -dollars,” said his Honor, promptly. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was staring from the judge to the lawyer in perplexity. “Have you -any one to go on your bond?” demanded the judge, and then a clerk who -stood at Jurgis’ elbow explained to him what this meant. The latter shook -his head, and before he realized what had happened the policemen were leading -him away again. They took him to a room where other prisoners were waiting and -here he stayed until court adjourned, when he had another long and bitterly -cold ride in a patrol wagon to the county jail, which is on the north side of -the city, and nine or ten miles from the stockyards. -</p> - -<p> -Here they searched Jurgis, leaving him only his money, which consisted of -fifteen cents. Then they led him to a room and told him to strip for a bath; -after which he had to walk down a long gallery, past the grated cell doors of -the inmates of the jail. This was a great event to the latter—the daily -review of the new arrivals, all stark naked, and many and diverting were the -comments. Jurgis was required to stay in the bath longer than any one, in the -vain hope of getting out of him a few of his phosphates and acids. The -prisoners roomed two in a cell, but that day there was one left over, and he -was the one. -</p> - -<p> -The cells were in tiers, opening upon galleries. His cell was about five feet -by seven in size, with a stone floor and a heavy wooden bench built into it. -There was no window—the only light came from windows near the roof at one -end of the court outside. There were two bunks, one above the other, each with -a straw mattress and a pair of gray blankets—the latter stiff as boards -with filth, and alive with fleas, bedbugs, and lice. When Jurgis lifted up the -mattress he discovered beneath it a layer of scurrying roaches, almost as badly -frightened as himself. -</p> - -<p> -Here they brought him more “duffers and dope,” with the addition of -a bowl of soup. Many of the prisoners had their meals brought in from a -restaurant, but Jurgis had no money for that. Some had books to read and cards -to play, with candles to burn by night, but Jurgis was all alone in darkness -and silence. He could not sleep again; there was the same maddening procession -of thoughts that lashed him like whips upon his naked back. When night fell he -was pacing up and down his cell like a wild beast that breaks its teeth upon -the bars of its cage. Now and then in his frenzy he would fling himself against -the walls of the place, beating his hands upon them. They cut him and bruised -him—they were cold and merciless as the men who had built them. -</p> - -<p> -In the distance there was a church-tower bell that tolled the hours one by one. -When it came to midnight Jurgis was lying upon the floor with his head in his -arms, listening. Instead of falling silent at the end, the bell broke into a -sudden clangor. Jurgis raised his head; what could that mean—a fire? God! -Suppose there were to be a fire in this jail! But then he made out a melody in -the ringing; there were chimes. And they seemed to waken the city—all -around, far and near, there were bells, ringing wild music; for fully a minute -Jurgis lay lost in wonder, before, all at once, the meaning of it broke over -him—that this was Christmas Eve! -</p> - -<p> -Christmas Eve—he had forgotten it entirely! There was a breaking of -floodgates, a whirl of new memories and new griefs rushing into his mind. In -far Lithuania they had celebrated Christmas; and it came to him as if it had -been yesterday—himself a little child, with his lost brother and his dead -father in the cabin—in the deep black forest, where the snow fell all day -and all night and buried them from the world. It was too far off for Santa -Claus in Lithuania, but it was not too far for peace and good will to men, for -the wonder-bearing vision of the Christ Child. And even in Packingtown they had -not forgotten it—some gleam of it had never failed to break their -darkness. Last Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day Jurgis had toiled on the -killing beds, and Ona at wrapping hams, and still they had found strength -enough to take the children for a walk upon the avenue, to see the store -windows all decorated with Christmas trees and ablaze with electric lights. In -one window there would be live geese, in another marvels in sugar—pink -and white canes big enough for ogres, and cakes with cherubs upon them; in a -third there would be rows of fat yellow turkeys, decorated with rosettes, and -rabbits and squirrels hanging; in a fourth would be a fairyland of -toys—lovely dolls with pink dresses, and woolly sheep and drums and -soldier hats. Nor did they have to go without their share of all this, either. -The last time they had had a big basket with them and all their Christmas -marketing to do—a roast of pork and a cabbage and some rye bread, and a -pair of mittens for Ona, and a rubber doll that squeaked, and a little green -cornucopia full of candy to be hung from the gas jet and gazed at by half a -dozen pairs of longing eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Even half a year of the sausage machines and the fertilizer mill had not been -able to kill the thought of Christmas in them; there was a choking in -Jurgis’ throat as he recalled that the very night Ona had not come home -Teta Elzbieta had taken him aside and shown him an old valentine that she had -picked up in a paper store for three cents—dingy and shopworn, but with -bright colors, and figures of angels and doves. She had wiped all the specks -off this, and was going to set it on the mantel, where the children could see -it. Great sobs shook Jurgis at this memory—they would spend their -Christmas in misery and despair, with him in prison and Ona ill and their home -in desolation. Ah, it was too cruel! Why at least had they not left him -alone—why, after they had shut him in jail, must they be ringing -Christmas chimes in his ears! -</p> - -<p> -But no, their bells were not ringing for him—their Christmas was not -meant for him, they were simply not counting him at all. He was of no -consequence—he was flung aside, like a bit of trash, the carcass of some -animal. It was horrible, horrible! His wife might be dying, his baby might be -starving, his whole family might be perishing in the cold—and all the -while they were ringing their Christmas chimes! And the bitter mockery of -it—all this was punishment for him! They put him in a place where the -snow could not beat in, where the cold could not eat through his bones; they -brought him food and drink—why, in the name of heaven, if they must -punish him, did they not put his family in jail and leave him outside—why -could they find no better way to punish him than to leave three weak women and -six helpless children to starve and freeze? That was their law, that was their -justice! -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis stood upright; trembling with passion, his hands clenched and his arms -upraised, his whole soul ablaze with hatred and defiance. Ten thousand curses -upon them and their law! Their justice—it was a lie, it was a lie, a -hideous, brutal lie, a thing too black and hateful for any world but a world of -nightmares. It was a sham and a loathsome mockery. There was no justice, there -was no right, anywhere in it—it was only force, it was tyranny, the will -and the power, reckless and unrestrained! They had ground him beneath their -heel, they had devoured all his substance; they had murdered his old father, -they had broken and wrecked his wife, they had crushed and cowed his whole -family; and now they were through with him, they had no further use for -him—and because he had interfered with them, had gotten in their way, -this was what they had done to him! They had put him behind bars, as if he had -been a wild beast, a thing without sense or reason, without rights, without -affections, without feelings. Nay, they would not even have treated a beast as -they had treated him! Would any man in his senses have trapped a wild thing in -its lair, and left its young behind to die? -</p> - -<p> -These midnight hours were fateful ones to Jurgis; in them was the beginning of -his rebellion, of his outlawry and his unbelief. He had no wit to trace back -the social crime to its far sources—he could not say that it was the -thing men have called “the system” that was crushing him to the -earth; that it was the packers, his masters, who had bought up the law of the -land, and had dealt out their brutal will to him from the seat of justice. He -only knew that he was wronged, and that the world had wronged him; that the -law, that society, with all its powers, had declared itself his foe. And every -hour his soul grew blacker, every hour he dreamed new dreams of vengeance, of -defiance, of raging, frenzied hate. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -The vilest deeds, like poison weeds,<br /> - Bloom well in prison air;<br /> -It is only what is good in Man<br /> - That wastes and withers there;<br /> -Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate,<br /> - And the Warder is Despair. -</p> - -<p> -So wrote a poet, to whom the world had dealt its justice— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> -I know not whether Laws be right,<br /> - Or whether Laws be wrong;<br /> -All that we know who lie in gaol<br /> - Is that the wall is strong.<br /> -And they do well to hide their hell,<br /> - For in it things are done<br /> -That Son of God nor son of Man<br /> - Ever should look upon! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> - -<p> -At seven o’clock the next morning Jurgis was let out to get water to wash -his cell—a duty which he performed faithfully, but which most of the -prisoners were accustomed to shirk, until their cells became so filthy that the -guards interposed. Then he had more “duffers and dope,” and -afterward was allowed three hours for exercise, in a long, cement-walked court -roofed with glass. Here were all the inmates of the jail crowded together. At -one side of the court was a place for visitors, cut off by two heavy wire -screens, a foot apart, so that nothing could be passed in to the prisoners; -here Jurgis watched anxiously, but there came no one to see him. -</p> - -<p> -Soon after he went back to his cell, a keeper opened the door to let in another -prisoner. He was a dapper young fellow, with a light brown mustache and blue -eyes, and a graceful figure. He nodded to Jurgis, and then, as the keeper -closed the door upon him, began gazing critically about him. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, pal,” he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again, -“good morning.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good morning,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“A rum go for Christmas, eh?” added the other. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis nodded. -</p> - -<p> -The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he lifted up the -mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. “My God!” he -said, “that’s the worst yet.” -</p> - -<p> -He glanced at Jurgis again. “Looks as if it hadn’t been slept in -last night. Couldn’t stand it, eh?” -</p> - -<p> -“I didn’t want to sleep last night,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“When did you come in?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yesterday.” -</p> - -<p> -The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose. -“There’s the devil of a stink in here,” he said, suddenly. -“What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s me,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“You?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, me.” -</p> - -<p> -“Didn’t they make you wash?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, but this don’t wash.” -</p> - -<p> -“What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Fertilizer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I work in the stockyards—at least I did until the other day. -It’s in my clothes.” -</p> - -<p> -“That’s a new one on me,” said the newcomer. “I thought -I’d been up against ‘em all. What are you in for?” -</p> - -<p> -“I hit my boss.” -</p> - -<p> -“Oh—that’s it. What did he do?” -</p> - -<p> -“He—he treated me mean.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see. You’re what’s called an honest workingman!” -</p> - -<p> -“What are you?” Jurgis asked. -</p> - -<p> -“I?” The other laughed. “They say I’m a -cracksman,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that?” asked Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Safes, and such things,” answered the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh,” said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stared at the speaker in awe. -“You mean you break into them—you—you—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” laughed the other, “that’s what they say.” -</p> - -<p> -He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgis found -afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education, like what the world -calls a “gentleman.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that what you’re here for?” Jurgis inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” was the answer. “I’m here for disorderly conduct. -They were mad because they couldn’t get any evidence. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s your name?” the young fellow continued after a pause. -“My name’s Duane—Jack Duane. I’ve more than a dozen, -but that’s my company one.” He seated himself on the floor with his -back to the wall and his legs crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put -Jurgis on a friendly footing—he was evidently a man of the world, used to -getting on, and not too proud to hold conversation with a mere laboring man. He -drew Jurgis out, and heard all about his life all but the one unmentionable -thing; and then he told stories about his own life. He was a great one for -stories, not always of the choicest. Being sent to jail had apparently not -disturbed his cheerfulness; he had “done time” twice before, it -seemed, and he took it all with a frolic welcome. What with women and wine and -the excitement of his vocation, a man could afford to rest now and then. -</p> - -<p> -Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by the arrival of a -cell mate. He could not turn his face to the wall and sulk, he had to speak -when he was spoken to; nor could he help being interested in the conversation -of Duane—the first educated man with whom he had ever talked. How could -he help listening with wonder while the other told of midnight ventures and -perilous escapes, of feastings and orgies, of fortunes squandered in a night? -The young fellow had an amused contempt for Jurgis, as a sort of working mule; -he, too, had felt the world’s injustice, but instead of bearing it -patiently, he had struck back, and struck hard. He was striking all the -time—there was war between him and society. He was a genial freebooter, -living off the enemy, without fear or shame. He was not always victorious, but -then defeat did not mean annihilation, and need not break his spirit. -</p> - -<p> -Withal he was a goodhearted fellow—too much so, it appeared. His story -came out, not in the first day, nor the second, but in the long hours that -dragged by, in which they had nothing to do but talk and nothing to talk of but -themselves. Jack Duane was from the East; he was a college-bred man—had -been studying electrical engineering. Then his father had met with misfortune -in business and killed himself; and there had been his mother and a younger -brother and sister. Also, there was an invention of Duane’s; Jurgis could -not understand it clearly, but it had to do with telegraphing, and it was a -very important thing—there were fortunes in it, millions upon millions of -dollars. And Duane had been robbed of it by a great company, and got tangled up -in lawsuits and lost all his money. Then somebody had given him a tip on a -horse race, and he had tried to retrieve his fortune with another -person’s money, and had to run away, and all the rest had come from that. -The other asked him what had led him to safe-breaking—to Jurgis a wild -and appalling occupation to think about. A man he had met, his cell mate had -replied—one thing leads to another. Didn’t he ever wonder about his -family, Jurgis asked. Sometimes, the other answered, but not often—he -didn’t allow it. Thinking about it would make it no better. This -wasn’t a world in which a man had any business with a family; sooner or -later Jurgis would find that out also, and give up the fight and shift for -himself. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was so transparently what he pretended to be that his cell mate was as -open with him as a child; it was pleasant to tell him adventures, he was so -full of wonder and admiration, he was so new to the ways of the country. Duane -did not even bother to keep back names and places—he told all his -triumphs and his failures, his loves and his griefs. Also he introduced Jurgis -to many of the other prisoners, nearly half of whom he knew by name. The crowd -had already given Jurgis a name—they called him “the -stinker.” This was cruel, but they meant no harm by it, and he took it -with a good-natured grin. -</p> - -<p> -Our friend had caught now and then a whiff from the sewers over which he lived, -but this was the first time that he had ever been splashed by their filth. This -jail was a Noah’s ark of the city’s crime—there were -murderers, “hold-up men” and burglars, embezzlers, counterfeiters -and forgers, bigamists, “shoplifters,” “confidence -men,” petty thieves and pickpockets, gamblers and procurers, brawlers, -beggars, tramps and drunkards; they were black and white, old and young, -Americans and natives of every nation under the sun. There were hardened -criminals and innocent men too poor to give bail; old men, and boys literally -not yet in their teens. They were the drainage of the great festering ulcer of -society; they were hideous to look upon, sickening to talk to. All life had -turned to rottenness and stench in them—love was a beastliness, joy was a -snare, and God was an imprecation. They strolled here and there about the -courtyard, and Jurgis listened to them. He was ignorant and they were wise; -they had been everywhere and tried everything. They could tell the whole -hateful story of it, set forth the inner soul of a city in which justice and -honor, women’s bodies and men’s souls, were for sale in the -marketplace, and human beings writhed and fought and fell upon each other like -wolves in a pit; in which lusts were raging fires, and men were fuel, and -humanity was festering and stewing and wallowing in its own corruption. Into -this wild-beast tangle these men had been born without their consent, they had -taken part in it because they could not help it; that they were in jail was no -disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dice were loaded. They -were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they had been trapped and -put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of millions of dollars. -</p> - -<p> -To most of this Jurgis tried not to listen. They frightened him with their -savage mockery; and all the while his heart was far away, where his loved ones -were calling. Now and then in the midst of it his thoughts would take flight; -and then the tears would come into his eyes—and he would be called back -by the jeering laughter of his companions. -</p> - -<p> -He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he had no word from -his home. He paid one of his fifteen cents for a postal card, and his companion -wrote a note to the family, telling them where he was and when he would be -tried. There came no answer to it, however, and at last, the day before New -Year’s, Jurgis bade good-by to Jack Duane. The latter gave him his -address, or rather the address of his mistress, and made Jurgis promise to look -him up. “Maybe I could help you out of a hole some day,” he said, -and added that he was sorry to have him go. Jurgis rode in the patrol wagon -back to Justice Callahan’s court for trial. -</p> - -<p> -One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was Teta Elzbieta -and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated far in the rear. His -heart began to pound, but he did not dare to try to signal to them, and neither -did Elzbieta. He took his seat in the prisoners’ pen and sat gazing at -them in helpless agony. He saw that Ona was not with them, and was full of -foreboding as to what that might mean. He spent half an hour brooding over -this—and then suddenly he straightened up and the blood rushed into his -face. A man had come in—Jurgis could not see his features for the -bandages that swathed him, but he knew the burly figure. It was Connor! A -trembling seized him, and his limbs bent as if for a spring. Then suddenly he -felt a hand on his collar, and heard a voice behind him: “Sit down, you -son of a—!” -</p> - -<p> -He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy. The fellow was still -alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet it was pleasant to see -him, all in penitential plasters. He and the company lawyer, who was with him, -came and took seats within the judge’s railing; and a minute later the -clerk called Jurgis’ name, and the policeman jerked him to his feet and -led him before the bar, gripping him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring -upon the boss. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath, and -told his story. The wife of the prisoner had been employed in a department near -him, and had been discharged for impudence to him. Half an hour later he had -been violently attacked, knocked down, and almost choked to death. He had -brought witnesses— -</p> - -<p> -“They will probably not be necessary,” observed the judge and he -turned to Jurgis. “You admit attacking the plaintiff?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Him?” inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said the judge. “I hit him, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Say ‘your Honor,’” said the officer, pinching his arm -hard. -</p> - -<p> -“Your Honor,” said Jurgis, obediently. -</p> - -<p> -“You tried to choke him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir, your Honor.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ever been arrested before?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir, your Honor.” -</p> - -<p> -“What have you to say for yourself?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis hesitated. What had he to say? In two years and a half he had learned to -speak English for practical purposes, but these had never included the -statement that some one had intimidated and seduced his wife. He tried once or -twice, stammering and balking, to the annoyance of the judge, who was gasping -from the odor of fertilizer. Finally, the prisoner made it understood that his -vocabulary was inadequate, and there stepped up a dapper young man with waxed -mustaches, bidding him speak in any language he knew. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis began; supposing that he would be given time, he explained how the boss -had taken advantage of his wife’s position to make advances to her and -had threatened her with the loss of her place. When the interpreter had -translated this, the judge, whose calendar was crowded, and whose automobile -was ordered for a certain hour, interrupted with the remark: “Oh, I see. -Well, if he made love to your wife, why didn’t she complain to the -superintendent or leave the place?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis hesitated, somewhat taken aback; he began to explain that they were very -poor—that work was hard to get— -</p> - -<p> -“I see,” said Justice Callahan; “so instead you thought you -would knock him down.” He turned to the plaintiff, inquiring, “Is -there any truth in this story, Mr. Connor?” -</p> - -<p> -“Not a particle, your Honor,” said the boss. “It is very -unpleasant—they tell some such tale every time you have to discharge a -woman—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, I know,” said the judge. “I hear it often enough. The -fellow seems to have handled you pretty roughly. Thirty days and costs. Next -case.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had been listening in perplexity. It was only when the policeman who had -him by the arm turned and started to lead him away that he realized that -sentence had been passed. He gazed round him wildly. “Thirty days!” -he panted and then he whirled upon the judge. “What will my family -do?” he cried frantically. “I have a wife and baby, sir, and they -have no money—my God, they will starve to death!” -</p> - -<p> -“You would have done well to think about them before you committed the -assault,” said the judge dryly, as he turned to look at the next -prisoner. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis would have spoken again, but the policeman had seized him by the collar -and was twisting it, and a second policeman was making for him with evidently -hostile intentions. So he let them lead him away. Far down the room he saw -Elzbieta and Kotrina, risen from their seats, staring in fright; he made one -effort to go to them, and then, brought back by another twist at his throat, he -bowed his head and gave up the struggle. They thrust him into a cell room, -where other prisoners were waiting; and as soon as court had adjourned they led -him down with them into the “Black Maria,” and drove him away. -</p> - -<p> -This time Jurgis was bound for the “Bridewell,” a petty jail where -Cook County prisoners serve their time. It was even filthier and more crowded -than the county jail; all the smaller fry out of the latter had been sifted -into it—the petty thieves and swindlers, the brawlers and vagrants. For -his cell mate Jurgis had an Italian fruit seller who had refused to pay his -graft to the policeman, and been arrested for carrying a large pocketknife; as -he did not understand a word of English our friend was glad when he left. He -gave place to a Norwegian sailor, who had lost half an ear in a drunken brawl, -and who proved to be quarrelsome, cursing Jurgis because he moved in his bunk -and caused the roaches to drop upon the lower one. It would have been quite -intolerable, staying in a cell with this wild beast, but for the fact that all -day long the prisoners were put at work breaking stone. -</p> - -<p> -Ten days of his thirty Jurgis spent thus, without hearing a word from his -family; then one day a keeper came and informed him that there was a visitor to -see him. Jurgis turned white, and so weak at the knees that he could hardly -leave his cell. -</p> - -<p> -The man led him down the corridor and a flight of steps to the visitors’ -room, which was barred like a cell. Through the grating Jurgis could see some -one sitting in a chair; and as he came into the room the person started up, and -he saw that it was little Stanislovas. At the sight of some one from home the -big fellow nearly went to pieces—he had to steady himself by a chair, and -he put his other hand to his forehead, as if to clear away a mist. -“Well?” he said, weakly. -</p> - -<p> -Little Stanislovas was also trembling, and all but too frightened to speak. -“They—they sent me to tell you—” he said, with a gulp. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” Jurgis repeated. He followed the boy’s glance to -where the keeper was standing watching them. “Never mind that,” -Jurgis cried, wildly. “How are they?” -</p> - -<p> -“Ona is very sick,” Stanislovas said; “and we are almost -starving. We can’t get along; we thought you might be able to help -us.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis gripped the chair tighter; there were beads of perspiration on his -forehead, and his hand shook. “I—can’t help you,” he -said. -</p> - -<p> -“Ona lies in her room all day,” the boy went on, breathlessly. -“She won’t eat anything, and she cries all the time. She -won’t tell what is the matter and she won’t go to work at all. Then -a long time ago the man came for the rent. He was very cross. He came again -last week. He said he would turn us out of the house. And then -Marija—” -</p> - -<p> -A sob choked Stanislovas, and he stopped. “What’s the matter with -Marija?” cried Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s cut her hand!” said the boy. “She’s cut it -bad, this time, worse than before. She can’t work and it’s all -turning green, and the company doctor says she may—she may have to have -it cut off. And Marija cries all the time—her money is nearly all gone, -too, and we can’t pay the rent and the interest on the house; and we have -no coal and nothing more to eat, and the man at the store, he -says—” -</p> - -<p> -The little fellow stopped again, beginning to whimper. “Go on!” the -other panted in frenzy—“Go on!” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I will,” sobbed Stanislovas. “It’s so—so -cold all the time. And last Sunday it snowed again—a deep, deep -snow—and I couldn’t—couldn’t get to work.” -</p> - -<p> -“God!” Jurgis half shouted, and he took a step toward the child. -There was an old hatred between them because of the snow—ever since that -dreadful morning when the boy had had his fingers frozen and Jurgis had had to -beat him to send him to work. Now he clenched his hands, looking as if he would -try to break through the grating. “You little villain,” he cried, -“you didn’t try!” -</p> - -<p> -“I did—I did!” wailed Stanislovas, shrinking from him in -terror. “I tried all day—two days. Elzbieta was with me, and she -couldn’t either. We couldn’t walk at all, it was so deep. And we -had nothing to eat, and oh, it was so cold! I tried, and then the third day Ona -went with me—” -</p> - -<p> -“Ona!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes. She tried to get to work, too. She had to. We were all starving. -But she had lost her place—” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis reeled, and gave a gasp. “She went back to that place?” he -screamed. “She tried to,” said Stanislovas, gazing at him in -perplexity. “Why not, Jurgis?” -</p> - -<p> -The man breathed hard, three or four times. “Go—on,” he -panted, finally. -</p> - -<p> -“I went with her,” said Stanislovas, “but Miss Henderson -wouldn’t take her back. And Connor saw her and cursed her. He was still -bandaged up—why did you hit him, Jurgis?” (There was some -fascinating mystery about this, the little fellow knew; but he could get no -satisfaction.) -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis could not speak; he could only stare, his eyes starting out. “She -has been trying to get other work,” the boy went on; “but -she’s so weak she can’t keep up. And my boss would not take me -back, either—Ona says he knows Connor, and that’s the reason; -they’ve all got a grudge against us now. So I’ve got to go downtown -and sell papers with the rest of the boys and Kotrina—” -</p> - -<p> -“Kotrina!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, she’s been selling papers, too. She does best, because -she’s a girl. Only the cold is so bad—it’s terrible coming -home at night, Jurgis. Sometimes they can’t come home at -all—I’m going to try to find them tonight and sleep where they do, -it’s so late and it’s such a long ways home. I’ve had to -walk, and I didn’t know where it was—I don’t know how to get -back, either. Only mother said I must come, because you would want to know, and -maybe somebody would help your family when they had put you in jail so you -couldn’t work. And I walked all day to get here—and I only had a -piece of bread for breakfast, Jurgis. Mother hasn’t any work either, -because the sausage department is shut down; and she goes and begs at houses -with a basket, and people give her food. Only she didn’t get much -yesterday; it was too cold for her fingers, and today she was -crying—” -</p> - -<p> -So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood, gripping -the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that his head would burst; it -was like having weights piled upon him, one after another, crushing the life -out of him. He struggled and fought within himself—as if in some terrible -nightmare, in which a man suffers an agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry -out, but feels that he is going mad, that his brain is on fire— -</p> - -<p> -Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw would kill him, -little Stanislovas stopped. “You cannot help us?” he said weakly. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis shook his head. -</p> - -<p> -“They won’t give you anything here?” -</p> - -<p> -He shook it again. -</p> - -<p> -“When are you coming out?” -</p> - -<p> -“Three weeks yet,” Jurgis answered. -</p> - -<p> -And the boy gazed around him uncertainly. “Then I might as well -go,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting, he put his hand into his pocket and -drew it out, shaking. “Here,” he said, holding out the fourteen -cents. “Take this to them.” -</p> - -<p> -And Stanislovas took it, and after a little more hesitation, started for the -door. “Good-by, Jurgis,” he said, and the other noticed that he -walked unsteadily as he passed out of sight. -</p> - -<p> -For a minute or so Jurgis stood clinging to his chair, reeling and swaying; -then the keeper touched him on the arm, and he turned and went back to breaking -stone. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis did not get out of the Bridewell quite as soon as he had expected. To -his sentence there were added “court costs” of a dollar and a -half—he was supposed to pay for the trouble of putting him in jail, and -not having the money, was obliged to work it off by three days more of toil. -Nobody had taken the trouble to tell him this—only after counting the -days and looking forward to the end in an agony of impatience, when the hour -came that he expected to be free he found himself still set at the stone heap, -and laughed at when he ventured to protest. Then he concluded he must have -counted wrong; but as another day passed, he gave up all hope—and was -sunk in the depths of despair, when one morning after breakfast a keeper came -to him with the word that his time was up at last. So he doffed his prison -garb, and put on his old fertilizer clothing, and heard the door of the prison -clang behind him. -</p> - -<p> -He stood upon the steps, bewildered; he could hardly believe that it was -true,—that the sky was above him again and the open street before him; -that he was a free man. But then the cold began to strike through his clothes, -and he started quickly away. -</p> - -<p> -There had been a heavy snow, and now a thaw had set in; fine sleety rain was -falling, driven by a wind that pierced Jurgis to the bone. He had not stopped -for his-overcoat when he set out to “do up” Connor, and so his -rides in the patrol wagons had been cruel experiences; his clothing was old and -worn thin, and it never had been very warm. Now as he trudged on the rain soon -wet it through; there were six inches of watery slush on the sidewalks, so that -his feet would soon have been soaked, even had there been no holes in his -shoes. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had had enough to eat in the jail, and the work had been the least -trying of any that he had done since he came to Chicago; but even so, he had -not grown strong—the fear and grief that had preyed upon his mind had -worn him thin. Now he shivered and shrunk from the rain, hiding his hands in -his pockets and hunching his shoulders together. The Bridewell grounds were on -the outskirts of the city and the country around them was unsettled and -wild—on one side was the big drainage canal, and on the other a maze of -railroad tracks, and so the wind had full sweep. -</p> - -<p> -After walking a ways, Jurgis met a little ragamuffin whom he hailed: -“Hey, sonny!” The boy cocked one eye at him—he knew that -Jurgis was a “jailbird” by his shaven head. “Wot yer -want?” he queried. -</p> - -<p> -“How do you go to the stockyards?” Jurgis demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t go,” replied the boy. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis hesitated a moment, nonplussed. Then he said, “I mean which is the -way?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why don’t yer say so then?” was the response, and the boy -pointed to the northwest, across the tracks. “That way.” -</p> - -<p> -“How far is it?” Jurgis asked. “I dunno,” said the -other. “Mebbe twenty miles or so.” -</p> - -<p> -“Twenty miles!” Jurgis echoed, and his face fell. He had to walk -every foot of it, for they had turned him out of jail without a penny in his -pockets. -</p> - -<p> -Yet, when he once got started, and his blood had warmed with walking, he forgot -everything in the fever of his thoughts. All the dreadful imaginations that had -haunted him in his cell now rushed into his mind at once. The agony was almost -over—he was going to find out; and he clenched his hands in his pockets -as he strode, following his flying desire, almost at a run. Ona—the -baby—the family—the house—he would know the truth about them -all! And he was coming to the rescue—he was free again! His hands were -his own, and he could help them, he could do battle for them against the world. -</p> - -<p> -For an hour or so he walked thus, and then he began to look about him. He -seemed to be leaving the city altogether. The street was turning into a country -road, leading out to the westward; there were snow-covered fields on either -side of him. Soon he met a farmer driving a two-horse wagon loaded with straw, -and he stopped him. -</p> - -<p> -“Is this the way to the stockyards?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -The farmer scratched his head. “I dunno jest where they be,” he -said. “But they’re in the city somewhere, and you’re going -dead away from it now.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis looked dazed. “I was told this was the way,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Who told you?” -</p> - -<p> -“A boy.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, mebbe he was playing a joke on ye. The best thing ye kin do is to -go back, and when ye git into town ask a policeman. I’d take ye in, only -I’ve come a long ways an’ I’m loaded heavy. Git up!” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis turned and followed, and toward the end of the morning he began to -see Chicago again. Past endless blocks of two-story shanties he walked, along -wooden sidewalks and unpaved pathways treacherous with deep slush holes. Every -few blocks there would be a railroad crossing on the level with the sidewalk, a -deathtrap for the unwary; long freight trains would be passing, the cars -clanking and crashing together, and Jurgis would pace about waiting, burning up -with a fever of impatience. Occasionally the cars would stop for some minutes, -and wagons and streetcars would crowd together waiting, the drivers swearing at -each other, or hiding beneath umbrellas out of the rain; at such times Jurgis -would dodge under the gates and run across the tracks and between the cars, -taking his life into his hands. -</p> - -<p> -He crossed a long bridge over a river frozen solid and covered with slush. Not -even on the river bank was the snow white—the rain which fell was a -diluted solution of smoke, and Jurgis’ hands and face were streaked with -black. Then he came into the business part of the city, where the streets were -sewers of inky blackness, with horses sleeping and plunging, and women and -children flying across in panic-stricken droves. These streets were huge -canyons formed by towering black buildings, echoing with the clang of car gongs -and the shouts of drivers; the people who swarmed in them were as busy as -ants—all hurrying breathlessly, never stopping to look at anything nor at -each other. The solitary trampish-looking foreigner, with water-soaked clothing -and haggard face and anxious eyes, was as much alone as he hurried past them, -as much unheeded and as lost, as if he had been a thousand miles deep in a -wilderness. -</p> - -<p> -A policeman gave him his direction and told him that he had five miles to go. -He came again to the slum districts, to avenues of saloons and cheap stores, -with long dingy red factory buildings, and coal-yards and railroad tracks; and -then Jurgis lifted up his head and began to sniff the air like a startled -animal—scenting the far-off odor of home. It was late afternoon then, and -he was hungry, but the dinner invitations hung out of the saloons were not for -him. -</p> - -<p> -So he came at last to the stockyards, to the black volcanoes of smoke and the -lowing cattle and the stench. Then, seeing a crowded car, his impatience got -the better of him and he jumped aboard, hiding behind another man, unnoticed by -the conductor. In ten minutes more he had reached his street, and home. -</p> - -<p> -He was half running as he came round the corner. There was the house, at any -rate—and then suddenly he stopped and stared. What was the matter with -the house? -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis looked twice, bewildered; then he glanced at the house next door and at -the one beyond—then at the saloon on the corner. Yes, it was the right -place, quite certainly—he had not made any mistake. But the -house—the house was a different color! -</p> - -<p> -He came a couple of steps nearer. Yes; it had been gray and now it was yellow! -The trimmings around the windows had been red, and now they were green! It was -all newly painted! How strange it made it seem! -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went closer yet, but keeping on the other side of the street. A sudden -and horrible spasm of fear had come over him. His knees were shaking beneath -him, and his mind was in a whirl. New paint on the house, and new -weatherboards, where the old had begun to rot off, and the agent had got after -them! New shingles over the hole in the roof, too, the hole that had for six -months been the bane of his soul—he having no money to have it fixed and -no time to fix it himself, and the rain leaking in, and overflowing the pots -and pans he put to catch it, and flooding the attic and loosening the plaster. -And now it was fixed! And the broken windowpane replaced! And curtains in the -windows! New, white curtains, stiff and shiny! -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly the front door opened. Jurgis stood, his chest heaving as he -struggled to catch his breath. A boy had come out, a stranger to him; a big, -fat, rosy-cheeked youngster, such as had never been seen in his home before. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis stared at the boy, fascinated. He came down the steps whistling, kicking -off the snow. He stopped at the foot, and picked up some, and then leaned -against the railing, making a snowball. A moment later he looked around and saw -Jurgis, and their eyes met; it was a hostile glance, the boy evidently thinking -that the other had suspicions of the snowball. When Jurgis started slowly -across the street toward him, he gave a quick glance about, meditating retreat, -but then he concluded to stand his ground. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis took hold of the railing of the steps, for he was a little unsteady. -“What—what are you doing here?” he managed to gasp. -</p> - -<p> -“Go on!” said the boy. -</p> - -<p> -“You—” Jurgis tried again. “What do you want -here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Me?” answered the boy, angrily. “I live here.” -</p> - -<p> -“You live here!” Jurgis panted. He turned white and clung more -tightly to the railing. “You live here! Then where’s my -family?” -</p> - -<p> -The boy looked surprised. “Your family!” he echoed. -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis started toward him. “I—this is my house!” he -cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Come off!” said the boy; then suddenly the door upstairs opened, -and he called: “Hey, ma! Here’s a fellow says he owns this -house.” -</p> - -<p> -A stout Irishwoman came to the top of the steps. “What’s -that?” she demanded. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis turned toward her. “Where is my family?” he cried, wildly. -“I left them here! This is my home! What are you doing in my home?” -</p> - -<p> -The woman stared at him in frightened wonder, she must have thought she was -dealing with a maniac—Jurgis looked like one. “Your home!” -she echoed. -</p> - -<p> -“My home!” he half shrieked. “I lived here, I tell -you.” -</p> - -<p> -“You must be mistaken,” she answered him. “No one ever lived -here. This is a new house. They told us so. They—” -</p> - -<p> -“What have they done with my family?” shouted Jurgis, frantically. -</p> - -<p> -A light had begun to break upon the woman; perhaps she had had doubts of what -“they” had told her. “I don’t know where your family -is,” she said. “I bought the house only three days ago, and there -was nobody here, and they told me it was all new. Do you really mean you had -ever rented it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Rented it!” panted Jurgis. “I bought it! I paid for it! I -own it! And they—my God, can’t you tell me where my people -went?” -</p> - -<p> -She made him understand at last that she knew nothing. Jurgis’ brain was -so confused that he could not grasp the situation. It was as if his family had -been wiped out of existence; as if they were proving to be dream people, who -never had existed at all. He was quite lost—but then suddenly he thought -of Grandmother Majauszkiene, who lived in the next block. She would know! He -turned and started at a run. -</p> - -<p> -Grandmother Majauszkiene came to the door herself. She cried out when she saw -Jurgis, wild-eyed and shaking. Yes, yes, she could tell him. The family had -moved; they had not been able to pay the rent and they had been turned out into -the snow, and the house had been repainted and sold again the next week. No, -she had not heard how they were, but she could tell him that they had gone back -to Aniele Jukniene, with whom they had stayed when they first came to the -yards. Wouldn’t Jurgis come in and rest? It was certainly too -bad—if only he had not got into jail— -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis turned and staggered away. He did not go very far round the -corner he gave out completely, and sat down on the steps of a saloon, and hid -his face in his hands, and shook all over with dry, racking sobs. -</p> - -<p> -Their home! Their home! They had lost it! Grief, despair, rage, overwhelmed -him—what was any imagination of the thing to this heartbreaking, crushing -reality of it—to the sight of strange people living in his house, hanging -their curtains to his windows, staring at him with hostile eyes! It was -monstrous, it was unthinkable—they could not do it—it could not be -true! Only think what he had suffered for that house—what miseries they -had all suffered for it—the price they had paid for it! -</p> - -<p> -The whole long agony came back to him. Their sacrifices in the beginning, their -three hundred dollars that they had scraped together, all they owned in the -world, all that stood between them and starvation! And then their toil, month -by month, to get together the twelve dollars, and the interest as well, and now -and then the taxes, and the other charges, and the repairs, and what not! Why, -they had put their very souls into their payments on that house, they had paid -for it with their sweat and tears—yes, more, with their very lifeblood. -Dede Antanas had died of the struggle to earn that money—he would have -been alive and strong today if he had not had to work in Durham’s dark -cellars to earn his share. And Ona, too, had given her health and strength to -pay for it—she was wrecked and ruined because of it; and so was he, who -had been a big, strong man three years ago, and now sat here shivering, broken, -cowed, weeping like a hysterical child. Ah! they had cast their all into the -fight; and they had lost, they had lost! All that they had paid was -gone—every cent of it. And their house was gone—they were back -where they had started from, flung out into the cold to starve and freeze! -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis could see all the truth now—could see himself, through the whole -long course of events, the victim of ravenous vultures that had torn into his -vitals and devoured him; of fiends that had racked and tortured him, mocking -him, meantime, jeering in his face. Ah, God, the horror of it, the monstrous, -hideous, demoniacal wickedness of it! He and his family, helpless women and -children, struggling to live, ignorant and defenseless and forlorn as they -were—and the enemies that had been lurking for them, crouching upon their -trail and thirsting for their blood! That first lying circular, that -smooth-tongued slippery agent! That trap of the extra payments, the interest, -and all the other charges that they had not the means to pay, and would never -have attempted to pay! And then all the tricks of the packers, their masters, -the tyrants who ruled them—the shutdowns and the scarcity of work, the -irregular hours and the cruel speeding-up, the lowering of wages, the raising -of prices! The mercilessness of nature about them, of heat and cold, rain and -snow; the mercilessness of the city, of the country in which they lived, of its -laws and customs that they did not understand! All of these things had worked -together for the company that had marked them for its prey and was waiting for -its chance. And now, with this last hideous injustice, its time had come, and -it had turned them out bag and baggage, and taken their house and sold it -again! And they could do nothing, they were tied hand and foot—the law -was against them, the whole machinery of society was at their oppressors’ -command! If Jurgis so much as raised a hand against them, back he would go into -that wild-beast pen from which he had just escaped! -</p> - -<p> -To get up and go away was to give up, to acknowledge defeat, to leave the -strange family in possession; and Jurgis might have sat shivering in the rain -for hours before he could do that, had it not been for the thought of his -family. It might be that he had worse things yet to learn—and so he got -to his feet and started away, walking on, wearily, half-dazed. -</p> - -<p> -To Aniele’s house, in back of the yards, was a good two miles; the -distance had never seemed longer to Jurgis, and when he saw the familiar -dingy-gray shanty his heart was beating fast. He ran up the steps and began to -hammer upon the door. -</p> - -<p> -The old woman herself came to open it. She had shrunk all up with her -rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow parchment face stared -up at him from a little above the level of the doorknob. She gave a start when -she saw him. “Is Ona here?” he cried, breathlessly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” was the answer, “she’s here.” -</p> - -<p> -“How—” Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching -convulsively at the side of the door. From somewhere within the house had come -a sudden cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish. And the voice was -Ona’s. For a moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; then he -bounded past the old woman and into the room. -</p> - -<p> -It was Aniele’s kitchen, and huddled round the stove were half a dozen -women, pale and frightened. One of them started to her feet as Jurgis entered; -she was haggard and frightfully thin, with one arm tied up in bandages—he -hardly realized that it was Marija. He looked first for Ona; then, not seeing -her, he stared at the women, expecting them to speak. But they sat dumb, gazing -back at him, panic-stricken; and a second later came another piercing scream. -</p> - -<p> -It was from the rear of the house, and upstairs. Jurgis bounded to a door of -the room and flung it open; there was a ladder leading through a trap door to -the garret, and he was at the foot of it when suddenly he heard a voice behind -him, and saw Marija at his heels. She seized him by the sleeve with her good -hand, panting wildly, “No, no, Jurgis! Stop!” -</p> - -<p> -“What do you mean?” he gasped. -</p> - -<p> -“You mustn’t go up,” she cried. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was half-crazed with bewilderment and fright. “What’s the -matter?” he shouted. “What is it?” -</p> - -<p> -Marija clung to him tightly; he could hear Ona sobbing and moaning above, and -he fought to get away and climb up, without waiting for her reply. “No, -no,” she rushed on. “Jurgis! You mustn’t go up! -It’s—it’s the child!” -</p> - -<p> -“The child?” he echoed in perplexity. “Antanas?” -</p> - -<p> -Marija answered him, in a whisper: “The new one!” -</p> - -<p> -And then Jurgis went limp, and caught himself on the ladder. He stared at her -as if she were a ghost. “The new one!” he gasped. “But it -isn’t time,” he added, wildly. -</p> - -<p> -Marija nodded. “I know,” she said; “but it’s -come.” -</p> - -<p> -And then again came Ona’s scream, smiting him like a blow in the face, -making him wince and turn white. Her voice died away into a wail—then he -heard her sobbing again, “My God—let me die, let me die!” And -Marija hung her arms about him, crying: “Come out! Come away!” -</p> - -<p> -She dragged him back into the kitchen, half carrying him, for he had gone all -to pieces. It was as if the pillars of his soul had fallen in—he was -blasted with horror. In the room he sank into a chair, trembling like a leaf, -Marija still holding him, and the women staring at him in dumb, helpless -fright. -</p> - -<p> -And then again Ona cried out; he could hear it nearly as plainly here, and he -staggered to his feet. “How long has this been going on?” he -panted. -</p> - -<p> -“Not very long,” Marija answered, and then, at a signal from -Aniele, she rushed on: “You go away, Jurgis you can’t help—go -away and come back later. It’s all right—it’s—” -</p> - -<p> -“Who’s with her?” Jurgis demanded; and then, seeing Marija -hesitating, he cried again, “Who’s with her?” -</p> - -<p> -“She’s—she’s all right,” she answered. -“Elzbieta’s with her.” -</p> - -<p> -“But the doctor!” he panted. “Some one who knows!” -</p> - -<p> -He seized Marija by the arm; she trembled, and her voice sank beneath a whisper -as she replied, “We—we have no money.” Then, frightened at -the look on his face, she exclaimed: “It’s all right, Jurgis! You -don’t understand—go away—go away! Ah, if you only had -waited!” -</p> - -<p> -Above her protests Jurgis heard Ona again; he was almost out of his mind. It -was all new to him, raw and horrible—it had fallen upon him like a -lightning stroke. When little Antanas was born he had been at work, and had -known nothing about it until it was over; and now he was not to be controlled. -The frightened women were at their wits’ end; one after another they -tried to reason with him, to make him understand that this was the lot of -woman. In the end they half drove him out into the rain, where he began to pace -up and down, bareheaded and frantic. Because he could hear Ona from the street, -he would first go away to escape the sounds, and then come back because he -could not help it. At the end of a quarter of an hour he rushed up the steps -again, and for fear that he would break in the door they had to open it and let -him in. -</p> - -<p> -There was no arguing with him. They could not tell him that all was going -well—how could they know, he cried—why, she was dying, she was -being torn to pieces! Listen to her—listen! Why, it was -monstrous—it could not be allowed—there must be some help for it! -Had they tried to get a doctor? They might pay him afterward—they could -promise— -</p> - -<p> -“We couldn’t promise, Jurgis,” protested Marija. “We -had no money—we have scarcely been able to keep alive.” -</p> - -<p> -“But I can work,” Jurgis exclaimed. “I can earn money!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she answered—“but we thought you were in jail. -How could we know when you would return? They will not work for nothing.” -</p> - -<p> -Marija went on to tell how she had tried to find a midwife, and how they had -demanded ten, fifteen, even twenty-five dollars, and that in cash. “And I -had only a quarter,” she said. “I have spent every cent of my -money—all that I had in the bank; and I owe the doctor who has been -coming to see me, and he has stopped because he thinks I don’t mean to -pay him. And we owe Aniele for two weeks’ rent, and she is nearly -starving, and is afraid of being turned out. We have been borrowing and begging -to keep alive, and there is nothing more we can do—” -</p> - -<p> -“And the children?” cried Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“The children have not been home for three days, the weather has been so -bad. They could not know what is happening—it came suddenly, two months -before we expected it.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was standing by the table, and he caught himself with his hand; his head -sank and his arms shook—it looked as if he were going to collapse. Then -suddenly Aniele got up and came hobbling toward him, fumbling in her skirt -pocket. She drew out a dirty rag, in one corner of which she had something -tied. -</p> - -<p> -“Here, Jurgis!” she said, “I have some money. <i>Palauk!</i> -See!” -</p> - -<p> -She unwrapped it and counted it out—thirty-four cents. “You go, -now,” she said, “and try and get somebody yourself. And maybe the -rest can help—give him some money, you; he will pay you back some day, -and it will do him good to have something to think about, even if he -doesn’t succeed. When he comes back, maybe it will be over.” -</p> - -<p> -And so the other women turned out the contents of their pocketbooks; most of -them had only pennies and nickels, but they gave him all. Mrs. Olszewski, who -lived next door, and had a husband who was a skilled cattle butcher, but a -drinking man, gave nearly half a dollar, enough to raise the whole sum to a -dollar and a quarter. Then Jurgis thrust it into his pocket, still holding it -tightly in his fist, and started away at a run. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> - -<p> -“Madame Haupt Hebamme”, ran a sign, swinging from a second-story -window over a saloon on the avenue; at a side door was another sign, with a -hand pointing up a dingy flight of stairs. Jurgis went up them, three at a -time. -</p> - -<p> -Madame Haupt was frying pork and onions, and had her door half open to let out -the smoke. When he tried to knock upon it, it swung open the rest of the way, -and he had a glimpse of her, with a black bottle turned up to her lips. Then he -knocked louder, and she started and put it away. She was a Dutchwoman, -enormously fat—when she walked she rolled like a small boat on the ocean, -and the dishes in the cupboard jostled each other. She wore a filthy blue -wrapper, and her teeth were black. -</p> - -<p> -“Vot is it?” she said, when she saw Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -He had run like mad all the way and was so out of breath he could hardly speak. -His hair was flying and his eyes wild—he looked like a man that had risen -from the tomb. “My wife!” he panted. “Come quickly!” -Madame Haupt set the frying pan to one side and wiped her hands on her wrapper. -</p> - -<p> -“You vant me to come for a case?” she inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” gasped Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“I haf yust come back from a case,” she said. “I haf had no -time to eat my dinner. Still—if it is so bad—” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes—it is!” cried he. -</p> - -<p> -“Vell, den, perhaps—vot you pay?” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I—how much do you want?” Jurgis stammered. -</p> - -<p> -“Tventy-five dollars.” His face fell. “I can’t pay -that,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -The woman was watching him narrowly. “How much do you pay?” she -demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Must I pay now—right away?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes; all my customers do.” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I haven’t much money,” Jurgis began in an agony of -dread. “I’ve been in—in trouble—and my money is gone. -But I’ll pay you—every cent—just as soon as I can; I can -work—” -</p> - -<p> -“Vot is your work?” -</p> - -<p> -“I have no place now. I must get one. But I—” -</p> - -<p> -“How much haf you got now?” -</p> - -<p> -He could hardly bring himself to reply. When he said “A dollar and a -quarter,” the woman laughed in his face. -</p> - -<p> -“I vould not put on my hat for a dollar and a quarter,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s all I’ve got,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. -“I must get some one—my wife will die. I can’t help -it—I—” -</p> - -<p> -Madame Haupt had put back her pork and onions on the stove. She turned to him -and answered, out of the steam and noise: “Git me ten dollars cash, und -so you can pay me the rest next mont’.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can’t do it—I haven’t got it!” Jurgis -protested. “I tell you I have only a dollar and a quarter.” -</p> - -<p> -The woman turned to her work. “I don’t believe you,” she -said. “Dot is all to try to sheat me. Vot is de reason a big man like you -has got only a dollar und a quarter?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve just been in jail,” Jurgis cried—he was ready to -get down upon his knees to the woman—“and I had no money before, -and my family has almost starved.” -</p> - -<p> -“Vere is your friends, dot ought to help you?” -</p> - -<p> -“They are all poor,” he answered. “They gave me this. I have -done everything I can—” -</p> - -<p> -“Haven’t you got notting you can sell?” -</p> - -<p> -“I have nothing, I tell you—I have nothing,” he cried, -frantically. -</p> - -<p> -“Can’t you borrow it, den? Don’t your store people trust -you?” Then, as he shook his head, she went on: “Listen to -me—if you git me you vill be glad of it. I vill save your wife und baby -for you, and it vill not seem like mooch to you in de end. If you loose dem now -how you tink you feel den? Und here is a lady dot knows her business—I -could send you to people in dis block, und dey vould tell you—” -</p> - -<p> -Madame Haupt was pointing her cooking-fork at Jurgis persuasively; but her -words were more than he could bear. He flung up his hands with a gesture of -despair and turned and started away. “It’s no use,” he -exclaimed—but suddenly he heard the woman’s voice behind him -again— -</p> - -<p> -“I vill make it five dollars for you.” -</p> - -<p> -She followed behind him, arguing with him. “You vill be foolish not to -take such an offer,” she said. “You von’t find nobody go out -on a rainy day like dis for less. Vy, I haf never took a case in my life so -sheap as dot. I couldn’t pay mine room rent—” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis interrupted her with an oath of rage. “If I haven’t got -it,” he shouted, “how can I pay it? Damn it, I would pay you if I -could, but I tell you I haven’t got it. I haven’t got it! Do you -hear me—<i>I haven’t got it!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -He turned and started away again. He was halfway down the stairs before Madame -Haupt could shout to him: “Vait! I vill go mit you! Come back!” -</p> - -<p> -He went back into the room again. -</p> - -<p> -“It is not goot to tink of anybody suffering,” she said, in a -melancholy voice. “I might as vell go mit you for noffing as vot you -offer me, but I vill try to help you. How far is it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Three or four blocks from here.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tree or four! Und so I shall get soaked! Gott in Himmel, it ought to be -vorth more! Vun dollar und a quarter, und a day like dis!—But you -understand now—you vill pay me de rest of twenty-five dollars -soon?” -</p> - -<p> -“As soon as I can.” -</p> - -<p> -“Some time dis mont’?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, within a month,” said poor Jurgis. “Anything! Hurry -up!” -</p> - -<p> -“Vere is de dollar und a quarter?” persisted Madame Haupt, -relentlessly. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis put the money on the table and the woman counted it and stowed it away. -Then she wiped her greasy hands again and proceeded to get ready, complaining -all the time; she was so fat that it was painful for her to move, and she -grunted and gasped at every step. She took off her wrapper without even taking -the trouble to turn her back to Jurgis, and put on her corsets and dress. Then -there was a black bonnet which had to be adjusted carefully, and an umbrella -which was mislaid, and a bag full of necessaries which had to be collected from -here and there—the man being nearly crazy with anxiety in the meantime. -When they were on the street he kept about four paces ahead of her, turning now -and then, as if he could hurry her on by the force of his desire. But Madame -Haupt could only go so far at a step, and it took all her attention to get the -needed breath for that. -</p> - -<p> -They came at last to the house, and to the group of frightened women in the -kitchen. It was not over yet, Jurgis learned—he heard Ona crying still; -and meantime Madame Haupt removed her bonnet and laid it on the mantelpiece, -and got out of her bag, first an old dress and then a saucer of goose grease, -which she proceeded to rub upon her hands. The more cases this goose grease is -used in, the better luck it brings to the midwife, and so she keeps it upon her -kitchen mantelpiece or stowed away in a cupboard with her dirty clothes, for -months, and sometimes even for years. -</p> - -<p> -Then they escorted her to the ladder, and Jurgis heard her give an exclamation -of dismay. “Gott in Himmel, vot for haf you brought me to a place like -dis? I could not climb up dot ladder. I could not git troo a trap door! I vill -not try it—vy, I might kill myself already. Vot sort of a place is dot -for a woman to bear a child in—up in a garret, mit only a ladder to it? -You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” Jurgis stood in the doorway and -listened to her scolding, half drowning out the horrible moans and screams of -Ona. -</p> - -<p> -At last Aniele succeeded in pacifying her, and she essayed the ascent; then, -however, she had to be stopped while the old woman cautioned her about the -floor of the garret. They had no real floor—they had laid old boards in -one part to make a place for the family to live; it was all right and safe -there, but the other part of the garret had only the joists of the floor, and -the lath and plaster of the ceiling below, and if one stepped on this there -would be a catastrophe. As it was half dark up above, perhaps one of the others -had best go up first with a candle. Then there were more outcries and -threatening, until at last Jurgis had a vision of a pair of elephantine legs -disappearing through the trap door, and felt the house shake as Madame Haupt -started to walk. Then suddenly Aniele came to him and took him by the arm. -</p> - -<p> -“Now,” she said, “you go away. Do as I tell you—you -have done all you can, and you are only in the way. Go away and stay -away.” -</p> - -<p> -“But where shall I go?” Jurgis asked, helplessly. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know where,” she answered. “Go on the street, -if there is no other place—only go! And stay all night!” -</p> - -<p> -In the end she and Marija pushed him out of the door and shut it behind him. It -was just about sundown, and it was turning cold—the rain had changed to -snow, and the slush was freezing. Jurgis shivered in his thin clothing, and put -his hands into his pockets and started away. He had not eaten since morning, -and he felt weak and ill; with a sudden throb of hope he recollected he was -only a few blocks from the saloon where he had been wont to eat his dinner. -They might have mercy on him there, or he might meet a friend. He set out for -the place as fast as he could walk. -</p> - -<p> -“Hello, Jack,” said the saloon-keeper, when he entered—they -call all foreigners and unskilled men “Jack” in Packingtown. -“Where’ve you been?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went straight to the bar. “I’ve been in jail,” he -said, “and I’ve just got out. I walked home all the way, and -I’ve not a cent, and had nothing to eat since this morning. And -I’ve lost my home, and my wife’s ill, and I’m done up.” -</p> - -<p> -The saloon-keeper gazed at him, with his haggard white face and his blue -trembling lips. Then he pushed a big bottle toward him. “Fill her -up!” he said. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis could hardly hold the bottle, his hands shook so. -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t be afraid,” said the saloon-keeper, “fill her -up!” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis drank a large glass of whisky, and then turned to the lunch counter, -in obedience to the other’s suggestion. He ate all he dared, stuffing it -in as fast as he could; and then, after trying to speak his gratitude, he went -and sat down by the big red stove in the middle of the room. -</p> - -<p> -It was too good to last, however—like all things in this hard world. His -soaked clothing began to steam, and the horrible stench of fertilizer to fill -the room. In an hour or so the packing houses would be closing and the men -coming in from their work; and they would not come into a place that smelt of -Jurgis. Also it was Saturday night, and in a couple of hours would come a -violin and a cornet, and in the rear part of the saloon the families of the -neighborhood would dance and feast upon wienerwurst and lager, until two or -three o’clock in the morning. The saloon-keeper coughed once or twice, -and then remarked, “Say, Jack, I’m afraid you’ll have to -quit.” -</p> - -<p> -He was used to the sight of human wrecks, this saloon-keeper; he -“fired” dozens of them every night, just as haggard and cold and -forlorn as this one. But they were all men who had given up and been counted -out, while Jurgis was still in the fight, and had reminders of decency about -him. As he got up meekly, the other reflected that he had always been a steady -man, and might soon be a good customer again. “You’ve been up -against it, I see,” he said. “Come this way.” -</p> - -<p> -In the rear of the saloon were the cellar stairs. There was a door above and -another below, both safely padlocked, making the stairs an admirable place to -stow away a customer who might still chance to have money, or a political light -whom it was not advisable to kick out of doors. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis spent the night. The whisky had only half warmed him, and he could -not sleep, exhausted as he was; he would nod forward, and then start up, -shivering with the cold, and begin to remember again. Hour after hour passed, -until he could only persuade himself that it was not morning by the sounds of -music and laughter and singing that were to be heard from the room. When at -last these ceased, he expected that he would be turned out into the street; as -this did not happen, he fell to wondering whether the man had forgotten him. -</p> - -<p> -In the end, when the silence and suspense were no longer to be borne, he got up -and hammered on the door; and the proprietor came, yawning and rubbing his -eyes. He was keeping open all night, and dozing between customers. -</p> - -<p> -“I want to go home,” Jurgis said. “I’m worried about my -wife—I can’t wait any longer.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why the hell didn’t you say so before?” said the man. -“I thought you didn’t have any home to go to.” Jurgis went -outside. It was four o’clock in the morning, and as black as night. There -were three or four inches of fresh snow on the ground, and the flakes were -falling thick and fast. He turned toward Aniele’s and started at a run. -</p> - -<p> -There was a light burning in the kitchen window and the blinds were drawn. The -door was unlocked and Jurgis rushed in. -</p> - -<p> -Aniele, Marija, and the rest of the women were huddled about the stove, exactly -as before; with them were several newcomers, Jurgis noticed—also he -noticed that the house was silent. -</p> - -<p> -“Well?” he said. -</p> - -<p> -No one answered him, they sat staring at him with their pale faces. He cried -again: “Well?” -</p> - -<p> -And then, by the light of the smoky lamp, he saw Marija who sat nearest him, -shaking her head slowly. “Not yet,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis gave a cry of dismay. “Not <i>yet?</i>” -</p> - -<p> -Again Marija’s head shook. The poor fellow stood dumfounded. “I -don’t hear her,” he gasped. -</p> - -<p> -“She’s been quiet a long time,” replied the other. -</p> - -<p> -There was another pause—broken suddenly by a voice from the attic: -“Hello, there!” -</p> - -<p> -Several of the women ran into the next room, while Marija sprang toward Jurgis. -“Wait here!” she cried, and the two stood, pale and trembling, -listening. In a few moments it became clear that Madame Haupt was engaged in -descending the ladder, scolding and exhorting again, while the ladder creaked -in protest. In a moment or two she reached the ground, angry and breathless, -and they heard her coming into the room. Jurgis gave one glance at her, and -then turned white and reeled. She had her jacket off, like one of the workers -on the killing beds. Her hands and arms were smeared with blood, and blood was -splashed upon her clothing and her face. -</p> - -<p> -She stood breathing hard, and gazing about her; no one made a sound. “I -haf done my best,” she began suddenly. “I can do noffing -more—dere is no use to try.” -</p> - -<p> -Again there was silence. -</p> - -<p> -“It ain’t my fault,” she said. “You had ought to haf -had a doctor, und not vaited so long—it vas too late already ven I -come.” Once more there was deathlike stillness. Marija was clutching -Jurgis with all the power of her one well arm. -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly Madame Haupt turned to Aniele. “You haf not got something -to drink, hey?” she queried. “Some brandy?” -</p> - -<p> -Aniele shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -“Herr Gott!” exclaimed Madame Haupt. “Such people! Perhaps -you vill give me someting to eat den—I haf had noffing since yesterday -morning, und I haf vorked myself near to death here. If I could haf known it -vas like dis, I vould never haf come for such money as you gif me.” At -this moment she chanced to look round, and saw Jurgis: She shook her finger at -him. “You understand me,” she said, “you pays me dot money -yust de same! It is not my fault dat you send for me so late I can’t help -your vife. It is not my fault if der baby comes mit one arm first, so dot I -can’t save it. I haf tried all night, und in dot place vere it is not fit -for dogs to be born, und mit notting to eat only vot I brings in mine own -pockets.” -</p> - -<p> -Here Madame Haupt paused for a moment to get her breath; and Marija, seeing the -beads of sweat on Jurgis’s forehead, and feeling the quivering of his -frame, broke out in a low voice: “How is Ona?” -</p> - -<p> -“How is she?” echoed Madame Haupt. “How do you tink she can -be ven you leave her to kill herself so? I told dem dot ven they send for de -priest. She is young, und she might haf got over it, und been vell und strong, -if she had been treated right. She fight hard, dot girl—she is not yet -quite dead.” -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis gave a frantic scream. “<i>Dead!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -“She vill die, of course,” said the other angrily. “Der baby -is dead now.” -</p> - -<p> -The garret was lighted by a candle stuck upon a board; it had almost burned -itself out, and was sputtering and smoking as Jurgis rushed up the ladder. He -could make out dimly in one corner a pallet of rags and old blankets, spread -upon the floor; at the foot of it was a crucifix, and near it a priest -muttering a prayer. In a far corner crouched Elzbieta, moaning and wailing. -Upon the pallet lay Ona. -</p> - -<p> -She was covered with a blanket, but he could see her shoulders and one arm -lying bare; she was so shrunken he would scarcely have known her—she was -all but a skeleton, and as white as a piece of chalk. Her eyelids were closed, -and she lay still as death. He staggered toward her and fell upon his knees -with a cry of anguish: “Ona! Ona!” -</p> - -<p> -She did not stir. He caught her hand in his, and began to clasp it frantically, -calling: “Look at me! Answer me! It is Jurgis come back—don’t -you hear me?” -</p> - -<p> -There was the faintest quivering of the eyelids, and he called again in frenzy: -“Ona! Ona!” -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly her eyes opened one instant. One instant she looked at -him—there was a flash of recognition between them, he saw her afar off, -as through a dim vista, standing forlorn. He stretched out his arms to her, he -called her in wild despair; a fearful yearning surged up in him, hunger for her -that was agony, desire that was a new being born within him, tearing his -heartstrings, torturing him. But it was all in vain—she faded from him, -she slipped back and was gone. And a wail of anguish burst from him, great sobs -shook all his frame, and hot tears ran down his cheeks and fell upon her. He -clutched her hands, he shook her, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to -him but she lay cold and still—she was gone—she was gone! -</p> - -<p> -The word rang through him like the sound of a bell, echoing in the far depths -of him, making forgotten chords to vibrate, old shadowy fears to -stir—fears of the dark, fears of the void, fears of annihilation. She was -dead! She was dead! He would never see her again, never hear her again! An icy -horror of loneliness seized him; he saw himself standing apart and watching all -the world fade away from him—a world of shadows, of fickle dreams. He was -like a little child, in his fright and grief; he called and called, and got no -answer, and his cries of despair echoed through the house, making the women -downstairs draw nearer to each other in fear. He was inconsolable, beside -himself—the priest came and laid his hand upon his shoulder and whispered -to him, but he heard not a sound. He was gone away himself, stumbling through -the shadows, and groping after the soul that had fled. -</p> - -<p> -So he lay. The gray dawn came up and crept into the attic. The priest left, the -women left, and he was alone with the still, white figure—quieter now, -but moaning and shuddering, wrestling with the grisly fiend. Now and then he -would raise himself and stare at the white mask before him, then hide his eyes -because he could not bear it. Dead! <i>dead!</i> And she was only a girl, she -was barely eighteen! Her life had hardly begun—and here she lay -murdered—mangled, tortured to death! -</p> - -<p> -It was morning when he rose up and came down into the kitchen—haggard and -ashen gray, reeling and dazed. More of the neighbors had come in, and they -stared at him in silence as he sank down upon a chair by the table and buried -his face in his arms. -</p> - -<p> -A few minutes later the front door opened; a blast of cold and snow rushed in, -and behind it little Kotrina, breathless from running, and blue with the cold. -“I’m home again!” she exclaimed. “I could -hardly—” -</p> - -<p> -And then, seeing Jurgis, she stopped with an exclamation. Looking from one to -another she saw that something had happened, and she asked, in a lower voice: -“What’s the matter?” -</p> - -<p> -Before anyone could reply, Jurgis started up; he went toward her, walking -unsteadily. “Where have you been?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Selling papers with the boys,” she said. “The -snow—” -</p> - -<p> -“Have you any money?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“How much?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nearly three dollars, Jurgis.” -</p> - -<p> -“Give it to me.” -</p> - -<p> -Kotrina, frightened by his manner, glanced at the others. “Give it to -me!” he commanded again, and she put her hand into her pocket and pulled -out a lump of coins tied in a bit of rag. Jurgis took it without a word, and -went out of the door and down the street. -</p> - -<p> -Three doors away was a saloon. “Whisky,” he said, as he entered, -and as the man pushed him some, he tore at the rag with his teeth and pulled -out half a dollar. “How much is the bottle?” he said. “I want -to get drunk.” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> - -<p> -But a big man cannot stay drunk very long on three dollars. That was Sunday -morning, and Monday night Jurgis came home, sober and sick, realizing that he -had spent every cent the family owned, and had not bought a single -instant’s forgetfulness with it. -</p> - -<p> -Ona was not yet buried; but the police had been notified, and on the morrow -they would put the body in a pine coffin and take it to the potter’s -field. Elzbieta was out begging now, a few pennies from each of the neighbors, -to get enough to pay for a mass for her; and the children were upstairs -starving to death, while he, good-for-nothing rascal, had been spending their -money on drink. So spoke Aniele, scornfully, and when he started toward the -fire she added the information that her kitchen was no longer for him to fill -with his phosphate stinks. She had crowded all her boarders into one room on -Ona’s account, but now he could go up in the garret where he -belonged—and not there much longer, either, if he did not pay her some -rent. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went without a word, and, stepping over half a dozen sleeping boarders -in the next room, ascended the ladder. It was dark up above; they could not -afford any light; also it was nearly as cold as outdoors. In a corner, as far -away from the corpse as possible, sat Marija, holding little Antanas in her one -good arm and trying to soothe him to sleep. In another corner crouched poor -little Juozapas, wailing because he had had nothing to eat all day. Marija said -not a word to Jurgis; he crept in like a whipped cur, and went and sat down by -the body. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps he ought to have meditated upon the hunger of the children, and upon -his own baseness; but he thought only of Ona, he gave himself up again to the -luxury of grief. He shed no tears, being ashamed to make a sound; he sat -motionless and shuddering with his anguish. He had never dreamed how much he -loved Ona, until now that she was gone; until now that he sat here, knowing -that on the morrow they would take her away, and that he would never lay eyes -upon her again—never all the days of his life. His old love, which had -been starved to death, beaten to death, awoke in him again; the floodgates of -memory were lifted—he saw all their life together, saw her as he had seen -her in Lithuania, the first day at the fair, beautiful as the flowers, singing -like a bird. He saw her as he had married her, with all her tenderness, with -her heart of wonder; the very words she had spoken seemed to ring now in his -ears, the tears she had shed to be wet upon his cheek. The long, cruel battle -with misery and hunger had hardened and embittered him, but it had not changed -her—she had been the same hungry soul to the end, stretching out her arms -to him, pleading with him, begging him for love and tenderness. And she had -suffered—so cruelly she had suffered, such agonies, such -infamies—ah, God, the memory of them was not to be borne. What a monster -of wickedness, of heartlessness, he had been! Every angry word that he had ever -spoken came back to him and cut him like a knife; every selfish act that he had -done—with what torments he paid for them now! And such devotion and awe -as welled up in his soul—now that it could never be spoken, now that it -was too late, too late! His bosom-was choking with it, bursting with it; he -crouched here in the darkness beside her, stretching out his arms to -her—and she was gone forever, she was dead! He could have screamed aloud -with the horror and despair of it; a sweat of agony beaded his forehead, yet he -dared not make a sound—he scarcely dared to breathe, because of his shame -and loathing of himself. -</p> - -<p> -Late at night came Elzbieta, having gotten the money for a mass, and paid for -it in advance, lest she should be tempted too sorely at home. She brought also -a bit of stale rye bread that some one had given her, and with that they -quieted the children and got them to sleep. Then she came over to Jurgis and -sat down beside him. -</p> - -<p> -She said not a word of reproach—she and Marija had chosen that course -before; she would only plead with him, here by the corpse of his dead wife. -Already Elzbieta had choked down her tears, grief being crowded out of her soul -by fear. She had to bury one of her children—but then she had done it -three times before, and each time risen up and gone back to take up the battle -for the rest. Elzbieta was one of the primitive creatures: like the angleworm, -which goes on living though cut in half; like a hen, which, deprived of her -chickens one by one, will mother the last that is left her. She did this -because it was her nature—she asked no questions about the justice of it, -nor the worth-whileness of life in which destruction and death ran riot. -</p> - -<p> -And this old common-sense view she labored to impress upon Jurgis, pleading -with him with tears in her eyes. Ona was dead, but the others were left and -they must be saved. She did not ask for her own children. She and Marija could -care for them somehow, but there was Antanas, his own son. Ona had given -Antanas to him—the little fellow was the only remembrance of her that he -had; he must treasure it and protect it, he must show himself a man. He knew -what Ona would have had him do, what she would ask of him at this moment, if -she could speak to him. It was a terrible thing that she should have died as -she had; but the life had been too hard for her, and she had to go. It was -terrible that they were not able to bury her, that he could not even have a day -to mourn her—but so it was. Their fate was pressing; they had not a cent, -and the children would perish—some money must be had. Could he not be a -man for Ona’s sake, and pull himself together? In a little while they -would be out of danger—now that they had given up the house they could -live more cheaply, and with all the children working they could get along, if -only he would not go to pieces. So Elzbieta went on, with feverish intensity. -It was a struggle for life with her; she was not afraid that Jurgis would go on -drinking, for he had no money for that, but she was wild with dread at the -thought that he might desert them, might take to the road, as Jonas had done. -</p> - -<p> -But with Ona’s dead body beneath his eyes, Jurgis could not well think of -treason to his child. Yes, he said, he would try, for the sake of Antanas. He -would give the little fellow his chance—would get to work at once, yes, -tomorrow, without even waiting for Ona to be buried. They might trust him, he -would keep his word, come what might. -</p> - -<p> -And so he was out before daylight the next morning, headache, heartache, and -all. He went straight to Graham’s fertilizer mill, to see if he could get -back his job. But the boss shook his head when he saw him—no, his place -had been filled long ago, and there was no room for him. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you think there will be?” Jurgis asked. “I may have to -wait.” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said the other, “it will not be worth your while to -wait—there will be nothing for you here.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis stood gazing at him in perplexity. “What is the matter?” he -asked. “Didn’t I do my work?” -</p> - -<p> -The other met his look with one of cold indifference, and answered, -“There will be nothing for you here, I said.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had his suspicions as to the dreadful meaning of that incident, and he -went away with a sinking at the heart. He went and took his stand with the mob -of hungry wretches who were standing about in the snow before the time station. -Here he stayed, breakfastless, for two hours, until the throng was driven away -by the clubs of the police. There was no work for him that day. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had made a good many acquaintances in his long services at the -yards—there were saloonkeepers who would trust him for a drink and a -sandwich, and members of his old union who would lend him a dime at a pinch. It -was not a question of life and death for him, therefore; he might hunt all day, -and come again on the morrow, and try hanging on thus for weeks, like hundreds -and thousands of others. Meantime, Teta Elzbieta would go and beg, over in the -Hyde Park district, and the children would bring home enough to pacify Aniele, -and keep them all alive. -</p> - -<p> -It was at the end of a week of this sort of waiting, roaming about in the -bitter winds or loafing in saloons, that Jurgis stumbled on a chance in one of -the cellars of Jones’s big packing plant. He saw a foreman passing the -open doorway, and hailed him for a job. -</p> - -<p> -“Push a truck?” inquired the man, and Jurgis answered, “Yes, -sir!” before the words were well out of his mouth. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s your name?” demanded the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Jurgis Rudkus.” -</p> - -<p> -“Worked in the yards before?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes.” -</p> - -<p> -“Whereabouts?” -</p> - -<p> -“Two places—Brown’s killing beds and Durham’s -fertilizer mill.” -</p> - -<p> -“Why did you leave there?” -</p> - -<p> -“The first time I had an accident, and the last time I was sent up for a -month.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see. Well, I’ll give you a trial. Come early tomorrow and ask -for Mr. Thomas.” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis rushed home with the wild tidings that he had a job—that the -terrible siege was over. The remnants of the family had quite a celebration -that night; and in the morning Jurgis was at the place half an hour before the -time of opening. The foreman came in shortly afterward, and when he saw Jurgis -he frowned. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh,” he said, “I promised you a job, didn’t I?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I’m sorry, but I made a mistake. I can’t use -you.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis stared, dumfounded. “What’s the matter?” he gasped. -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing,” said the man, “only I can’t use you.” -</p> - -<p> -There was the same cold, hostile stare that he had had from the boss of the -fertilizer mill. He knew that there was no use in saying a word, and he turned -and went away. -</p> - -<p> -Out in the saloons the men could tell him all about the meaning of it; they -gazed at him with pitying eyes—poor devil, he was blacklisted! What had -he done? they asked—knocked down his boss? Good heavens, then he might -have known! Why, he stood as much chance of getting a job in Packingtown as of -being chosen mayor of Chicago. Why had he wasted his time hunting? They had him -on a secret list in every office, big and little, in the place. They had his -name by this time in St. Louis and New York, in Omaha and Boston, in Kansas -City and St. Joseph. He was condemned and sentenced, without trial and without -appeal; he could never work for the packers again—he could not even clean -cattle pens or drive a truck in any place where they controlled. He might try -it, if he chose, as hundreds had tried it, and found out for themselves. He -would never be told anything about it; he would never get any more satisfaction -than he had gotten just now; but he would always find when the time came that -he was not needed. It would not do for him to give any other name, -either—they had company “spotters” for just that purpose, and -he wouldn’t keep a job in Packingtown three days. It was worth a fortune -to the packers to keep their blacklist effective, as a warning to the men and a -means of keeping down union agitation and political discontent. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went home, carrying these new tidings to the family council. It was a -most cruel thing; here in this district was his home, such as it was, the place -he was used to and the friends he knew—and now every possibility of -employment in it was closed to him. There was nothing in Packingtown but -packing houses; and so it was the same thing as evicting him from his home. -</p> - -<p> -He and the two women spent all day and half the night discussing it. It would -be convenient, downtown, to the children’s place of work; but then Marija -was on the road to recovery, and had hopes of getting a job in the yards; and -though she did not see her old-time lover once a month, because of the misery -of their state, yet she could not make up her mind to go away and give him up -forever. Then, too, Elzbieta had heard something about a chance to scrub floors -in Durham’s offices and was waiting every day for word. In the end it was -decided that Jurgis should go downtown to strike out for himself, and they -would decide after he got a job. As there was no one from whom he could borrow -there, and he dared not beg for fear of being arrested, it was arranged that -every day he should meet one of the children and be given fifteen cents of -their earnings, upon which he could keep going. Then all day he was to pace the -streets with hundreds and thousands of other homeless wretches inquiring at -stores, warehouses, and factories for a chance; and at night he was to crawl -into some doorway or underneath a truck, and hide there until midnight, when he -might get into one of the station houses, and spread a newspaper upon the -floor, and lie down in the midst of a throng of “bums” and beggars, -reeking with alcohol and tobacco, and filthy with vermin and disease. -</p> - -<p> -So for two weeks more Jurgis fought with the demon of despair. Once he got a -chance to load a truck for half a day, and again he carried an old -woman’s valise and was given a quarter. This let him into a lodging-house -on several nights when he might otherwise have frozen to death; and it also -gave him a chance now and then to buy a newspaper in the morning and hunt up -jobs while his rivals were watching and waiting for a paper to be thrown away. -This, however, was really not the advantage it seemed, for the newspaper -advertisements were a cause of much loss of precious time and of many weary -journeys. A full half of these were “fakes,” put in by the endless -variety of establishments which preyed upon the helpless ignorance of the -unemployed. If Jurgis lost only his time, it was because he had nothing else to -lose; whenever a smooth-tongued agent would tell him of the wonderful positions -he had on hand, he could only shake his head sorrowfully and say that he had -not the necessary dollar to deposit; when it was explained to him what -“big money” he and all his family could make by coloring -photographs, he could only promise to come in again when he had two dollars to -invest in the outfit. -</p> - -<p> -In the end Jurgis got a chance through an accidental meeting with an old-time -acquaintance of his union days. He met this man on his way to work in the giant -factories of the Harvester Trust; and his friend told him to come along and he -would speak a good word for him to his boss, whom he knew well. So Jurgis -trudged four or five miles, and passed through a waiting throng of unemployed -at the gate under the escort of his friend. His knees nearly gave way beneath -him when the foreman, after looking him over and questioning him, told him that -he could find an opening for him. -</p> - -<p> -How much this accident meant to Jurgis he realized only by stages; for he found -that the harvester works were the sort of place to which philanthropists and -reformers pointed with pride. It had some thought for its employees; its -workshops were big and roomy, it provided a restaurant where the workmen could -buy good food at cost, it had even a reading room, and decent places where its -girl-hands could rest; also the work was free from many of the elements of -filth and repulsiveness that prevailed at the stockyards. Day after day Jurgis -discovered these things—things never expected nor dreamed of by -him—until this new place came to seem a kind of a heaven to him. -</p> - -<p> -It was an enormous establishment, covering a hundred and sixty acres of ground, -employing five thousand people, and turning out over three hundred thousand -machines every year—a good part of all the harvesting and mowing machines -used in the country. Jurgis saw very little of it, of course—it was all -specialized work, the same as at the stockyards; each one of the hundreds of -parts of a mowing machine was made separately, and sometimes handled by -hundreds of men. Where Jurgis worked there was a machine which cut and stamped -a certain piece of steel about two square inches in size; the pieces came -tumbling out upon a tray, and all that human hands had to do was to pile them -in regular rows, and change the trays at intervals. This was done by a single -boy, who stood with eyes and thought centered upon it, and fingers flying so -fast that the sounds of the bits of steel striking upon each other was like the -music of an express train as one hears it in a sleeping car at night. This was -“piece-work,” of course; and besides it was made certain that the -boy did not idle, by setting the machine to match the highest possible speed of -human hands. Thirty thousand of these pieces he handled every day, nine or ten -million every year—how many in a lifetime it rested with the gods to say. -Near by him men sat bending over whirling grindstones, putting the finishing -touches to the steel knives of the reaper; picking them out of a basket with -the right hand, pressing first one side and then the other against the stone -and finally dropping them with the left hand into another basket. One of these -men told Jurgis that he had sharpened three thousand pieces of steel a day for -thirteen years. In the next room were wonderful machines that ate up long steel -rods by slow stages, cutting them off, seizing the pieces, stamping heads upon -them, grinding them and polishing them, threading them, and finally dropping -them into a basket, all ready to bolt the harvesters together. From yet another -machine came tens of thousands of steel burs to fit upon these bolts. In other -places all these various parts were dipped into troughs of paint and hung up to -dry, and then slid along on trolleys to a room where men streaked them with red -and yellow, so that they might look cheerful in the harvest fields. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis’s friend worked upstairs in the casting rooms, and his task was to -make the molds of a certain part. He shoveled black sand into an iron -receptacle and pounded it tight and set it aside to harden; then it would be -taken out, and molten iron poured into it. This man, too, was paid by the -mold—or rather for perfect castings, nearly half his work going for -naught. You might see him, along with dozens of others, toiling like one -possessed by a whole community of demons; his arms working like the driving -rods of an engine, his long, black hair flying wild, his eyes starting out, the -sweat rolling in rivers down his face. When he had shoveled the mold full of -sand, and reached for the pounder to pound it with, it was after the manner of -a canoeist running rapids and seizing a pole at sight of a submerged rock. All -day long this man would toil thus, his whole being centered upon the purpose of -making twenty-three instead of twenty-two and a half cents an hour; and then -his product would be reckoned up by the census taker, and jubilant captains of -industry would boast of it in their banquet halls, telling how our workers are -nearly twice as efficient as those of any other country. If we are the greatest -nation the sun ever shone upon, it would seem to be mainly because we have been -able to goad our wage-earners to this pitch of frenzy; though there are a few -other things that are great among us including our drink-bill, which is a -billion and a quarter of dollars a year, and doubling itself every decade. -</p> - -<p> -There was a machine which stamped out the iron plates, and then another which, -with a mighty thud, mashed them to the shape of the sitting-down portion of the -American farmer. Then they were piled upon a truck, and it was Jurgis’s -task to wheel them to the room where the machines were “assembled.” -This was child’s play for him, and he got a dollar and seventy-five cents -a day for it; on Saturday he paid Aniele the seventy-five cents a week he owed -her for the use of her garret, and also redeemed his overcoat, which Elzbieta -had put in pawn when he was in jail. -</p> - -<p> -This last was a great blessing. A man cannot go about in midwinter in Chicago -with no overcoat and not pay for it, and Jurgis had to walk or ride five or six -miles back and forth to his work. It so happened that half of this was in one -direction and half in another, necessitating a change of cars; the law required -that transfers be given at all intersecting points, but the railway corporation -had gotten round this by arranging a pretense at separate ownership. So -whenever he wished to ride, he had to pay ten cents each way, or over ten per -cent of his income to this power, which had gotten its franchises long ago by -buying up the city council, in the face of popular clamor amounting almost to a -rebellion. Tired as he felt at night, and dark and bitter cold as it was in the -morning, Jurgis generally chose to walk; at the hours other workmen were -traveling, the streetcar monopoly saw fit to put on so few cars that there -would be men hanging to every foot of the backs of them and often crouching -upon the snow-covered roof. Of course the doors could never be closed, and so -the cars were as cold as outdoors; Jurgis, like many others, found it better to -spend his fare for a drink and a free lunch, to give him strength to walk. -</p> - -<p> -These, however, were all slight matters to a man who had escaped from -Durham’s fertilizer mill. Jurgis began to pick up heart again and to make -plans. He had lost his house but then the awful load of the rent and interest -was off his shoulders, and when Marija was well again they could start over and -save. In the shop where he worked was a man, a Lithuanian like himself, whom -the others spoke of in admiring whispers, because of the mighty feats he was -performing. All day he sat at a machine turning bolts; and then in the evening -he went to the public school to study English and learn to read. In addition, -because he had a family of eight children to support and his earnings were not -enough, on Saturdays and Sundays he served as a watchman; he was required to -press two buttons at opposite ends of a building every five minutes, and as the -walk only took him two minutes, he had three minutes to study between each -trip. Jurgis felt jealous of this fellow; for that was the sort of thing he -himself had dreamed of, two or three years ago. He might do it even yet, if he -had a fair chance—he might attract attention and become a skilled man or -a boss, as some had done in this place. Suppose that Marija could get a job in -the big mill where they made binder twine—then they would move into this -neighborhood, and he would really have a chance. With a hope like that, there -was some use in living; to find a place where you were treated like a human -being—by God! he would show them how he could appreciate it. He laughed -to himself as he thought how he would hang on to this job! -</p> - -<p> -And then one afternoon, the ninth of his work in the place, when he went to get -his overcoat he saw a group of men crowded before a placard on the door, and -when he went over and asked what it was, they told him that beginning with the -morrow his department of the harvester works would be closed until further -notice! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> - -<p> -That was the way they did it! There was not half an hour’s -warning—the works were closed! It had happened that way before, said the -men, and it would happen that way forever. They had made all the harvesting -machines that the world needed, and now they had to wait till some wore out! It -was nobody’s fault—that was the way of it; and thousands of men and -women were turned out in the dead of winter, to live upon their savings if they -had any, and otherwise to die. So many tens of thousands already in the city, -homeless and begging for work, and now several thousand more added to them! -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis walked home-with his pittance of pay in his pocket, heartbroken, -overwhelmed. One more bandage had been torn from his eyes, one more pitfall was -revealed to him! Of what help was kindness and decency on the part of -employers—when they could not keep a job for him, when there were more -harvesting machines made than the world was able to buy! What a hellish mockery -it was, anyway, that a man should slave to make harvesting machines for the -country, only to be turned out to starve for doing his duty too well! -</p> - -<p> -It took him two days to get over this heart-sickening disappointment. He did -not drink anything, because Elzbieta got his money for safekeeping, and knew -him too well to be in the least frightened by his angry demands. He stayed up -in the garret however, and sulked—what was the use of a man’s -hunting a job when it was taken from him before he had time to learn the work? -But then their money was going again, and little Antanas was hungry, and crying -with the bitter cold of the garret. Also Madame Haupt, the midwife, was after -him for some money. So he went out once more. -</p> - -<p> -For another ten days he roamed the streets and alleys of the huge city, sick -and hungry, begging for any work. He tried in stores and offices, in -restaurants and hotels, along the docks and in the railroad yards, in -warehouses and mills and factories where they made products that went to every -corner of the world. There were often one or two chances—but there were -always a hundred men for every chance, and his turn would not come. At night he -crept into sheds and cellars and doorways—until there came a spell of -belated winter weather, with a raging gale, and the thermometer five degrees -below zero at sundown and falling all night. Then Jurgis fought like a wild -beast to get into the big Harrison Street police station, and slept down in a -corridor, crowded with two other men upon a single step. -</p> - -<p> -He had to fight often in these days to fight for a place near the factory -gates, and now and again with gangs on the street. He found, for instance, that -the business of carrying satchels for railroad passengers was a pre-empted -one—whenever he essayed it, eight or ten men and boys would fall upon him -and force him to run for his life. They always had the policeman -“squared,” and so there was no use in expecting protection. -</p> - -<p> -That Jurgis did not starve to death was due solely to the pittance the children -brought him. And even this was never certain. For one thing the cold was almost -more than the children could bear; and then they, too, were in perpetual peril -from rivals who plundered and beat them. The law was against them, -too—little Vilimas, who was really eleven, but did not look to be eight, -was stopped on the streets by a severe old lady in spectacles, who told him -that he was too young to be working and that if he did not stop selling papers -she would send a truant officer after him. Also one night a strange man caught -little Kotrina by the arm and tried to persuade her into a dark cellar-way, an -experience which filled her with such terror that she was hardly to be kept at -work. -</p> - -<p> -At last, on a Sunday, as there was no use looking for work, Jurgis went home by -stealing rides on the cars. He found that they had been waiting for him for -three days—there was a chance of a job for him. -</p> - -<p> -It was quite a story. Little Juozapas, who was near crazy with hunger these -days, had gone out on the street to beg for himself. Juozapas had only one leg, -having been run over by a wagon when a little child, but he had got himself a -broomstick, which he put under his arm for a crutch. He had fallen in with some -other children and found the way to Mike Scully’s dump, which lay three -or four blocks away. To this place there came every day many hundreds of -wagon-loads of garbage and trash from the lake front, where the rich people -lived; and in the heaps the children raked for food—there were hunks of -bread and potato peelings and apple cores and meat bones, all of it half frozen -and quite unspoiled. Little Juozapas gorged himself, and came home with a -newspaper full, which he was feeding to Antanas when his mother came in. -Elzbieta was horrified, for she did not believe that the food out of the dumps -was fit to eat. The next day, however, when no harm came of it and Juozapas -began to cry with hunger, she gave in and said that he might go again. And that -afternoon he came home with a story of how while he had been digging away with -a stick, a lady upon the street had called him. A real fine lady, the little -boy explained, a beautiful lady; and she wanted to know all about him, and -whether he got the garbage for chickens, and why he walked with a broomstick, -and why Ona had died, and how Jurgis had come to go to jail, and what was the -matter with Marija, and everything. In the end she had asked where he lived, -and said that she was coming to see him, and bring him a new crutch to walk -with. She had on a hat with a bird upon it, Juozapas added, and a long fur -snake around her neck. -</p> - -<p> -She really came, the very next morning, and climbed the ladder to the garret, -and stood and stared about her, turning pale at the sight of the blood stains -on the floor where Ona had died. She was a “settlement worker,” she -explained to Elzbieta—she lived around on Ashland Avenue. Elzbieta knew -the place, over a feed store; somebody had wanted her to go there, but she had -not cared to, for she thought that it must have something to do with religion, -and the priest did not like her to have anything to do with strange religions. -They were rich people who came to live there to find out about the poor people; -but what good they expected it would do them to know, one could not imagine. So -spoke Elzbieta, naïvely, and the young lady laughed and was rather at a loss -for an answer—she stood and gazed about her, and thought of a cynical -remark that had been made to her, that she was standing upon the brink of the -pit of hell and throwing in snowballs to lower the temperature. -</p> - -<p> -Elzbieta was glad to have somebody to listen, and she told all their -woes—what had happened to Ona, and the jail, and the loss of their home, -and Marija’s accident, and how Ona had died, and how Jurgis could get no -work. As she listened the pretty young lady’s eyes filled with tears, and -in the midst of it she burst into weeping and hid her face on Elzbieta’s -shoulder, quite regardless of the fact that the woman had on a dirty old -wrapper and that the garret was full of fleas. Poor Elzbieta was ashamed of -herself for having told so woeful a tale, and the other had to beg and plead -with her to get her to go on. The end of it was that the young lady sent them a -basket of things to eat, and left a letter that Jurgis was to take to a -gentleman who was superintendent in one of the mills of the great steelworks in -South Chicago. “He will get Jurgis something to do,” the young lady -had said, and added, smiling through her tears—“If he -doesn’t, he will never marry me.” -</p> - -<p> -The steel-works were fifteen miles away, and as usual it was so contrived that -one had to pay two fares to get there. Far and wide the sky was flaring with -the red glare that leaped from rows of towering chimneys—for it was pitch -dark when Jurgis arrived. The vast works, a city in themselves, were surrounded -by a stockade; and already a full hundred men were waiting at the gate where -new hands were taken on. Soon after daybreak whistles began to blow, and then -suddenly thousands of men appeared, streaming from saloons and boardinghouses -across the way, leaping from trolley cars that passed—it seemed as if -they rose out of the ground, in the dim gray light. A river of them poured in -through the gate—and then gradually ebbed away again, until there were -only a few late ones running, and the watchman pacing up and down, and the -hungry strangers stamping and shivering. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis presented his precious letter. The gatekeeper was surly, and put him -through a catechism, but he insisted that he knew nothing, and as he had taken -the precaution to seal his letter, there was nothing for the gatekeeper to do -but send it to the person to whom it was addressed. A messenger came back to -say that Jurgis should wait, and so he came inside of the gate, perhaps not -sorry enough that there were others less fortunate watching him with greedy -eyes. The great mills were getting under way—one could hear a vast -stirring, a rolling and rumbling and hammering. Little by little the scene grew -plain: towering, black buildings here and there, long rows of shops and sheds, -little railways branching everywhere, bare gray cinders underfoot and oceans of -billowing black smoke above. On one side of the grounds ran a railroad with a -dozen tracks, and on the other side lay the lake, where steamers came to load. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had time enough to stare and speculate, for it was two hours before he -was summoned. He went into the office building, where a company timekeeper -interviewed him. The superintendent was busy, he said, but he (the timekeeper) -would try to find Jurgis a job. He had never worked in a steel mill before? But -he was ready for anything? Well, then, they would go and see. -</p> - -<p> -So they began a tour, among sights that made Jurgis stare amazed. He wondered -if ever he could get used to working in a place like this, where the air shook -with deafening thunder, and whistles shrieked warnings on all sides of him at -once; where miniature steam engines came rushing upon him, and sizzling, -quivering, white-hot masses of metal sped past him, and explosions of fire and -flaming sparks dazzled him and scorched his face. The men in these mills were -all black with soot, and hollow-eyed and gaunt; they worked with fierce -intensity, rushing here and there, and never lifting their eyes from their -tasks. Jurgis clung to his guide like a scared child to its nurse, and while -the latter hailed one foreman after another to ask if they could use another -unskilled man, he stared about him and marveled. -</p> - -<p> -He was taken to the Bessemer furnace, where they made billets of steel—a -dome-like building, the size of a big theater. Jurgis stood where the balcony -of the theater would have been, and opposite, by the stage, he saw three giant -caldrons, big enough for all the devils of hell to brew their broth in, full of -something white and blinding, bubbling and splashing, roaring as if volcanoes -were blowing through it—one had to shout to be heard in the place. Liquid -fire would leap from these caldrons and scatter like bombs below—and men -were working there, seeming careless, so that Jurgis caught his breath with -fright. Then a whistle would toot, and across the curtain of the theater would -come a little engine with a carload of something to be dumped into one of the -receptacles; and then another whistle would toot, down by the stage, and -another train would back up—and suddenly, without an instant’s -warning, one of the giant kettles began to tilt and topple, flinging out a jet -of hissing, roaring flame. Jurgis shrank back appalled, for he thought it was -an accident; there fell a pillar of white flame, dazzling as the sun, swishing -like a huge tree falling in the forest. A torrent of sparks swept all the way -across the building, overwhelming everything, hiding it from sight; and then -Jurgis looked through the fingers of his hands, and saw pouring out of the -caldron a cascade of living, leaping fire, white with a whiteness not of earth, -scorching the eyeballs. Incandescent rainbows shone above it, blue, red, and -golden lights played about it; but the stream itself was white, ineffable. Out -of regions of wonder it streamed, the very river of life; and the soul leaped -up at the sight of it, fled back upon it, swift and resistless, back into -far-off lands, where beauty and terror dwell. Then the great caldron tilted -back again, empty, and Jurgis saw to his relief that no one was hurt, and -turned and followed his guide out into the sunlight. -</p> - -<p> -They went through the blast furnaces, through rolling mills where bars of steel -were tossed about and chopped like bits of cheese. All around and above giant -machine arms were flying, giant wheels were turning, great hammers crashing; -traveling cranes creaked and groaned overhead, reaching down iron hands and -seizing iron prey—it was like standing in the center of the earth, where -the machinery of time was revolving. -</p> - -<p> -By and by they came to the place where steel rails were made; and Jurgis heard -a toot behind him, and jumped out of the way of a car with a white-hot ingot -upon it, the size of a man’s body. There was a sudden crash and the car -came to a halt, and the ingot toppled out upon a moving platform, where steel -fingers and arms seized hold of it, punching it and prodding it into place, and -hurrying it into the grip of huge rollers. Then it came out upon the other -side, and there were more crashings and clatterings, and over it was flopped, -like a pancake on a gridiron, and seized again and rushed back at you through -another squeezer. So amid deafening uproar it clattered to and fro, growing -thinner and flatter and longer. The ingot seemed almost a living thing; it did -not want to run this mad course, but it was in the grip of fate, it was tumbled -on, screeching and clanking and shivering in protest. By and by it was long and -thin, a great red snake escaped from purgatory; and then, as it slid through -the rollers, you would have sworn that it was alive—it writhed and -squirmed, and wriggles and shudders passed out through its tail, all but -flinging it off by their violence. There was no rest for it until it was cold -and black—and then it needed only to be cut and straightened to be ready -for a railroad. -</p> - -<p> -It was at the end of this rail’s progress that Jurgis got his chance. -They had to be moved by men with crowbars, and the boss here could use another -man. So he took off his coat and set to work on the spot. -</p> - -<p> -It took him two hours to get to this place every day and cost him a dollar and -twenty cents a week. As this was out of the question, he wrapped his bedding in -a bundle and took it with him, and one of his fellow workingmen introduced him -to a Polish lodging-house, where he might have the privilege of sleeping upon -the floor for ten cents a night. He got his meals at free-lunch counters, and -every Saturday night he went home—bedding and all—and took the -greater part of his money to the family. Elzbieta was sorry for this -arrangement, for she feared that it would get him into the habit of living -without them, and once a week was not very often for him to see his baby; but -there was no other way of arranging it. There was no chance for a woman at the -steelworks, and Marija was now ready for work again, and lured on from day to -day by the hope of finding it at the yards. -</p> - -<p> -In a week Jurgis got over his sense of helplessness and bewilderment in the -rail mill. He learned to find his way about and to take all the miracles and -terrors for granted, to work without hearing the rumbling and crashing. From -blind fear he went to the other extreme; he became reckless and indifferent, -like all the rest of the men, who took but little thought of themselves in the -ardor of their work. It was wonderful, when one came to think of it, that these -men should have taken an interest in the work they did—they had no share -in it—they were paid by the hour, and paid no more for being interested. -Also they knew that if they were hurt they would be flung aside and -forgotten—and still they would hurry to their task by dangerous short -cuts, would use methods that were quicker and more effective in spite of the -fact that they were also risky. His fourth day at his work Jurgis saw a man -stumble while running in front of a car, and have his foot mashed off, and -before he had been there three weeks he was witness of a yet more dreadful -accident. There was a row of brick furnaces, shining white through every crack -with the molten steel inside. Some of these were bulging dangerously, yet men -worked before them, wearing blue glasses when they opened and shut the doors. -One morning as Jurgis was passing, a furnace blew out, spraying two men with a -shower of liquid fire. As they lay screaming and rolling upon the ground in -agony, Jurgis rushed to help them, and as a result he lost a good part of the -skin from the inside of one of his hands. The company doctor bandaged it up, -but he got no other thanks from any one, and was laid up for eight working days -without any pay. -</p> - -<p> -Most fortunately, at this juncture, Elzbieta got the long-awaited chance to go -at five o’clock in the morning and help scrub the office floors of one of -the packers. Jurgis came home and covered himself with blankets to keep warm, -and divided his time between sleeping and playing with little Antanas. Juozapas -was away raking in the dump a good part of the time, and Elzbieta and Marija -were hunting for more work. -</p> - -<p> -Antanas was now over a year and a half old, and was a perfect talking machine. -He learned so fast that every week when Jurgis came home it seemed to him as if -he had a new child. He would sit down and listen and stare at him, and give -vent to delighted exclamations—“<i>Palauk! Muma! Tu mano -szirdele!</i>” The little fellow was now really the one delight that Jurgis -had in the world—his one hope, his one victory. Thank God, Antanas was a -boy! And he was as tough as a pine knot, and with the appetite of a wolf. -Nothing had hurt him, and nothing could hurt him; he had come through all the -suffering and deprivation unscathed—only shriller-voiced and more -determined in his grip upon life. He was a terrible child to manage, was -Antanas, but his father did not mind that—he would watch him and smile to -himself with satisfaction. The more of a fighter he was the better—he -would need to fight before he got through. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had got the habit of buying the Sunday paper whenever he had the money; -a most wonderful paper could be had for only five cents, a whole armful, with -all the news of the world set forth in big headlines, that Jurgis could spell -out slowly, with the children to help him at the long words. There was battle -and murder and sudden death—it was marvelous how they ever heard about so -many entertaining and thrilling happenings; the stories must be all true, for -surely no man could have made such things up, and besides, there were pictures -of them all, as real as life. One of these papers was as good as a circus, and -nearly as good as a spree—certainly a most wonderful treat for a -workingman, who was tired out and stupefied, and had never had any education, -and whose work was one dull, sordid grind, day after day, and year after year, -with never a sight of a green field nor an hour’s entertainment, nor -anything but liquor to stimulate his imagination. Among other things, these -papers had pages full of comical pictures, and these were the main joy in life -to little Antanas. He treasured them up, and would drag them out and make his -father tell him about them; there were all sorts of animals among them, and -Antanas could tell the names of all of them, lying upon the floor for hours and -pointing them out with his chubby little fingers. Whenever the story was plain -enough for Jurgis to make out, Antanas would have it repeated to him, and then -he would remember it, prattling funny little sentences and mixing it up with -other stories in an irresistible fashion. Also his quaint pronunciation of -words was such a delight—and the phrases he would pick up and remember, -the most outlandish and impossible things! The first time that the little -rascal burst out with “God damn,” his father nearly rolled off the -chair with glee; but in the end he was sorry for this, for Antanas was soon -“God-damning” everything and everybody. -</p> - -<p> -And then, when he was able to use his hands, Jurgis took his bedding again and -went back to his task of shifting rails. It was now April, and the snow had -given place to cold rains, and the unpaved street in front of Aniele’s -house was turned into a canal. Jurgis would have to wade through it to get -home, and if it was late he might easily get stuck to his waist in the mire. -But he did not mind this much—it was a promise that summer was coming. -Marija had now gotten a place as beef-trimmer in one of the smaller packing -plants; and he told himself that he had learned his lesson now, and would meet -with no more accidents—so that at last there was prospect of an end to -their long agony. They could save money again, and when another winter came -they would have a comfortable place; and the children would be off the streets -and in school again, and they might set to work to nurse back into life their -habits of decency and kindness. So once more Jurgis began to make plans and -dream dreams. -</p> - -<p> -And then one Saturday night he jumped off the car and started home, with the -sun shining low under the edge of a bank of clouds that had been pouring floods -of water into the mud-soaked street. There was a rainbow in the sky, and -another in his breast—for he had thirty-six hours’ rest before him, -and a chance to see his family. Then suddenly he came in sight of the house, -and noticed that there was a crowd before the door. He ran up the steps and -pushed his way in, and saw Aniele’s kitchen crowded with excited women. -It reminded him so vividly of the time when he had come home from jail and -found Ona dying, that his heart almost stood still. “What’s the -matter?” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -A dead silence had fallen in the room, and he saw that every one was staring at -him. “What’s the matter?” he exclaimed again. -</p> - -<p> -And then, up in the garret, he heard sounds of wailing, in Marija’s -voice. He started for the ladder—and Aniele seized him by the arm. -“No, no!” she exclaimed. “Don’t go up there!” -</p> - -<p> -“What is it?” he shouted. -</p> - -<p> -And the old woman answered him weakly: “It’s Antanas. He’s -dead. He was drowned out in the street!” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned deadly pale, but he caught -himself, and for half a minute stood in the middle of the room, clenching his -hands tightly and setting his teeth. Then he pushed Aniele aside and strode -into the next room and climbed the ladder. -</p> - -<p> -In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing beneath it; and beside it -lay Elzbieta, whether crying or in a faint, Jurgis could not tell. Marija was -pacing the room, screaming and wringing her hands. He clenched his hands -tighter yet, and his voice was hard as he spoke. -</p> - -<p> -“How did it happen?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated the question, louder and -yet more harshly. “He fell off the sidewalk!” she wailed. The -sidewalk in front of the house was a platform made of half-rotten boards, about -five feet above the level of the sunken street. -</p> - -<p> -“How did he come to be there?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“He went—he went out to play,” Marija sobbed, her voice -choking her. “We couldn’t make him stay in. He must have got caught -in the mud!” -</p> - -<p> -“Are you sure that he is dead?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Ai! ai!” she wailed. “Yes; we had the doctor.” -</p> - -<p> -Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed a tear. He took one -glance more at the blanket with the little form beneath it, and then turned -suddenly to the ladder and climbed down again. A silence fell once more in the -room as he entered. He went straight to the door, passed out, and started down -the street. -</p> - -<p> -When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, but he did not do -that now, though he had his week’s wages in his pocket. He walked and -walked, seeing nothing, splashing through mud and water. Later on he sat down -upon a step and hid his face in his hands and for half an hour or so he did not -move. Now and then he would whisper to himself: “Dead! -<i>Dead!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was about sunset, and he went on and -on until it was dark, when he was stopped by a railroad crossing. The gates -were down, and a long train of freight cars was thundering by. He stood and -watched it; and all at once a wild impulse seized him, a thought that had been -lurking within him, unspoken, unrecognized, leaped into sudden life. He started -down the track, and when he was past the gate-keeper’s shanty he sprang -forward and swung himself on to one of the cars. -</p> - -<p> -By and by the train stopped again, and Jurgis sprang down and ran under the -car, and hid himself upon the truck. Here he sat, and when the train started -again, he fought a battle with his soul. He gripped his hands and set his teeth -together—he had not wept, and he would not—not a tear! It was past -and over, and he was done with it—he would fling it off his shoulders, be -free of it, the whole business, that night. It should go like a black, hateful -nightmare, and in the morning he would be a new man. And every time that a -thought of it assailed him—a tender memory, a trace of a tear—he -rose up, cursing with rage, and pounded it down. -</p> - -<p> -He was fighting for his life; he gnashed his teeth together in his desperation. -He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted his life, he had wrecked himself, -with his accursed weakness; and now he was done with it—he would tear it -out of him, root and branch! There should be no more tears and no more -tenderness; he had had enough of them—they had sold him into slavery! Now -he was going to be free, to tear off his shackles, to rise up and fight. He was -glad that the end had come—it had to come some time, and it was just as -well now. This was no world for women and children, and the sooner they got out -of it the better for them. Whatever Antanas might suffer where he was, he could -suffer no more than he would have had he stayed upon earth. And meantime his -father had thought the last thought about him that he meant to; he was going to -think of himself, he was going to fight for himself, against the world that had -baffled him and tortured him! -</p> - -<p> -So he went on, tearing up all the flowers from the garden of his soul, and -setting his heel upon them. The train thundered deafeningly, and a storm of -dust blew in his face; but though it stopped now and then through the night, he -clung where he was—he would cling there until he was driven off, for -every mile that he got from Packingtown meant another load from his mind. -</p> - -<p> -Whenever the cars stopped a warm breeze blew upon him, a breeze laden with the -perfume of fresh fields, of honeysuckle and clover. He snuffed it, and it made -his heart beat wildly—he was out in the country again! He was going to -<i>live</i> in the country! When the dawn came he was peering out with hungry -eyes, getting glimpses of meadows and woods and rivers. At last he could stand -it no longer, and when the train stopped again he crawled out. Upon the top of -the car was a brakeman, who shook his fist and swore; Jurgis waved his hand -derisively, and started across the country. -</p> - -<p> -Only think that he had been a countryman all his life; and for three long years -he had never seen a country sight nor heard a country sound! Excepting for that -one walk when he left jail, when he was too much worried to notice anything, -and for a few times that he had rested in the city parks in the winter time -when he was out of work, he had literally never seen a tree! And now he felt -like a bird lifted up and borne away upon a gale; he stopped and stared at each -new sight of wonder—at a herd of cows, and a meadow full of daisies, at -hedgerows set thick with June roses, at little birds singing in the trees. -</p> - -<p> -Then he came to a farm-house, and after getting himself a stick for protection, -he approached it. The farmer was greasing a wagon in front of the barn, and -Jurgis went to him. “I would like to get some breakfast, please,” -he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Do you want to work?” said the farmer. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Jurgis. “I don’t.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then you can’t get anything here,” snapped the other. -</p> - -<p> -“I meant to pay for it,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Oh,” said the farmer; and then added sarcastically, “We -don’t serve breakfast after 7 A.M.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am very hungry,” said Jurgis gravely; “I would like to buy -some food.” -</p> - -<p> -“Ask the woman,” said the farmer, nodding over his shoulder. The -“woman” was more tractable, and for a dime Jurgis secured two thick -sandwiches and a piece of pie and two apples. He walked off eating the pie, as -the least convenient thing to carry. In a few minutes he came to a stream, and -he climbed a fence and walked down the bank, along a woodland path. By and by -he found a comfortable spot, and there he devoured his meal, slaking his thirst -at the stream. Then he lay for hours, just gazing and drinking in joy; until at -last he felt sleepy, and lay down in the shade of a bush. -</p> - -<p> -When he awoke the sun was shining hot in his face. He sat up and stretched his -arms, and then gazed at the water sliding by. There was a deep pool, sheltered -and silent, below him, and a sudden wonderful idea rushed upon him. He might -have a bath! The water was free, and he might get into it—all the way -into it! It would be the first time that he had been all the way into the water -since he left Lithuania! -</p> - -<p> -When Jurgis had first come to the stockyards he had been as clean as any -workingman could well be. But later on, what with sickness and cold and hunger -and discouragement, and the filthiness of his work, and the vermin in his home, -he had given up washing in winter, and in summer only as much of him as would -go into a basin. He had had a shower bath in jail, but nothing since—and -now he would have a swim! -</p> - -<p> -The water was warm, and he splashed about like a very boy in his glee. -Afterward he sat down in the water near the bank, and proceeded to scrub -himself—soberly and methodically, scouring every inch of him with sand. -While he was doing it he would do it thoroughly, and see how it felt to be -clean. He even scrubbed his head with sand, and combed what the men called -“crumbs” out of his long, black hair, holding his head under water -as long as he could, to see if he could not kill them all. Then, seeing that -the sun was still hot, he took his clothes from the bank and proceeded to wash -them, piece by piece; as the dirt and grease went floating off downstream he -grunted with satisfaction and soused the clothes again, venturing even to dream -that he might get rid of the fertilizer. -</p> - -<p> -He hung them all up, and while they were drying he lay down in the sun and had -another long sleep. They were hot and stiff as boards on top, and a little damp -on the underside, when he awakened; but being hungry, he put them on and set -out again. He had no knife, but with some labor he broke himself a good stout -club, and, armed with this, he marched down the road again. -</p> - -<p> -Before long he came to a big farmhouse, and turned up the lane that led to it. -It was just supper-time, and the farmer was washing his hands at the kitchen -door. “Please, sir,” said Jurgis, “can I have something to -eat? I can pay.” To which the farmer responded promptly, “We -don’t feed tramps here. Get out!” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went without a word; but as he passed round the barn he came to a -freshly ploughed and harrowed field, in which the farmer had set out some young -peach trees; and as he walked he jerked up a row of them by the roots, more -than a hundred trees in all, before he reached the end of the field. That was -his answer, and it showed his mood; from now on he was fighting, and the man -who hit him would get all that he gave, every time. -</p> - -<p> -Beyond the orchard Jurgis struck through a patch of woods, and then a field of -winter grain, and came at last to another road. Before long he saw another -farmhouse, and, as it was beginning to cloud over a little, he asked here for -shelter as well as food. Seeing the farmer eying him dubiously, he added, -“I’ll be glad to sleep in the barn.” -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I dunno,” said the other. “Do you smoke?” -</p> - -<p> -“Sometimes,” said Jurgis, “but I’ll do it out of -doors.” When the man had assented, he inquired, “How much will it -cost me? I haven’t very much money.” -</p> - -<p> -“I reckon about twenty cents for supper,” replied the farmer. -“I won’t charge ye for the barn.” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer’s wife and -half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal—there were baked beans and -mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped and stewed, and a dish of strawberries, -and great, thick slices of bread, and a pitcher of milk. Jurgis had not had -such a feast since his wedding day, and he made a mighty effort to put in his -twenty cents’ worth. -</p> - -<p> -They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they sat upon the steps -and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest. When Jurgis had explained that -he was a workingman from Chicago, and that he did not know just whither he was -bound, the other said, “Why don’t you stay here and work for -me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m not looking for work just now,” Jurgis answered. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ll pay ye good,” said the other, eying his big -form—“a dollar a day and board ye. Help’s terrible scarce -round here.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is that winter as well as summer?” Jurgis demanded quickly. -</p> - -<p> -“N—no,” said the farmer; “I couldn’t keep ye -after November—I ain’t got a big enough place for that.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see,” said the other, “that’s what I thought. When -you get through working your horses this fall, will you turn them out in the -snow?” (Jurgis was beginning to think for himself nowadays.) -</p> - -<p> -“It ain’t quite the same,” the farmer answered, seeing the -point. “There ought to be work a strong fellow like you can find to do, -in the cities, or some place, in the winter time.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s what they all think; and so -they crowd into the cities, and when they have to beg or steal to live, then -people ask ’em why they don’t go into the country, where help is -scarce.” The farmer meditated awhile. -</p> - -<p> -“How about when your money’s gone?” he inquired, finally. -“You’ll have to, then, won’t you?” -</p> - -<p> -“Wait till she’s gone,” said Jurgis; “then I’ll -see.” -</p> - -<p> -He had a long sleep in the barn and then a big breakfast of coffee and bread -and oatmeal and stewed cherries, for which the man charged him only fifteen -cents, perhaps having been influenced by his arguments. Then Jurgis bade -farewell, and went on his way. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the beginning of his life as a tramp. It was seldom he got as fair -treatment as from this last farmer, and so as time went on he learned to shun -the houses and to prefer sleeping in the fields. When it rained he would find a -deserted building, if he could, and if not, he would wait until after dark and -then, with his stick ready, begin a stealthy approach upon a barn. Generally he -could get in before the dog got scent of him, and then he would hide in the hay -and be safe until morning; if not, and the dog attacked him, he would rise up -and make a retreat in battle order. Jurgis was not the mighty man he had once -been, but his arms were still good, and there were few farm dogs he needed to -hit more than once. -</p> - -<p> -Before long there came raspberries, and then blackberries, to help him save his -money; and there were apples in the orchards and potatoes in the -ground—he learned to note the places and fill his pockets after dark. -Twice he even managed to capture a chicken, and had a feast, once in a deserted -barn and the other time in a lonely spot alongside of a stream. When all of -these things failed him he used his money carefully, but without -worry—for he saw that he could earn more whenever he chose. Half an -hour’s chopping wood in his lively fashion was enough to bring him a -meal, and when the farmer had seen him working he would sometimes try to bribe -him to stay. -</p> - -<p> -But Jurgis was not staying. He was a free man now, a buccaneer. The old -<i>Wanderlust</i> had got into his blood, the joy of the unbound life, the joy -of seeking, of hoping without limit. There were mishaps and -discomforts—but at least there was always something new; and only think -what it meant to a man who for years had been penned up in one place, seeing -nothing but one dreary prospect of shanties and factories, to be suddenly set -loose beneath the open sky, to behold new landscapes, new places, and new -people every hour! To a man whose whole life had consisted of doing one certain -thing all day, until he was so exhausted that he could only lie down and sleep -until the next day—and to be now his own master, working as he pleased -and when he pleased, and facing a new adventure every hour! -</p> - -<p> -Then, too, his health came back to him, all his lost youthful vigor, his joy -and power that he had mourned and forgotten! It came with a sudden rush, -bewildering him, startling him; it was as if his dead childhood had come back -to him, laughing and calling! What with plenty to eat and fresh air and -exercise that was taken as it pleased him, he would waken from his sleep and -start off not knowing what to do with his energy, stretching his arms, -laughing, singing old songs of home that came back to him. Now and then, of -course, he could not help but think of little Antanas, whom he should never see -again, whose little voice he should never hear; and then he would have to -battle with himself. Sometimes at night he would waken dreaming of Ona, and -stretch out his arms to her, and wet the ground with his tears. But in the -morning he would get up and shake himself, and stride away again to battle with -the world. -</p> - -<p> -He never asked where he was nor where he was going; the country was big enough, -he knew, and there was no danger of his coming to the end of it. And of course -he could always have company for the asking—everywhere he went there were -men living just as he lived, and whom he was welcome to join. He was a stranger -at the business, but they were not clannish, and they taught him all their -tricks—what towns and villages it was best to keep away from, and how to -read the secret signs upon the fences, and when to beg and when to steal, and -just how to do both. They laughed at his ideas of paying for anything with -money or with work—for they got all they wanted without either. Now and -then Jurgis camped out with a gang of them in some woodland haunt, and foraged -with them in the neighborhood at night. And then among them some one would -“take a shine” to him, and they would go off together and travel -for a week, exchanging reminiscences. -</p> - -<p> -Of these professional tramps a great many had, of course, been shiftless and -vicious all their lives. But the vast majority of them had been workingmen, had -fought the long fight as Jurgis had, and found that it was a losing fight, and -given up. Later on he encountered yet another sort of men, those from whose -ranks the tramps were recruited, men who were homeless and wandering, but still -seeking work—seeking it in the harvest fields. Of these there was an -army, the huge surplus labor army of society; called into being under the stern -system of nature, to do the casual work of the world, the tasks which were -transient and irregular, and yet which had to be done. They did not know that -they were such, of course; they only knew that they sought the job, and that -the job was fleeting. In the early summer they would be in Texas, and as the -crops were ready they would follow north with the season, ending with the fall -in Manitoba. Then they would seek out the big lumber camps, where there was -winter work; or failing in this, would drift to the cities, and live upon what -they had managed to save, with the help of such transient work as was there the -loading and unloading of steamships and drays, the digging of ditches and the -shoveling of snow. If there were more of them on hand than chanced to be -needed, the weaker ones died off of cold and hunger, again according to the -stern system of nature. -</p> - -<p> -It was in the latter part of July, when Jurgis was in Missouri, that he came -upon the harvest work. Here were crops that men had worked for three or four -months to prepare, and of which they would lose nearly all unless they could -find others to help them for a week or two. So all over the land there was a -cry for labor—agencies were set up and all the cities were drained of -men, even college boys were brought by the carload, and hordes of frantic -farmers would hold up trains and carry off wagon-loads of men by main force. -Not that they did not pay them well—any man could get two dollars a day -and his board, and the best men could get two dollars and a half or three. -</p> - -<p> -The harvest-fever was in the very air, and no man with any spirit in him could -be in that region and not catch it. Jurgis joined a gang and worked from dawn -till dark, eighteen hours a day, for two weeks without a break. Then he had a -sum of money that would have been a fortune to him in the old days of -misery—but what could he do with it now? To be sure he might have put it -in a bank, and, if he were fortunate, get it back again when he wanted it. But -Jurgis was now a homeless man, wandering over a continent; and what did he know -about banking and drafts and letters of credit? If he carried the money about -with him, he would surely be robbed in the end; and so what was there for him -to do but enjoy it while he could? On a Saturday night he drifted into a town -with his fellows; and because it was raining, and there was no other place -provided for him, he went to a saloon. And there were some who treated him and -whom he had to treat, and there was laughter and singing and good cheer; and -then out of the rear part of the saloon a girl’s face, red-cheeked and -merry, smiled at Jurgis, and his heart thumped suddenly in his throat. He -nodded to her, and she came and sat by him, and they had more drink, and then -he went upstairs into a room with her, and the wild beast rose up within him -and screamed, as it has screamed in the Jungle from the dawn of time. And then -because of his memories and his shame, he was glad when others joined them, men -and women; and they had more drink and spent the night in wild rioting and -debauchery. In the van of the surplus-labor army, there followed another, an -army of women, they also struggling for life under the stern system of nature. -Because there were rich men who sought pleasure, there had been ease and plenty -for them so long as they were young and beautiful; and later on, when they were -crowded out by others younger and more beautiful, they went out to follow upon -the trail of the workingmen. Sometimes they came of themselves, and the -saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes they were handled by agencies, -the same as the labor army. They were in the towns in harvest time, near the -lumber camps in the winter, in the cities when the men came there; if a -regiment were encamped, or a railroad or canal being made, or a great -exposition getting ready, the crowd of women were on hand, living in shanties -or saloons or tenement rooms, sometimes eight or ten of them together. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon the road again. He -was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan of his life, he crushed his -feelings down. He had made a fool of himself, but he could not help it -now—all he could do was to see that it did not happen again. So he -tramped on until exercise and fresh air banished his headache, and his strength -and joy returned. This happened to him every time, for Jurgis was still a -creature of impulse, and his pleasures had not yet become business. It would be -a long time before he could be like the majority of these men of the road, who -roamed until the hunger for drink and for women mastered them, and then went to -work with a purpose in mind, and stopped when they had the price of a spree. -</p> - -<p> -On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help being made miserable by -his conscience. It was the ghost that would not down. It would come upon him in -the most unexpected places—sometimes it fairly drove him to drink. -</p> - -<p> -One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelter in a little -house just outside of a town. It was a working-man’s home, and the owner -was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant from White Russia; he bade Jurgis -welcome in his home language, and told him to come to the kitchen-fire and dry -himself. He had no bed for him, but there was straw in the garret, and he could -make out. The man’s wife was cooking the supper, and their children were -playing about on the floor. Jurgis sat and exchanged thoughts with him about -the old country, and the places where they had been and the work they had done. -Then they ate, and afterward sat and smoked and talked more about America, and -how they found it. In the middle of a sentence, however, Jurgis stopped, seeing -that the woman had brought a big basin of water and was proceeding to undress -her youngest baby. The rest had crawled into the closet where they slept, but -the baby was to have a bath, the workingman explained. The nights had begun to -be chilly, and his mother, ignorant as to the climate in America, had sewed him -up for the winter; then it had turned warm again, and some kind of a rash had -broken out on the child. The doctor had said she must bathe him every night, -and she, foolish woman, believed him. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis scarcely heard the explanation; he was watching the baby. He was about a -year old, and a sturdy little fellow, with soft fat legs, and a round ball of a -stomach, and eyes as black as coals. His pimples did not seem to bother him -much, and he was wild with glee over the bath, kicking and squirming and -chuckling with delight, pulling at his mother’s face and then at his own -little toes. When she put him into the basin he sat in the midst of it and -grinned, splashing the water over himself and squealing like a little pig. He -spoke in Russian, of which Jurgis knew some; he spoke it with the quaintest of -baby accents—and every word of it brought back to Jurgis some word of his -own dead little one, and stabbed him like a knife. He sat perfectly motionless, -silent, but gripping his hands tightly, while a storm gathered in his bosom and -a flood heaped itself up behind his eyes. And in the end he could bear it no -more, but buried his face in his hands and burst into tears, to the alarm and -amazement of his hosts. Between the shame of this and his woe Jurgis could not -stand it, and got up and rushed out into the rain. -</p> - -<p> -He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods, where he hid -and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, what agony was that, what despair, -when the tomb of memory was rent open and the ghosts of his old life came forth -to scourge him! What terror to see what he had been and now could never -be—to see Ona and his child and his own dead self stretching out their -arms to him, calling to him across a bottomless abyss—and to know that -they were gone from him forever, and he writhing and suffocating in the mire of -his own vileness! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> - -<p> -Early in the fall Jurgis set out for Chicago again. All the joy went out of -tramping as soon as a man could not keep warm in the hay; and, like many -thousands of others, he deluded himself with the hope that by coming early he -could avoid the rush. He brought fifteen dollars with him, hidden away in one -of his shoes, a sum which had been saved from the saloon-keepers, not so much -by his conscience, as by the fear which filled him at the thought of being out -of work in the city in the winter time. -</p> - -<p> -He traveled upon the railroad with several other men, hiding in freight cars at -night, and liable to be thrown off at any time, regardless of the speed of the -train. When he reached the city he left the rest, for he had money and they did -not, and he meant to save himself in this fight. He would bring to it all the -skill that practice had brought him, and he would stand, whoever fell. On fair -nights he would sleep in the park or on a truck or an empty barrel or box, and -when it was rainy or cold he would stow himself upon a shelf in a ten-cent -lodging-house, or pay three cents for the privileges of a -“squatter” in a tenement hallway. He would eat at free lunches, -five cents a meal, and never a cent more—so he might keep alive for two -months and more, and in that time he would surely find a job. He would have to -bid farewell to his summer cleanliness, of course, for he would come out of the -first night’s lodging with his clothes alive with vermin. There was no -place in the city where he could wash even his face, unless he went down to the -lake front—and there it would soon be all ice. -</p> - -<p> -First he went to the steel mill and the harvester works, and found that his -places there had been filled long ago. He was careful to keep away from the -stockyards—he was a single man now, he told himself, and he meant to stay -one, to have his wages for his own when he got a job. He began the long, weary -round of factories and warehouses, tramping all day, from one end of the city -to the other, finding everywhere from ten to a hundred men ahead of him. He -watched the newspapers, too—but no longer was he to be taken in by -smooth-spoken agents. He had been told of all those tricks while “on the -road.” -</p> - -<p> -In the end it was through a newspaper that he got a job, after nearly a month -of seeking. It was a call for a hundred laborers, and though he thought it was -a “fake,” he went because the place was near by. He found a line of -men a block long, but as a wagon chanced to come out of an alley and break the -line, he saw his chance and sprang to seize a place. Men threatened him and -tried to throw him out, but he cursed and made a disturbance to attract a -policeman, upon which they subsided, knowing that if the latter interfered it -would be to “fire” them all. -</p> - -<p> -An hour or two later he entered a room and confronted a big Irishman behind a -desk. -</p> - -<p> -“Ever worked in Chicago before?” the man inquired; and whether it -was a good angel that put it into Jurgis’s mind, or an intuition of his -sharpened wits, he was moved to answer, “No, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where do you come from?” -</p> - -<p> -“Kansas City, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Any references?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir. I’m just an unskilled man. I’ve got good -arms.” -</p> - -<p> -“I want men for hard work—it’s all underground, digging -tunnels for telephones. Maybe it won’t suit you.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m willing, sir—anything for me. What’s the -pay?” -</p> - -<p> -“Fifteen cents an hour.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m willing, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right; go back there and give your name.” -</p> - -<p> -So within half an hour he was at work, far underneath the streets of the city. -The tunnel was a peculiar one for telephone wires; it was about eight feet -high, and with a level floor nearly as wide. It had innumerable -branches—a perfect spider web beneath the city; Jurgis walked over half a -mile with his gang to the place where they were to work. Stranger yet, the -tunnel was lighted by electricity, and upon it was laid a double-tracked, -narrow-gauge railroad! -</p> - -<p> -But Jurgis was not there to ask questions, and he did not give the matter a -thought. It was nearly a year afterward that he finally learned the meaning of -this whole affair. The City Council had passed a quiet and innocent little bill -allowing a company to construct telephone conduits under the city streets; and -upon the strength of this, a great corporation had proceeded to tunnel all -Chicago with a system of railway freight-subways. In the city there was a -combination of employers, representing hundreds of millions of capital, and -formed for the purpose of crushing the labor unions. The chief union which -troubled it was the teamsters’; and when these freight tunnels were -completed, connecting all the big factories and stores with the railroad -depots, they would have the teamsters’ union by the throat. Now and then -there were rumors and murmurs in the Board of Aldermen, and once there was a -committee to investigate—but each time another small fortune was paid -over, and the rumors died away; until at last the city woke up with a start to -find the work completed. There was a tremendous scandal, of course; it was -found that the city records had been falsified and other crimes committed, and -some of Chicago’s big capitalists got into jail—figuratively -speaking. The aldermen declared that they had had no idea of it all, in spite -of the fact that the main entrance to the work had been in the rear of the -saloon of one of them. -</p> - -<p> -It was in a newly opened cut that Jurgis worked, and so he knew that he had an -all-winter job. He was so rejoiced that he treated himself to a spree that -night, and with the balance of his money he hired himself a place in a tenement -room, where he slept upon a big homemade straw mattress along with four other -workingmen. This was one dollar a week, and for four more he got his food in a -boardinghouse near his work. This would leave him four dollars extra each week, -an unthinkable sum for him. At the outset he had to pay for his digging tools, -and also to buy a pair of heavy boots, since his shoes were falling to pieces, -and a flannel shirt, since the one he had worn all summer was in shreds. He -spent a week meditating whether or not he should also buy an overcoat. There -was one belonging to a Hebrew collar button peddler, who had died in the room -next to him, and which the landlady was holding for her rent; in the end, -however, Jurgis decided to do without it, as he was to be underground by day -and in bed at night. -</p> - -<p> -This was an unfortunate decision, however, for it drove him more quickly than -ever into the saloons. From now on Jurgis worked from seven o’clock until -half-past five, with half an hour for dinner; which meant that he never saw the -sunlight on weekdays. In the evenings there was no place for him to go except a -barroom; no place where there was light and warmth, where he could hear a -little music or sit with a companion and talk. He had now no home to go to; he -had no affection left in his life—only the pitiful mockery of it in the -<i>camaraderie</i> of vice. On Sundays the churches were open—but where -was there a church in which an ill-smelling workingman, with vermin crawling -upon his neck, could sit without seeing people edge away and look annoyed? He -had, of course, his corner in a close though unheated room, with a window -opening upon a blank wall two feet away; and also he had the bare streets, with -the winter gales sweeping through them; besides this he had only the -saloons—and, of course, he had to drink to stay in them. If he drank now -and then he was free to make himself at home, to gamble with dice or a pack of -greasy cards, to play at a dingy pool table for money, or to look at a -beer-stained pink “sporting paper,” with pictures of murderers and -half-naked women. It was for such pleasures as these that he spent his money; -and such was his life during the six weeks and a half that he toiled for the -merchants of Chicago, to enable them to break the grip of their -teamsters’ union. -</p> - -<p> -In a work thus carried out, not much thought was given to the welfare of the -laborers. On an average, the tunneling cost a life a day and several manglings; -it was seldom, however, that more than a dozen or two men heard of any one -accident. The work was all done by the new boring machinery, with as little -blasting as possible; but there would be falling rocks and crushed supports, -and premature explosions—and in addition all the dangers of railroading. -So it was that one night, as Jurgis was on his way out with his gang, an engine -and a loaded car dashed round one of the innumerable right-angle branches and -struck him upon the shoulder, hurling him against the concrete wall and -knocking him senseless. -</p> - -<p> -When he opened his eyes again it was to the clanging of the bell of an -ambulance. He was lying in it, covered by a blanket, and it was threading its -way slowly through the holiday-shopping crowds. They took him to the county -hospital, where a young surgeon set his arm; then he was washed and laid upon a -bed in a ward with a score or two more of maimed and mangled men. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis spent his Christmas in this hospital, and it was the pleasantest -Christmas he had had in America. Every year there were scandals and -investigations in this institution, the newspapers charging that doctors were -allowed to try fantastic experiments upon the patients; but Jurgis knew nothing -of this—his only complaint was that they used to feed him upon tinned -meat, which no man who had ever worked in Packingtown would feed to his dog. -Jurgis had often wondered just who ate the canned corned beef and “roast -beef” of the stockyards; now he began to understand—that it was -what you might call “graft meat,” put up to be sold to public -officials and contractors, and eaten by soldiers and sailors, prisoners and -inmates of institutions, “shantymen” and gangs of railroad -laborers. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was ready to leave the hospital at the end of two weeks. This did not -mean that his arm was strong and that he was able to go back to work, but -simply that he could get along without further attention, and that his place -was needed for some one worse off than he. That he was utterly helpless, and -had no means of keeping himself alive in the meantime, was something which did -not concern the hospital authorities, nor any one else in the city. -</p> - -<p> -As it chanced, he had been hurt on a Monday, and had just paid for his last -week’s board and his room rent, and spent nearly all the balance of his -Saturday’s pay. He had less than seventy-five cents in his pockets, and a -dollar and a half due him for the day’s work he had done before he was -hurt. He might possibly have sued the company, and got some damages for his -injuries, but he did not know this, and it was not the company’s business -to tell him. He went and got his pay and his tools, which he left in a pawnshop -for fifty cents. Then he went to his landlady, who had rented his place and had -no other for him; and then to his boardinghouse keeper, who looked him over and -questioned him. As he must certainly be helpless for a couple of months, and -had boarded there only six weeks, she decided very quickly that it would not be -worth the risk to keep him on trust. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went out into the streets, in a most dreadful plight. It was bitterly -cold, and a heavy snow was falling, beating into his face. He had no overcoat, -and no place to go, and two dollars and sixty-five cents in his pocket, with -the certainty that he could not earn another cent for months. The snow meant no -chance to him now; he must walk along and see others shoveling, vigorous and -active—and he with his left arm bound to his side! He could not hope to -tide himself over by odd jobs of loading trucks; he could not even sell -newspapers or carry satchels, because he was now at the mercy of any rival. -Words could not paint the terror that came over him as he realized all this. He -was like a wounded animal in the forest; he was forced to compete with his -enemies upon unequal terms. There would be no consideration for him because of -his weakness—it was no one’s business to help him in such distress, -to make the fight the least bit easier for him. Even if he took to begging, he -would be at a disadvantage, for reasons which he was to discover in good time. -</p> - -<p> -In the beginning he could not think of anything except getting out of the awful -cold. He went into one of the saloons he had been wont to frequent and bought a -drink, and then stood by the fire shivering and waiting to be ordered out. -According to an unwritten law, the buying a drink included the privilege of -loafing for just so long; then one had to buy another drink or move on. That -Jurgis was an old customer entitled him to a somewhat longer stop; but then he -had been away two weeks, and was evidently “on the bum.” He might -plead and tell his “hard luck story,” but that would not help him -much; a saloon-keeper who was to be moved by such means would soon have his -place jammed to the doors with “hoboes” on a day like this. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went out into another place, and paid another nickel. He was so -hungry this time that he could not resist the hot beef stew, an indulgence -which cut short his stay by a considerable time. When he was again told to move -on, he made his way to a “tough” place in the “Lêvée” -district, where now and then he had gone with a certain rat-eyed Bohemian -workingman of his acquaintance, seeking a woman. It was Jurgis’s vain -hope that here the proprietor would let him remain as a “sitter.” -In low-class places, in the dead of winter, saloon-keepers would often allow -one or two forlorn-looking bums who came in covered with snow or soaked with -rain to sit by the fire and look miserable to attract custom. A workingman -would come in, feeling cheerful after his day’s work was over, and it -would trouble him to have to take his glass with such a sight under his nose; -and so he would call out: “Hello, Bub, what’s the matter? You look -as if you’d been up against it!” And then the other would begin to -pour out some tale of misery, and the man would say, “Come have a glass, -and maybe that’ll brace you up.” And so they would drink together, -and if the tramp was sufficiently wretched-looking, or good enough at the -“gab,” they might have two; and if they were to discover that they -were from the same country, or had lived in the same city or worked at the same -trade, they might sit down at a table and spend an hour or two in -talk—and before they got through the saloon-keeper would have taken in a -dollar. All of this might seem diabolical, but the saloon-keeper was in no wise -to blame for it. He was in the same plight as the manufacturer who has to -adulterate and misrepresent his product. If he does not, some one else will; -and the saloon-keeper, unless he is also an alderman, is apt to be in debt to -the big brewers, and on the verge of being sold out. -</p> - -<p> -The market for “sitters” was glutted that afternoon, however, and -there was no place for Jurgis. In all he had to spend six nickels in keeping a -shelter over him that frightful day, and then it was just dark, and the station -houses would not open until midnight! At the last place, however, there was a -bartender who knew him and liked him, and let him doze at one of the tables -until the boss came back; and also, as he was going out, the man gave him a -tip—on the next block there was a religious revival of some sort, with -preaching and singing, and hundreds of hoboes would go there for the shelter -and warmth. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went straightway, and saw a sign hung out, saying that the door would -open at seven-thirty; then he walked, or half ran, a block, and hid awhile in a -doorway and then ran again, and so on until the hour. At the end he was all but -frozen, and fought his way in with the rest of the throng (at the risk of -having his arm broken again), and got close to the big stove. -</p> - -<p> -By eight o’clock the place was so crowded that the speakers ought to have -been flattered; the aisles were filled halfway up, and at the door men were -packed tight enough to walk upon. There were three elderly gentlemen in black -upon the platform, and a young lady who played the piano in front. First they -sang a hymn, and then one of the three, a tall, smooth-shaven man, very thin, -and wearing black spectacles, began an address. Jurgis heard smatterings of it, -for the reason that terror kept him awake—he knew that he snored -abominably, and to have been put out just then would have been like a sentence -of death to him. -</p> - -<p> -The evangelist was preaching “sin and redemption,” the infinite -grace of God and His pardon for human frailty. He was very much in earnest, and -he meant well, but Jurgis, as he listened, found his soul filled with hatred. -What did he know about sin and suffering—with his smooth, black coat and -his neatly starched collar, his body warm, and his belly full, and money in his -pocket—and lecturing men who were struggling for their lives, men at the -death grapple with the demon powers of hunger and cold!—This, of course, -was unfair; but Jurgis felt that these men were out of touch with the life they -discussed, that they were unfitted to solve its problems; nay, they themselves -were part of the problem—they were part of the order established that was -crushing men down and beating them! They were of the triumphant and insolent -possessors; they had a hall, and a fire, and food and clothing and money, and -so they might preach to hungry men, and the hungry men must be humble and -listen! They were trying to save their souls—and who but a fool could -fail to see that all that was the matter with their souls was that they had not -been able to get a decent existence for their bodies? -</p> - -<p> -At eleven the meeting closed, and the desolate audience filed out into the -snow, muttering curses upon the few traitors who had got repentance and gone up -on the platform. It was yet an hour before the station house would open, and -Jurgis had no overcoat—and was weak from a long illness. During that hour -he nearly perished. He was obliged to run hard to keep his blood moving at -all—and then he came back to the station house and found a crowd blocking -the street before the door! This was in the month of January, 1904, when the -country was on the verge of “hard times,” and the newspapers were -reporting the shutting down of factories every day—it was estimated that -a million and a half men were thrown out of work before the spring. So all the -hiding places of the city were crowded, and before that station house door men -fought and tore each other like savage beasts. When at last the place was -jammed and they shut the doors, half the crowd was still outside; and Jurgis, -with his helpless arm, was among them. There was no choice then but to go to a -lodging-house and spend another dime. It really broke his heart to do this, at -half-past twelve o’clock, after he had wasted the night at the meeting -and on the street. He would be turned out of the lodging-house promptly at -seven—they had the shelves which served as bunks so contrived that they -could be dropped, and any man who was slow about obeying orders could be -tumbled to the floor. -</p> - -<p> -This was one day, and the cold spell lasted for fourteen of them. At the end of -six days every cent of Jurgis’ money was gone; and then he went out on -the streets to beg for his life. -</p> - -<p> -He would begin as soon as the business of the city was moving. He would sally -forth from a saloon, and, after making sure there was no policeman in sight, -would approach every likely-looking person who passed him, telling his woeful -story and pleading for a nickel or a dime. Then when he got one, he would dart -round the corner and return to his base to get warm; and his victim, seeing him -do this, would go away, vowing that he would never give a cent to a beggar -again. The victim never paused to ask where else Jurgis could have gone under -the circumstances—where he, the victim, would have gone. At the saloon -Jurgis could not only get more food and better food than he could buy in any -restaurant for the same money, but a drink in the bargain to warm him up. Also -he could find a comfortable seat by a fire, and could chat with a companion -until he was as warm as toast. At the saloon, too, he felt at home. Part of the -saloon-keeper’s business was to offer a home and refreshments to beggars -in exchange for the proceeds of their foragings; and was there any one else in -the whole city who would do this—would the victim have done it himself? -</p> - -<p> -Poor Jurgis might have been expected to make a successful beggar. He was just -out of the hospital, and desperately sick-looking, and with a helpless arm; -also he had no overcoat, and shivered pitifully. But, alas, it was again the -case of the honest merchant, who finds that the genuine and unadulterated -article is driven to the wall by the artistic counterfeit. Jurgis, as a beggar, -was simply a blundering amateur in competition with organized and scientific -professionalism. He was just out of the hospital—but the story was worn -threadbare, and how could he prove it? He had his arm in a sling—and it -was a device a regular beggar’s little boy would have scorned. He was -pale and shivering—but they were made up with cosmetics, and had studied -the art of chattering their teeth. As to his being without an overcoat, among -them you would meet men you could swear had on nothing but a ragged linen -duster and a pair of cotton trousers—so cleverly had they concealed the -several suits of all-wool underwear beneath. Many of these professional -mendicants had comfortable homes, and families, and thousands of dollars in the -bank; some of them had retired upon their earnings, and gone into the business -of fitting out and doctoring others, or working children at the trade. There -were some who had both their arms bound tightly to their sides, and padded -stumps in their sleeves, and a sick child hired to carry a cup for them. There -were some who had no legs, and pushed themselves upon a wheeled -platform—some who had been favored with blindness, and were led by pretty -little dogs. Some less fortunate had mutilated themselves or burned themselves, -or had brought horrible sores upon themselves with chemicals; you might -suddenly encounter upon the street a man holding out to you a finger rotting -and discolored with gangrene—or one with livid scarlet wounds half -escaped from their filthy bandages. These desperate ones were the dregs of the -city’s cesspools, wretches who hid at night in the rain-soaked cellars of -old ramshackle tenements, in “stale-beer dives” and opium joints, -with abandoned women in the last stages of the harlot’s -progress—women who had been kept by Chinamen and turned away at last to -die. Every day the police net would drag hundreds of them off the streets, and -in the detention hospital you might see them, herded together in a miniature -inferno, with hideous, beastly faces, bloated and leprous with disease, -laughing, shouting, screaming in all stages of drunkenness, barking like dogs, -gibbering like apes, raving and tearing themselves in delirium. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> - -<p> -In the face of all his handicaps, Jurgis was obliged to make the price of a -lodging, and of a drink every hour or two, under penalty of freezing to death. -Day after day he roamed about in the arctic cold, his soul filled full of -bitterness and despair. He saw the world of civilization then more plainly than -ever he had seen it before; a world in which nothing counted but brutal might, -an order devised by those who possessed it for the subjugation of those who did -not. He was one of the latter; and all outdoors, all life, was to him one -colossal prison, which he paced like a pent-up tiger, trying one bar after -another, and finding them all beyond his power. He had lost in the fierce -battle of greed, and so was doomed to be exterminated; and all society was -busied to see that he did not escape the sentence. Everywhere that he turned -were prison bars, and hostile eyes following him; the well-fed, sleek -policemen, from whose glances he shrank, and who seemed to grip their clubs -more tightly when they saw him; the saloon-keepers, who never ceased to watch -him while he was in their places, who were jealous of every moment he lingered -after he had paid his money; the hurrying throngs upon the streets, who were -deaf to his entreaties, oblivious of his very existence—and savage and -contemptuous when he forced himself upon them. They had their own affairs, and -there was no place for him among them. There was no place for him -anywhere—every direction he turned his gaze, this fact was forced upon -him: Everything was built to express it to him: the residences, with their -heavy walls and bolted doors, and basement windows barred with iron; the great -warehouses filled with the products of the whole world, and guarded by iron -shutters and heavy gates; the banks with their unthinkable billions of wealth, -all buried in safes and vaults of steel. -</p> - -<p> -And then one day there befell Jurgis the one adventure of his life. It was late -at night, and he had failed to get the price of a lodging. Snow was falling, -and he had been out so long that he was covered with it, and was chilled to the -bone. He was working among the theater crowds, flitting here and there, taking -large chances with the police, in his desperation half hoping to be arrested. -When he saw a blue-coat start toward him, however, his heart failed him, and he -dashed down a side street and fled a couple of blocks. When he stopped again he -saw a man coming toward him, and placed himself in his path. -</p> - -<p> -“Please, sir,” he began, in the usual formula, “will you give -me the price of a lodging? I’ve had a broken arm, and I can’t work, -and I’ve not a cent in my pocket. I’m an honest working-man, sir, -and I never begged before! It’s not my fault, sir—” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis usually went on until he was interrupted, but this man did not -interrupt, and so at last he came to a breathless stop. The other had halted, -and Jurgis suddenly noticed that he stood a little unsteadily. “Whuzzat -you say?” he queried suddenly, in a thick voice. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis began again, speaking more slowly and distinctly; before he was half -through the other put out his hand and rested it upon his shoulder. “Poor -ole chappie!” he said. “Been up—hic—up—against -it, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -Then he lurched toward Jurgis, and the hand upon his shoulder became an arm -about his neck. “Up against it myself, ole sport,” he said. -“She’s a hard ole world.” -</p> - -<p> -They were close to a lamppost, and Jurgis got a glimpse of the other. He was a -young fellow—not much over eighteen, with a handsome boyish face. He wore -a silk hat and a rich soft overcoat with a fur collar; and he smiled at Jurgis -with benignant sympathy. “I’m hard up, too, my goo’ -fren’,” he said. “I’ve got cruel parents, or I’d -set you up. Whuzzamatter whizyer?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been in the hospital.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hospital!” exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly, -“thass too bad! Same’s my Aunt Polly—hic—my Aunt -Polly’s in the hospital, too—ole auntie’s been havin’ -twins! Whuzzamatter whiz you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve got a broken arm—” Jurgis began. -</p> - -<p> -“So,” said the other, sympathetically. “That ain’t so -bad—you get over that. I wish somebody’d break <i>my</i> arm, ole -chappie—damfidon’t! Then they’d treat me -better—hic—hole me up, ole sport! Whuzzit you wamme do?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m hungry, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Hungry! Why don’t you hassome supper?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve got no money, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“No money! Ho, ho—less be chums, ole boy—jess like me! No -money, either—a’most busted! Why don’t you go home, then, -same’s me?” -</p> - -<p> -“I haven’t any home,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“No home! Stranger in the city, hey? Goo’ God, thass bad! Better -come home wiz me—yes, by Harry, thass the trick, you’ll come home -an’ hassome supper—hic—wiz me! Awful lonesome—nobody -home! Guv’ner gone abroad—Bubby on’s honeymoon—Polly -havin’ twins—every damn soul gone away! Nuff—hic—nuff -to drive a feller to drink, I say! Only ole Ham standin’ by, -passin’ plates—damfican eat like that, no sir! The club for me -every time, my boy, I say. But then they won’t lemme sleep -there—guv’ner’s orders, by Harry—home every night, sir! -Ever hear anythin’ like that? ‘Every mornin’ do?’ I -asked him. ‘No, sir, every night, or no allowance at all, sir.’ -Thass my guv’ner—‘nice as nails, by Harry! Tole ole Ham to -watch me, too—servants spyin’ on me—whuzyer think that, my -fren’? A nice, quiet—hic—goodhearted young feller like me, -an’ his daddy can’t go to Europe—hup!—an’ leave -him in peace! Ain’t that a shame, sir? An’ I gotter go home every -evenin’ an’ miss all the fun, by Harry! Thass whuzzamatter -now—thass why I’m here! Hadda come away an’ leave -Kitty—hic—left her cryin’, too—whujja think of that, -ole sport? ‘Lemme go, Kittens,’ says I—‘come early -an’ often—I go where duty—hic—calls me. Farewell, -farewell, my own true love—farewell, farewehell, my—own -true—love!’” -</p> - -<p> -This last was a song, and the young gentleman’s voice rose mournful and -wailing, while he swung upon Jurgis’s neck. The latter was glancing about -nervously, lest some one should approach. They were still alone, however. -</p> - -<p> -“But I came all right, all right,” continued the youngster, -aggressively, “I can—hic—I can have my own way when I want -it, by Harry—Freddie Jones is a hard man to handle when he gets -goin’! ‘No, sir,’ says I, ‘by thunder, and I -don’t need anybody goin’ home with me, either—whujja take me -for, hey? Think I’m drunk, dontcha, hey?—I know you! But I’m -no more drunk than you are, Kittens,’ says I to her. And then says she, -‘Thass true, Freddie dear’ (she’s a smart one, is Kitty), -‘but I’m stayin’ in the flat, an’ you’re -goin’ out into the cold, cold night!’ ‘Put it in a pome, -lovely Kitty,’ says I. ‘No jokin’, Freddie, my boy,’ -says she. ‘Lemme call a cab now, like a good dear’—but I can -call my own cabs, dontcha fool yourself—and I know what I’m -a-doin’, you bet! Say, my fren’, whatcha say—willye come home -an’ see me, an’ hassome supper? Come ’long like a good -feller—don’t be haughty! You’re up against it, same as me, -an’ you can unerstan’ a feller; your heart’s in the right -place, by Harry—come ’long, ole chappie, an’ we’ll -light up the house, an’ have some fizz, an’ we’ll raise hell, -we will—whoop-la! S’long’s I’m inside the house I can -do as I please—the guv’ner’s own very orders, b’God! -Hip! hip!” -</p> - -<p> -They had started down the street, arm in arm, the young man pushing Jurgis -along, half dazed. Jurgis was trying to think what to do—he knew he could -not pass any crowded place with his new acquaintance without attracting -attention and being stopped. It was only because of the falling snow that -people who passed here did not notice anything wrong. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly, therefore, Jurgis stopped. “Is it very far?” he inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“Not very,” said the other, “Tired, are you, though? Well, -we’ll ride—whatcha say? Good! Call a cab!” -</p> - -<p> -And then, gripping Jurgis tight with one hand, the young fellow began searching -his pockets with the other. “You call, ole sport, an’ I’ll -pay,” he suggested. “How’s that, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -And he pulled out from somewhere a big roll of bills. It was more money than -Jurgis had ever seen in his life before, and he stared at it with startled -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Looks like a lot, hey?” said Master Freddie, fumbling with it. -“Fool you, though, ole chappie—they’re all little ones! -I’ll be busted in one week more, sure thing—word of honor. -An’ not a cent more till the first—hic—guv’ner’s -orders—hic—not a <i>cent</i>, by Harry! Nuff to set a feller crazy, -it is. I sent him a cable, this af’noon—thass one reason more why -I’m goin’ home. ‘Hangin’ on the verge of -starvation,’ I says—‘for the honor of the -family—hic—sen’ me some bread. Hunger will compel me to join -you—Freddie.’ Thass what I wired him, by Harry, an’ I mean -it—I’ll run away from school, b’God, if he don’t -sen’ me some.” -</p> - -<p> -After this fashion the young gentleman continued to prattle on—and -meantime Jurgis was trembling with excitement. He might grab that wad of bills -and be out of sight in the darkness before the other could collect his wits. -Should he do it? What better had he to hope for, if he waited longer? But -Jurgis had never committed a crime in his life, and now he hesitated half a -second too long. “Freddie” got one bill loose, and then stuffed the -rest back into his trousers’ pocket. -</p> - -<p> -“Here, ole man,” he said, “you take it.” He held it out -fluttering. They were in front of a saloon; and by the light of the window -Jurgis saw that it was a hundred-dollar bill! “You take it,” the -other repeated. “Pay the cabbie an’ keep the -change—I’ve got—hic—no head for business! Guv’ner -says so hisself, an’ the guv’ner knows—the -guv’ner’s got a head for business, you bet! ‘All right, -guv’ner,’ I told him, ‘you run the show, and I’ll take -the tickets!’ An’ so he set Aunt Polly to watch -me—hic—an’ now Polly’s off in the hospital havin’ -twins, an’ me out raisin’ Cain! Hello, there! Hey! Call him!” -</p> - -<p> -A cab was driving by; and Jurgis sprang and called, and it swung round to the -curb. Master Freddie clambered in with some difficulty, and Jurgis had started -to follow, when the driver shouted: “Hi, there! Get out—you!” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis hesitated, and was half obeying; but his companion broke out: -“Whuzzat? Whuzzamatter wiz you, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -And the cabbie subsided, and Jurgis climbed in. Then Freddie gave a number on -the Lake Shore Drive, and the carriage started away. The youngster leaned back -and snuggled up to Jurgis, murmuring contentedly; in half a minute he was sound -asleep, Jurgis sat shivering, speculating as to whether he might not still be -able to get hold of the roll of bills. He was afraid to try to go through his -companion’s pockets, however; and besides the cabbie might be on the -watch. He had the hundred safe, and he would have to be content with that. -</p> - -<p> -At the end of half an hour or so the cab stopped. They were out on the -waterfront, and from the east a freezing gale was blowing off the ice-bound -lake. “Here we are,” called the cabbie, and Jurgis awakened his -companion. -</p> - -<p> -Master Freddie sat up with a start. -</p> - -<p> -“Hello!” he said. “Where are we? Whuzzis? Who are you, hey? -Oh, yes, sure nuff! Mos’ forgot you—hic—ole chappie! Home, -are we? Lessee! Br-r-r—it’s cold! Yes—come -’long—we’re home—it ever -so—hic—humble!” -</p> - -<p> -Before them there loomed an enormous granite pile, set far back from the -street, and occupying a whole block. By the light of the driveway lamps Jurgis -could see that it had towers and huge gables, like a mediæval castle. He -thought that the young fellow must have made a mistake—it was -inconceivable to him that any person could have a home like a hotel or the city -hall. But he followed in silence, and they went up the long flight of steps, -arm in arm. -</p> - -<p> -“There’s a button here, ole sport,” said Master Freddie. -“Hole my arm while I find her! Steady, now—oh, yes, here she is! -Saved!” -</p> - -<p> -A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in blue livery -stood holding it, and gazing before him, silent as a statue. -</p> - -<p> -They stood for a moment blinking in the light. Then Jurgis felt his companion -pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton closed the door. -Jurgis’s heart was beating wildly; it was a bold thing for him to -do—into what strange unearthly place he was venturing he had no idea. -Aladdin entering his cave could not have been more excited. -</p> - -<p> -The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a vast hall, with -pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great staircase opening at the -far end of it. The floor was of tesselated marble, smooth as glass, and from -the walls strange shapes loomed out, woven into huge portieres in rich, -harmonious colors, or gleaming from paintings, wonderful and mysterious-looking -in the half-light, purple and red and golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy -forest. -</p> - -<p> -The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie took off his -hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of Jurgis’ arm, tried to -get out of his overcoat. After two or three attempts he accomplished this, with -the lackey’s help, and meantime a second man had approached, a tall and -portly personage, solemn as an executioner. He bore straight down upon Jurgis, -who shrank away nervously; he seized him by the arm without a word, and started -toward the door with him. Then suddenly came Master Freddie’s voice, -“Hamilton! My fren’ will remain wiz me.” -</p> - -<p> -The man paused and half released Jurgis. “Come ’long ole -chappie,” said the other, and Jurgis started toward him. -</p> - -<p> -“Master Frederick!” exclaimed the man. -</p> - -<p> -“See that the cabbie—hic—is paid,” was the -other’s response; and he linked his arm in Jurgis’. Jurgis was -about to say, “I have the money for him,” but he restrained -himself. The stout man in uniform signaled to the other, who went out to the -cab, while he followed Jurgis and his young master. -</p> - -<p> -They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were two huge -doors. -</p> - -<p> -“Hamilton,” said Master Freddie. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, sir?” said the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Whuzzamatter wizze dinin’-room doors?” -</p> - -<p> -“Nothing is the matter, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Then why dontcha openum?” -</p> - -<p> -The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness. -“Lights,” commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a -button, and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, -half-blinding Jurgis. He stared; and little by little he made out the great -apartment, with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and walls that -were one enormous painting—nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn -glade—Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through a -mountain streamlet—a group of maidens bathing in a forest pool—all -life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some work of -enchantment, that he was in a dream palace. Then his eye passed to the long -table in the center of the hall, a table black as ebony, and gleaming with -wrought silver and gold. In the center of it was a huge carven bowl, with the -glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids, glowing from -a light hidden somewhere in their midst. -</p> - -<p> -“This’s the dinin’ room,” observed Master Freddie. -“How you like it, hey, ole sport?” -</p> - -<p> -He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over Jurgis and -smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it. -</p> - -<p> -“Rummy ole place to feed in all ’lone, though,” was -Freddie’s comment—“rummy’s hell! Whuzya think, -hey?” Then another idea occurred to him and he went on, without waiting: -“Maybe you never saw anythin—hic—like this ’fore? Hey, -ole chappie?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Come from country, maybe—hey?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Aha! I thosso! Lossa folks from country never saw such a place. -Guv’ner brings ’em—free show—hic—reg’lar -circus! Go home tell folks about it. Ole man Jones’s place—Jones -the packer—beef-trust man. Made it all out of hogs, too, damn ole -scoundrel. Now we see where our pennies go—rebates, an’ private car -lines—hic—by Harry! Bully place, though—worth seein’! -Ever hear of Jones the packer, hey, ole chappie?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, -demanded: “Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?” -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis managed to stammer out: “I have worked for him in the -yards.” -</p> - -<p> -“What!” cried Master Freddie, with a yell. “<i>You!</i> In -the yards? Ho, ho! Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man—by -Harry! Guv’ner ought to be here—glad to see you. Great fren’s -with the men, guv’ner—labor an’ capital, commun’ty -’f int’rests, an’ all that—hic! Funny things happen in -this world, don’t they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme interduce -you—fren’ the family—ole fren’ the -guv’ner’s—works in the yards. Come to spend the night wiz me, -Hamilton—have a hot time. Me fren’, Mr.—whuzya name, ole -chappie? Tell us your name.” -</p> - -<p> -“Rudkus—Jurgis Rudkus.” -</p> - -<p> -“My fren’, Mr. Rednose, Hamilton—shake han’s.” -</p> - -<p> -The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly Master -Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. “I know whuzzamatter wiz you, -Hamilton—lay you a dollar I know! You think—hic—you think -I’m drunk! Hey, now?” -</p> - -<p> -And the butler again bowed his head. “Yes, sir,” he said, at which -Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis’s neck and went into a fit of -laughter. “Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel,” he roared, -“I’ll ’scharge you for impudence, you see ’f I -don’t! Ho, ho, ho! I’m drunk! Ho, ho!” -</p> - -<p> -The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim would seize -him. “Whatcha wanta do?” he queried suddenly. “Wanta see the -place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv’ner—show you roun’? -State parlors—Looee Cans—Looee Sez—chairs cost three thousand -apiece. Tea room Maryanntnet—picture of shepherds -dancing—Ruysdael—twenty-three thousan’! -Ballroom—balc’ny pillars—hic—imported—special -ship—sixty-eight thousan’! Ceilin’ painted in -Rome—whuzzat feller’s name, Hamilton—Mattatoni? Macaroni? -Then this place—silver bowl—Benvenuto Cellini—rummy ole Dago! -An’ the organ—thirty thousan’ dollars, sir—starter up, -Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No—never mind—clean -forgot—says he’s hungry, Hamilton—less have some supper. -Only—hic—don’t less have it here—come up to my place, -ole sport—nice an’ cosy. This way—steady now, don’t -slip on the floor. Hamilton, we’ll have a cole spread, an’ some -fizz—don’t leave out the fizz, by Harry. We’ll have some of -the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir,” said the butler, “but, Master Frederick, your -father left orders—” -</p> - -<p> -And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. “My -father’s orders were left to me—hic—an’ not to -you,” he said. Then, clasping Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered -out of the room; on the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked: -“Any—hic—cable message for me, Hamilton?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir,” said the butler. -</p> - -<p> -“Guv’ner must be travelin’. An’ how’s the twins, -Hamilton?” -</p> - -<p> -“They are doing well, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good!” said Master Freddie; and added fervently: “God bless -’em, the little lambs!” -</p> - -<p> -They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top of it there -gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph crouching by a -fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm and glowing with the -hues of life. Above was a huge court, with domed roof, the various apartments -opening into it. The butler had paused below but a few minutes to give orders, -and then followed them; now he pressed a button, and the hall blazed with -light. He opened a door before them, and then pressed another button, as they -staggered into the apartment. -</p> - -<p> -It was fitted up as a study. In the center was a mahogany table, covered with -books, and smokers’ implements; the walls were decorated with college -trophies and colors—flags, posters, photographs and -knickknacks—tennis rackets, canoe paddles, golf clubs, and polo sticks. -An enormous moose head, with horns six feet across, faced a buffalo head on the -opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the polished floor. There -were lounging chairs and sofas, window seats covered with soft cushions of -fantastic designs; there was one corner fitted in Persian fashion, with a huge -canopy and a jeweled lamp beneath. Beyond, a door opened upon a bedroom, and -beyond that was a swimming pool of the purest marble, that had cost about forty -thousand dollars. -</p> - -<p> -Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then out of the -next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous object that -Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, opening a mouth like a -dragon’s; and he came toward the young man, wagging his tail. -“Hello, Dewey!” cried his master. “Been havin’ a -snooze, ole boy? Well, well—hello there, whuzzamatter?” (The dog -was snarling at Jurgis.) “Why, Dewey—this’ my fren’, -Mr. Rednose—ole fren’ the guv’ner’s! Mr. Rednose, -Admiral Dewey; shake han’s—hic. Ain’t he a daisy, -though—blue ribbon at the New York show—eighty-five hundred at a -clip! How’s that, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -The speaker sank into one of the big armchairs, and Admiral Dewey crouched -beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes off Jurgis. He -was perfectly sober, was the Admiral. -</p> - -<p> -The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Jurgis every -second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, as he opened the door a man in -livery entered, carrying a folding table, and behind him two men with covered -trays. They stood like statues while the first spread the table and set out the -contents of the trays upon it. There were cold pates, and thin slices of meat, -tiny bread and butter sandwiches with the crust cut off, a bowl of sliced -peaches and cream (in January), little fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow -and white, and half a dozen ice-cold bottles of wine. -</p> - -<p> -“Thass the stuff for you!” cried Master Freddie, exultantly, as he -spied them. “Come ’long, ole chappie, move up.” -</p> - -<p> -And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, and he took the -bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession down his throat. -Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and cried again to Jurgis to seat himself. -</p> - -<p> -The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Jurgis thought -it was to keep him out of it; but finally he understand that it was the -other’s intention to put it under him, and so he sat down, cautiously and -mistrustingly. Master Freddie perceived that the attendants embarrassed him, -and he remarked with a nod to them, “You may go.” -</p> - -<p> -They went, all save the butler. -</p> - -<p> -“You may go too, Hamilton,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Master Frederick—” the man began. -</p> - -<p> -“Go!” cried the youngster, angrily. “Damn you, don’t -you hear me?” -</p> - -<p> -The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as he, observed -that he took the key out of the lock, in order that he might peer through the -keyhole. -</p> - -<p> -Master Frederick turned to the table again. “Now,” he said, -“go for it.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. “Eat!” cried the other. “Pile -in, ole chappie!” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you want anything?” Jurgis asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Ain’t hungry,” was the reply—“only thirsty. -Kitty and me had some candy—you go on.” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, his fork -in one hand and his knife in the other; when he once got started his -wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for breath until he had -cleared every plate. “Gee whiz!” said the other, who had been -watching him in wonder. -</p> - -<p> -Then he held Jurgis the bottle. “Lessee you drink now,” he said; -and Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderfully -unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve of him, -thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and then he gave -vent to a long-drawn “Ah!” -</p> - -<p> -“Good stuff, hey?” said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned -back in the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing at Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening dress, was -Freddie, and looked very handsome—he was a beautiful boy, with light -golden hair and the head of an Antinous. He smiled at Jurgis confidingly, and -then started talking again, with his blissful <i>insouciance</i>. This time he -talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in the course of the speech he told -Jurgis all of his family history. His big brother Charlie was in love with the -guileless maiden who played the part of “Little Bright-Eyes” in -“The Kaliph of Kamskatka.” He had been on the verge of marrying her -once, only “the guv’ner” had sworn to disinherit him, and had -presented him with a sum that would stagger the imagination, and that had -staggered the virtue of “Little Bright-Eyes.” Now Charlie had got -leave from college, and had gone away in his automobile on the next best thing -to a honeymoon. “The guv’ner” had made threats to disinherit -another of his children also, sister Gwendolen, who had married an Italian -marquis with a string of titles and a dueling record. They lived in his -chateau, or rather had, until he had taken to firing the breakfast dishes at -her; then she had cabled for help, and the old gentleman had gone over to find -out what were his Grace’s terms. So they had left Freddie all alone, and -he with less than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in arms -and meant serious business, as they would find in the end—if there was no -other way of bringing them to terms he would have his “Kittens” -wire that she was about to marry him, and see what happened then. -</p> - -<p> -So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled his -sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, sleepily. Then he opened -them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed them and forgot to open -them. -</p> - -<p> -For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and reveling -in the strange sensation of the champagne. Once he stirred, and the dog -growled; after that he sat almost holding his breath—until after a while -the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came in. -</p> - -<p> -He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis rose up, and -retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and then the butler -came close, and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here!” he -whispered. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring softly. “If -you do, you son of a—” hissed the butler, “I’ll mash in -your face for you before you get out of here!” -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw “Admiral Dewey” -coming up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his threats. Then he -surrendered and started toward the door. -</p> - -<p> -They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, and -through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler strode close -to him. -</p> - -<p> -“Hold up your hands,” he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, -clinching his one well fist. -</p> - -<p> -“What for?” he cried; and then understanding that the fellow -proposed to search him, he answered, “I’ll see you in hell -first.” -</p> - -<p> -“Do you want to go to jail?” demanded the butler, menacingly. -“I’ll have the police—” -</p> - -<p> -“Have ’em!” roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. “But -you won’t put your hands on me till you do! I haven’t touched -anything in your damned house, and I’ll not have you touch me!” -</p> - -<p> -So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, stepped -suddenly to the door, and opened it. “Get out of here!” he said; -and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he gave him a ferocious kick -that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and landed him sprawling in -the snow at the bottom. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis got up, wild with rage, but the door was shut and the great castle was -dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit into him, and he -turned and went away at a run. -</p> - -<p> -When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented streets and -did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last humiliation, his heart -was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out ahead on that deal! He put his -hand into his trousers’ pocket every now and then, to make sure that the -precious hundred-dollar bill was still there. -</p> - -<p> -Yet he was in a plight—a curious and even dreadful plight, when he came -to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one bill! And he had to find -some shelter that night he had to change it! -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was no one he -could go to for help—he had to manage it all alone. To get it changed in -a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands—he would almost -certainly be robbed, and perhaps murdered, before morning. He might go to some -hotel or railroad depot and ask to have it changed; but what would they think, -seeing a “bum” like him with a hundred dollars? He would probably -be arrested if he tried it; and what story could he tell? On the morrow Freddie -Jones would discover his loss, and there would be a hunt for him, and he would -lose his money. The only other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. -He might pay them to change it, if it could not be done otherwise. -</p> - -<p> -He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as being too -crowded—then finally, chancing upon one where the bartender was all -alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in. -</p> - -<p> -“Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, and a -three weeks’ stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Jurgis. -“What’s that youse say?” he demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” -</p> - -<p> -“Where’d youse get it?” he inquired incredulously. -</p> - -<p> -“Never mind,” said Jurgis; “I’ve got it, and I want it -changed. I’ll pay you if you’ll do it.” -</p> - -<p> -The other stared at him hard. “Lemme see it,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Will you change it?” Jurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his -pocket. -</p> - -<p> -“How the hell can I know if it’s good or not?” retorted the -bartender. “Whatcher take me for, hey?” -</p> - -<p> -Then Jurgis slowly and warily approached him; he took out the bill, and fumbled -it for a moment, while the man stared at him with hostile eyes across the -counter. Then finally he handed it over. -</p> - -<p> -The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it between his fingers, -and held it up to the light; he turned it over, and upside down, and edgeways. -It was new and rather stiff, and that made him dubious. Jurgis was watching him -like a cat all the time. -</p> - -<p> -“Humph,” he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him -up—a ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in a -sling—and a hundred-dollar bill! “Want to buy anything?” he -demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “I’ll take a glass of beer.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right,” said the other, “I’ll change it.” -And he put the bill in his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, and -set it on the counter. Then he turned to the cash register, and punched up five -cents, and began to pull money out of the drawer. Finally, he faced Jurgis, -counting it out—two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. -“There,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. “My -ninety-nine dollars,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“What ninety-nine dollars?” demanded the bartender. -</p> - -<p> -“My change!” he cried—“the rest of my hundred!” -</p> - -<p> -“Go on,” said the bartender, “you’re nutty!” -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror reigned in -him—black, paralyzing, awful horror, clutching him at the heart; and then -came rage, in surging, blinding floods—he screamed aloud, and seized the -glass and hurled it at the other’s head. The man ducked, and it missed -him by half an inch; he rose again and faced Jurgis, who was vaulting over the -bar with his one well arm, and dealt him a smashing blow in the face, hurling -him backward upon the floor. Then, as Jurgis scrambled to his feet again and -started round the counter after him, he shouted at the top of his voice, -“Help! help!” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis seized a bottle off the counter as he ran; and as the bartender made a -leap he hurled the missile at him with all his force. It just grazed his head, -and shivered into a thousand pieces against the post of the door. Then Jurgis -started back, rushing at the man again in the middle of the room. This time, in -his blind frenzy, he came without a bottle, and that was all the bartender -wanted—he met him halfway and floored him with a sledgehammer drive -between the eyes. An instant later the screen doors flew open, and two men -rushed in—just as Jurgis was getting to his feet again, foaming at the -mouth with rage, and trying to tear his broken arm out of its bandages. -</p> - -<p> -“Look out!” shouted the bartender. “He’s got a -knife!” Then, seeing that the two were disposed to join the fray, he made -another rush at Jurgis, and knocked aside his feeble defense and sent him -tumbling again; and the three flung themselves upon him, rolling and kicking -about the place. -</p> - -<p> -A second later a policeman dashed in, and the bartender yelled once -more—“Look out for his knife!” Jurgis had fought himself half -to his knees, when the policeman made a leap at him, and cracked him across the -face with his club. Though the blow staggered him, the wild-beast frenzy still -blazed in him, and he got to his feet, lunging into the air. Then again the -club descended, full upon his head, and he dropped like a log to the floor. -</p> - -<p> -The policeman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for him to try to -rise again; and meantime the barkeeper got up, and put his hand to his head. -“Christ!” he said, “I thought I was done for that time. Did -he cut me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t see anything, Jake,” said the policeman. -“What’s the matter with him?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just crazy drunk,” said the other. “A lame duck, -too—but he ’most got me under the bar. Youse had better call the -wagon, Billy.” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said the officer. “He’s got no more fight in him, -I guess—and he’s only got a block to go.” He twisted his hand -in Jurgis’s collar and jerked at him. “Git up here, you!” he -commanded. -</p> - -<p> -But Jurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, and after -stowing the hundred-dollar bill away in a safe hiding place, came and poured a -glass of water over Jurgis. Then, as the latter began to moan feebly, the -policeman got him to his feet and dragged him out of the place. The station -house was just around the corner, and so in a few minutes Jurgis was in a cell. -</p> - -<p> -He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance moaning in torment, -with a blinding headache and a racking thirst. Now and then he cried aloud for -a drink of water, but there was no one to hear him. There were others in that -same station house with split heads and a fever; there were hundreds of them in -the great city, and tens of thousands of them in the great land, and there was -no one to hear any of them. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning Jurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of bread, and then -hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the nearest police court. He sat in -the pen with a score of others until his turn came. -</p> - -<p> -The bartender—who proved to be a well-known bruiser—was called to -the stand. He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner had come into his -saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had ordered a glass of beer and -tendered a dollar bill in payment. He had been given ninety-five cents’ -change, and had demanded ninety-nine dollars more, and before the plaintiff -could even answer had hurled the glass at him and then attacked him with a -bottle of bitters, and nearly wrecked the place. -</p> - -<p> -Then the prisoner was sworn—a forlorn object, haggard and unshorn, with -an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and head cut, and bloody, and one -eye purplish black and entirely closed. “What have you to say for -yourself?” queried the magistrate. -</p> - -<p> -“Your Honor,” said Jurgis, “I went into his place and asked -the man if he could change me a hundred-dollar bill. And he said he would if I -bought a drink. I gave him the bill and then he wouldn’t give me the -change.” -</p> - -<p> -The magistrate was staring at him in perplexity. “You gave him a -hundred-dollar bill!” he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, your Honor,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Where did you get it?” -</p> - -<p> -“A man gave it to me, your Honor.” -</p> - -<p> -“A man? What man, and what for?” -</p> - -<p> -“A young man I met upon the street, your Honor. I had been -begging.” -</p> - -<p> -There was a titter in the courtroom; the officer who was holding Jurgis put up -his hand to hide a smile, and the magistrate smiled without trying to hide it. -“It’s true, your Honor!” cried Jurgis, passionately. -</p> - -<p> -“You had been drinking as well as begging last night, had you not?” -inquired the magistrate. “No, your Honor—” protested Jurgis. -“I—” -</p> - -<p> -“You had not had anything to drink?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, yes, your Honor, I had—” -</p> - -<p> -“What did you have?” -</p> - -<p> -“I had a bottle of something—I don’t know what it -was—something that burned—” -</p> - -<p> -There was again a laugh round the courtroom, stopping suddenly as the -magistrate looked up and frowned. “Have you ever been arrested -before?” he asked abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -The question took Jurgis aback. “I—I—” he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me the truth, now!” commanded the other, sternly. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, your Honor,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“How often?” -</p> - -<p> -“Only once, your Honor.” -</p> - -<p> -“What for?” -</p> - -<p> -“For knocking down my boss, your Honor. I was working in the stockyards, -and he—” -</p> - -<p> -“I see,” said his Honor; “I guess that will do. You ought to -stop drinking if you can’t control yourself. Ten days and costs. Next -case.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis gave vent to a cry of dismay, cut off suddenly by the policeman, who -seized him by the collar. He was jerked out of the way, into a room with the -convicted prisoners, where he sat and wept like a child in his impotent rage. -It seemed monstrous to him that policemen and judges should esteem his word as -nothing in comparison with the bartender’s—poor Jurgis could not -know that the owner of the saloon paid five dollars each week to the policeman -alone for Sunday privileges and general favors—nor that the pugilist -bartender was one of the most trusted henchmen of the Democratic leader of the -district, and had helped only a few months before to hustle out a -record-breaking vote as a testimonial to the magistrate, who had been made the -target of odious kid-gloved reformers. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was driven out to the Bridewell for the second time. In his tumbling -around he had hurt his arm again, and so could not work, but had to be attended -by the physician. Also his head and his eye had to be tied up—and so he -was a pretty-looking object when, the second day after his arrival, he went out -into the exercise court and encountered—Jack Duane! -</p> - -<p> -The young fellow was so glad to see Jurgis that he almost hugged him. “By -God, if it isn’t ‘the Stinker’!” he cried. “And -what is it—have you been through a sausage machine?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” said Jurgis, “but I’ve been in a railroad wreck -and a fight.” And then, while some of the other prisoners gathered round -he told his wild story; most of them were incredulous, but Duane knew that -Jurgis could never have made up such a yarn as that. -</p> - -<p> -“Hard luck, old man,” he said, when they were alone; “but -maybe it’s taught you a lesson.” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve learned some things since I saw you last,” said Jurgis -mournfully. Then he explained how he had spent the last summer, “hoboing -it,” as the phrase was. “And you?” he asked finally. -“Have you been here ever since?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lord, no!” said the other. “I only came in the day before -yesterday. It’s the second time they’ve sent me up on a trumped-up -charge—I’ve had hard luck and can’t pay them what they want. -Why don’t you quit Chicago with me, Jurgis?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve no place to go,” said Jurgis, sadly. -</p> - -<p> -“Neither have I,” replied the other, laughing lightly. “But -we’ll wait till we get out and see.” -</p> - -<p> -In the Bridewell Jurgis met few who had been there the last time, but he met -scores of others, old and young, of exactly the same sort. It was like breakers -upon a beach; there was new water, but the wave looked just the same. He -strolled about and talked with them, and the biggest of them told tales of -their prowess, while those who were weaker, or younger and inexperienced, -gathered round and listened in admiring silence. The last time he was there, -Jurgis had thought of little but his family; but now he was free to listen to -these men, and to realize that he was one of them—that their point of -view was his point of view, and that the way they kept themselves alive in the -world was the way he meant to do it in the future. -</p> - -<p> -And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny in his pocket, -he went straight to Jack Duane. He went full of humility and gratitude; for -Duane was a gentleman, and a man with a profession—and it was remarkable -that he should be willing to throw in his lot with a humble workingman, one who -had even been a beggar and a tramp. Jurgis could not see what help he could be -to him; but he did not understand that a man like himself—who could be -trusted to stand by any one who was kind to him—was as rare among -criminals as among any other class of men. -</p> - -<p> -The address Jurgis had was a garret room in the Ghetto district, the home of a -pretty little French girl, Duane’s mistress, who sewed all day, and eked -out her living by prostitution. He had gone elsewhere, she told Jurgis—he -was afraid to stay there now, on account of the police. The new address was a -cellar dive, whose proprietor said that he had never heard of Duane; but after -he had put Jurgis through a catechism he showed him a back stairs which led to -a “fence” in the rear of a pawnbroker’s shop, and thence to a -number of assignation rooms, in one of which Duane was hiding. -</p> - -<p> -Duane was glad to see him; he was without a cent of money, he said, and had -been waiting for Jurgis to help him get some. He explained his plan—in -fact he spent the day in laying bare to his friend the criminal world of the -city, and in showing him how he might earn himself a living in it. That winter -he would have a hard time, on account of his arm, and because of an unwonted -fit of activity of the police; but so long as he was unknown to them he would -be safe if he were careful. Here at “Papa” Hanson’s (so they -called the old man who kept the dive) he might rest at ease, for -“Papa” Hanson was “square”—would stand by him so -long as he paid, and gave him an hour’s notice if there were to be a -police raid. Also Rosensteg, the pawnbroker, would buy anything he had for a -third of its value, and guarantee to keep it hidden for a year. -</p> - -<p> -There was an oil stove in the little cupboard of a room, and they had some -supper; and then about eleven o’clock at night they sallied forth -together, by a rear entrance to the place, Duane armed with a slingshot. They -came to a residence district, and he sprang up a lamppost and blew out the -light, and then the two dodged into the shelter of an area step and hid in -silence. -</p> - -<p> -Pretty soon a man came by, a workingman—and they let him go. Then after a -long interval came the heavy tread of a policeman, and they held their breath -till he was gone. Though half-frozen, they waited a full quarter of an hour -after that—and then again came footsteps, walking briskly. Duane nudged -Jurgis, and the instant the man had passed they rose up. Duane stole out as -silently as a shadow, and a second later Jurgis heard a thud and a stifled cry. -He was only a couple of feet behind, and he leaped to stop the man’s -mouth, while Duane held him fast by the arms, as they had agreed. But the man -was limp and showed a tendency to fall, and so Jurgis had only to hold him by -the collar, while the other, with swift fingers, went through his -pockets—ripping open, first his overcoat, and then his coat, and then his -vest, searching inside and outside, and transferring the contents into his own -pockets. At last, after feeling of the man’s fingers and in his necktie, -Duane whispered, “That’s all!” and they dragged him to the -area and dropped him in. Then Jurgis went one way and his friend the other, -walking briskly. -</p> - -<p> -The latter arrived first, and Jurgis found him examining the -“swag.” There was a gold watch, for one thing, with a chain and -locket; there was a silver pencil, and a matchbox, and a handful of small -change, and finally a card-case. This last Duane opened feverishly—there -were letters and checks, and two theater-tickets, and at last, in the back -part, a wad of bills. He counted them—there was a twenty, five tens, four -fives, and three ones. Duane drew a long breath. “That lets us -out!” he said. -</p> - -<p> -After further examination, they burned the card-case and its contents, all but -the bills, and likewise the picture of a little girl in the locket. Then Duane -took the watch and trinkets downstairs, and came back with sixteen dollars. -“The old scoundrel said the case was filled,” he said. -“It’s a lie, but he knows I want the money.” -</p> - -<p> -They divided up the spoils, and Jurgis got as his share fifty-five dollars and -some change. He protested that it was too much, but the other had agreed to -divide even. That was a good haul, he said, better than average. -</p> - -<p> -When they got up in the morning, Jurgis was sent out to buy a paper; one of the -pleasures of committing a crime was the reading about it afterward. “I -had a pal that always did it,” Duane remarked, -laughing—“until one day he read that he had left three thousand -dollars in a lower inside pocket of his party’s vest!” -</p> - -<p> -There was a half-column account of the robbery—it was evident that a gang -was operating in the neighborhood, said the paper, for it was the third within -a week, and the police were apparently powerless. The victim was an insurance -agent, and he had lost a hundred and ten dollars that did not belong to him. He -had chanced to have his name marked on his shirt, otherwise he would not have -been identified yet. His assailant had hit him too hard, and he was suffering -from concussion of the brain; and also he had been half-frozen when found, and -would lose three fingers on his right hand. The enterprising newspaper reporter -had taken all this information to his family, and told how they had received -it. -</p> - -<p> -Since it was Jurgis’s first experience, these details naturally caused -him some worriment; but the other laughed coolly—it was the way of the -game, and there was no helping it. Before long Jurgis would think no more of it -than they did in the yards of knocking out a bullock. “It’s a case -of us or the other fellow, and I say the other fellow, every time,” he -observed. -</p> - -<p> -“Still,” said Jurgis, reflectively, “he never did us any -harm.” -</p> - -<p> -“He was doing it to somebody as hard as he could, you can be sure of -that,” said his friend. -</p> - -<p> -Duane had already explained to Jurgis that if a man of their trade were known -he would have to work all the time to satisfy the demands of the police. -Therefore it would be better for Jurgis to stay in hiding and never be seen in -public with his pal. But Jurgis soon got very tired of staying in hiding. In a -couple of weeks he was feeling strong and beginning to use his arm, and then he -could not stand it any longer. Duane, who had done a job of some sort by -himself, and made a truce with the powers, brought over Marie, his little -French girl, to share with him; but even that did not avail for long, and in -the end he had to give up arguing, and take Jurgis out and introduce him to the -saloons and “sporting houses” where the big crooks and -“holdup men” hung out. -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis got a glimpse of the high-class criminal world of Chicago. The -city, which was owned by an oligarchy of business men, being nominally ruled by -the people, a huge army of graft was necessary for the purpose of effecting the -transfer of power. Twice a year, in the spring and fall elections, millions of -dollars were furnished by the business men and expended by this army; meetings -were held and clever speakers were hired, bands played and rockets sizzled, -tons of documents and reservoirs of drinks were distributed, and tens of -thousands of votes were bought for cash. And this army of graft had, of course, -to be maintained the year round. The leaders and organizers were maintained by -the business men directly—aldermen and legislators by means of bribes, -party officials out of the campaign funds, lobbyists and corporation lawyers in -the form of salaries, contractors by means of jobs, labor union leaders by -subsidies, and newspaper proprietors and editors by advertisements. The rank -and file, however, were either foisted upon the city, or else lived off the -population directly. There was the police department, and the fire and water -departments, and the whole balance of the civil list, from the meanest office -boy to the head of a city department; and for the horde who could find no room -in these, there was the world of vice and crime, there was license to seduce, -to swindle and plunder and prey. The law forbade Sunday drinking; and this had -delivered the saloon-keepers into the hands of the police, and made an alliance -between them necessary. The law forbade prostitution; and this had brought the -“madames” into the combination. It was the same with the -gambling-house keeper and the poolroom man, and the same with any other man or -woman who had a means of getting “graft,” and was willing to pay -over a share of it: the green-goods man and the highwayman, the pickpocket and -the sneak thief, and the receiver of stolen goods, the seller of adulterated -milk, of stale fruit and diseased meat, the proprietor of unsanitary tenements, -the fake doctor and the usurer, the beggar and the “pushcart man,” -the prize fighter and the professional slugger, the race-track -“tout,” the procurer, the white-slave agent, and the expert seducer -of young girls. All of these agencies of corruption were banded together, and -leagued in blood brotherhood with the politician and the police; more often -than not they were one and the same person,—the police captain would own -the brothel he pretended to raid, the politician would open his headquarters in -his saloon. “Hinkydink” or “Bathhouse John,” or others -of that ilk, were proprietors of the most notorious dives in Chicago, and also -the “gray wolves” of the city council, who gave away the streets of -the city to the business men; and those who patronized their places were the -gamblers and prize fighters who set the law at defiance, and the burglars and -holdup men who kept the whole city in terror. On election day all these powers -of vice and crime were one power; they could tell within one per cent what the -vote of their district would be, and they could change it at an hour’s -notice. -</p> - -<p> -A month ago Jurgis had all but perished of starvation upon the streets; and now -suddenly, as by the gift of a magic key, he had entered into a world where -money and all the good things of life came freely. He was introduced by his -friend to an Irishman named “Buck” Halloran, who was a political -“worker” and on the inside of things. This man talked with Jurgis -for a while, and then told him that he had a little plan by which a man who -looked like a workingman might make some easy money; but it was a private -affair, and had to be kept quiet. Jurgis expressed himself as agreeable, and -the other took him that afternoon (it was Saturday) to a place where city -laborers were being paid off. The paymaster sat in a little booth, with a pile -of envelopes before him, and two policemen standing by. Jurgis went, according -to directions, and gave the name of “Michael O’Flaherty,” and -received an envelope, which he took around the corner and delivered to -Halloran, who was waiting for him in a saloon. Then he went again; and gave the -name of “Johann Schmidt,” and a third time, and give the name of -“Serge Reminitsky.” Halloran had quite a list of imaginary -workingmen, and Jurgis got an envelope for each one. For this work he received -five dollars, and was told that he might have it every week, so long as he kept -quiet. As Jurgis was excellent at keeping quiet, he soon won the trust of -“Buck” Halloran, and was introduced to others as a man who could be -depended upon. -</p> - -<p> -This acquaintance was useful to him in another way, also before long Jurgis -made his discovery of the meaning of “pull,” and just why his boss, -Connor, and also the pugilist bartender, had been able to send him to jail. One -night there was given a ball, the “benefit” of “One-eyed -Larry,” a lame man who played the violin in one of the big -“high-class” houses of prostitution on Clark Street, and was a wag -and a popular character on the “Lêvée.” This ball was held in a big -dance hall, and was one of the occasions when the city’s powers of -debauchery gave themselves up to madness. Jurgis attended and got half insane -with drink, and began quarreling over a girl; his arm was pretty strong by -then, and he set to work to clean out the place, and ended in a cell in the -police station. The police station being crowded to the doors, and stinking -with “bums,” Jurgis did not relish staying there to sleep off his -liquor, and sent for Halloran, who called up the district leader and had Jurgis -bailed out by telephone at four o’clock in the morning. When he was -arraigned that same morning, the district leader had already seen the clerk of -the court and explained that Jurgis Rudkus was a decent fellow, who had been -indiscreet; and so Jurgis was fined ten dollars and the fine was -“suspended”—which meant that he did not have to pay for it, -and never would have to pay it, unless somebody chose to bring it up against -him in the future. -</p> - -<p> -Among the people Jurgis lived with now money was valued according to an -entirely different standard from that of the people of Packingtown; yet, -strange as it may seem, he did a great deal less drinking than he had as a -workingman. He had not the same provocations of exhaustion and hopelessness; he -had now something to work for, to struggle for. He soon found that if he kept -his wits about him, he would come upon new opportunities; and being naturally -an active man, he not only kept sober himself, but helped to steady his friend, -who was a good deal fonder of both wine and women than he. -</p> - -<p> -One thing led to another. In the saloon where Jurgis met “Buck” -Halloran he was sitting late one night with Duane, when a “country -customer” (a buyer for an out-of-town merchant) came in, a little more -than half “piped.” There was no one else in the place but the -bartender, and as the man went out again Jurgis and Duane followed him; he went -round the corner, and in a dark place made by a combination of the elevated -railroad and an unrented building, Jurgis leaped forward and shoved a revolver -under his nose, while Duane, with his hat pulled over his eyes, went through -the man’s pockets with lightning fingers. They got his watch and his -“wad,” and were round the corner again and into the saloon before -he could shout more than once. The bartender, to whom they had tipped the wink, -had the cellar door open for them, and they vanished, making their way by a -secret entrance to a brothel next door. From the roof of this there was access -to three similar places beyond. By means of these passages the customers of any -one place could be gotten out of the way, in case a falling out with the police -chanced to lead to a raid; and also it was necessary to have a way of getting a -girl out of reach in case of an emergency. Thousands of them came to Chicago -answering advertisements for “servants” and “factory -hands,” and found themselves trapped by fake employment agencies, and -locked up in a bawdy-house. It was generally enough to take all their clothes -away from them; but sometimes they would have to be “doped” and -kept prisoners for weeks; and meantime their parents might be telegraphing the -police, and even coming on to see why nothing was done. Occasionally there was -no way of satisfying them but to let them search the place to which the girl -had been traced. -</p> - -<p> -For his help in this little job, the bartender received twenty out of the -hundred and thirty odd dollars that the pair secured; and naturally this put -them on friendly terms with him, and a few days later he introduced them to a -little “sheeny” named Goldberger, one of the “runners” -of the “sporting house” where they had been hidden. After a few -drinks Goldberger began, with some hesitation, to narrate how he had had a -quarrel over his best girl with a professional “cardsharp,” who had -hit him in the jaw. The fellow was a stranger in Chicago, and if he was found -some night with his head cracked there would be no one to care very much. -Jurgis, who by this time would cheerfully have cracked the heads of all the -gamblers in Chicago, inquired what would be coming to him; at which the Jew -became still more confidential, and said that he had some tips on the New -Orleans races, which he got direct from the police captain of the district, -whom he had got out of a bad scrape, and who “stood in” with a big -syndicate of horse owners. Duane took all this in at once, but Jurgis had to -have the whole race-track situation explained to him before he realized the -importance of such an opportunity. -</p> - -<p> -There was the gigantic Racing Trust. It owned the legislatures in every state -in which it did business; it even owned some of the big newspapers, and made -public opinion—there was no power in the land that could oppose it -unless, perhaps, it were the Poolroom Trust. It built magnificent racing parks -all over the country, and by means of enormous purses it lured the people to -come, and then it organized a gigantic shell game, whereby it plundered them of -hundreds of millions of dollars every year. Horse racing had once been a sport, -but nowadays it was a business; a horse could be “doped” and -doctored, undertrained or overtrained; it could be made to fall at any -moment—or its gait could be broken by lashing it with the whip, which all -the spectators would take to be a desperate effort to keep it in the lead. -There were scores of such tricks; and sometimes it was the owners who played -them and made fortunes, sometimes it was the jockeys and trainers, sometimes it -was outsiders, who bribed them—but most of the time it was the chiefs of -the trust. Now for instance, they were having winter racing in New Orleans and -a syndicate was laying out each day’s program in advance, and its agents -in all the Northern cities were “milking” the poolrooms. The word -came by long-distance telephone in a cipher code, just a little while before -each race; and any man who could get the secret had as good as a fortune. If -Jurgis did not believe it, he could try it, said the little Jew—let them -meet at a certain house on the morrow and make a test. Jurgis was willing, and -so was Duane, and so they went to one of the high-class poolrooms where brokers -and merchants gambled (with society women in a private room), and they put up -ten dollars each upon a horse called “Black Beldame,” a six to one -shot, and won. For a secret like that they would have done a good many -sluggings—but the next day Goldberger informed them that the offending -gambler had got wind of what was coming to him, and had skipped the town. -</p> - -<p> -There were ups and downs at the business; but there was always a living, inside -of a jail, if not out of it. Early in April the city elections were due, and -that meant prosperity for all the powers of graft. Jurgis, hanging round in -dives and gambling houses and brothels, met with the heelers of both parties, -and from their conversation he came to understand all the ins and outs of the -game, and to hear of a number of ways in which he could make himself useful -about election time. “Buck” Halloran was a “Democrat,” -and so Jurgis became a Democrat also; but he was not a bitter one—the -Republicans were good fellows, too, and were to have a pile of money in this -next campaign. At the last election the Republicans had paid four dollars a -vote to the Democrats’ three; and “Buck” Halloran sat one -night playing cards with Jurgis and another man, who told how Halloran had been -charged with the job voting a “bunch” of thirty-seven newly landed -Italians, and how he, the narrator, had met the Republican worker who was after -the very same gang, and how the three had effected a bargain, whereby the -Italians were to vote half and half, for a glass of beer apiece, while the -balance of the fund went to the conspirators! -</p> - -<p> -Not long after this, Jurgis, wearying of the risks and vicissitudes of -miscellaneous crime, was moved to give up the career for that of a politician. -Just at this time there was a tremendous uproar being raised concerning the -alliance between the criminals and the police. For the criminal graft was one -in which the business men had no direct part—it was what is called a -“side line,” carried by the police. “Wide open” -gambling and debauchery made the city pleasing to “trade,” but -burglaries and holdups did not. One night it chanced that while Jack Duane was -drilling a safe in a clothing store he was caught red-handed by the night -watchman, and turned over to a policeman, who chanced to know him well, and who -took the responsibility of letting him make his escape. Such a howl from the -newspapers followed this that Duane was slated for sacrifice, and barely got -out of town in time. And just at that juncture it happened that Jurgis was -introduced to a man named Harper whom he recognized as the night watchman at -Brown’s, who had been instrumental in making him an American citizen, the -first year of his arrival at the yards. The other was interested in the -coincidence, but did not remember Jurgis—he had handled too many -“green ones” in his time, he said. He sat in a dance hall with -Jurgis and Halloran until one or two in the morning, exchanging experiences. He -had a long story to tell of his quarrel with the superintendent of his -department, and how he was now a plain workingman, and a good union man as -well. It was not until some months afterward that Jurgis understood that the -quarrel with the superintendent had been prearranged, and that Harper was in -reality drawing a salary of twenty dollars a week from the packers for an -inside report of his union’s secret proceedings. The yards were seething -with agitation just then, said the man, speaking as a unionist. The people of -Packingtown had borne about all that they would bear, and it looked as if a -strike might begin any week. -</p> - -<p> -After this talk the man made inquiries concerning Jurgis, and a couple of days -later he came to him with an interesting proposition. He was not absolutely -certain, he said, but he thought that he could get him a regular salary if he -would come to Packingtown and do as he was told, and keep his mouth shut. -Harper—“Bush” Harper, he was called—was a right-hand -man of Mike Scully, the Democratic boss of the stockyards; and in the coming -election there was a peculiar situation. There had come to Scully a proposition -to nominate a certain rich brewer who lived upon a swell boulevard that skirted -the district, and who coveted the big badge and the “honorable” of -an alderman. The brewer was a Jew, and had no brains, but he was harmless, and -would put up a rare campaign fund. Scully had accepted the offer, and then gone -to the Republicans with a proposition. He was not sure that he could manage the -“sheeny,” and he did not mean to take any chances with his -district; let the Republicans nominate a certain obscure but amiable friend of -Scully’s, who was now setting tenpins in the cellar of an Ashland Avenue -saloon, and he, Scully, would elect him with the “sheeny’s” -money, and the Republicans might have the glory, which was more than they would -get otherwise. In return for this the Republicans would agree to put up no -candidate the following year, when Scully himself came up for reelection as the -other alderman from the ward. To this the Republicans had assented at once; but -the hell of it was—so Harper explained—that the Republicans were -all of them fools—a man had to be a fool to be a Republican in the -stockyards, where Scully was king. And they didn’t know how to work, and -of course it would not do for the Democratic workers, the noble redskins of the -War Whoop League, to support the Republican openly. The difficulty would not -have been so great except for another fact—there had been a curious -development in stockyards politics in the last year or two, a new party having -leaped into being. They were the Socialists; and it was a devil of a mess, said -“Bush” Harper. The one image which the word “Socialist” -brought to Jurgis was of poor little Tamoszius Kuszleika, who had called -himself one, and would go out with a couple of other men and a soap-box, and -shout himself hoarse on a street corner Saturday nights. Tamoszius had tried to -explain to Jurgis what it was all about, but Jurgis, who was not of an -imaginative turn, had never quite got it straight; at present he was content -with his companion’s explanation that the Socialists were the enemies of -American institutions—could not be bought, and would not combine or make -any sort of a “dicker.” Mike Scully was very much worried over the -opportunity which his last deal gave to them—the stockyards Democrats -were furious at the idea of a rich capitalist for their candidate, and while -they were changing they might possibly conclude that a Socialist firebrand was -preferable to a Republican bum. And so right here was a chance for Jurgis to -make himself a place in the world, explained “Bush” Harper; he had -been a union man, and he was known in the yards as a workingman; he must have -hundreds of acquaintances, and as he had never talked politics with them he -might come out as a Republican now without exciting the least suspicion. There -were barrels of money for the use of those who could deliver the goods; and -Jurgis might count upon Mike Scully, who had never yet gone back on a friend. -Just what could he do? Jurgis asked, in some perplexity, and the other -explained in detail. To begin with, he would have to go to the yards and work, -and he mightn’t relish that; but he would have what he earned, as well as -the rest that came to him. He would get active in the union again, and perhaps -try to get an office, as he, Harper, had; he would tell all his friends the -good points of Doyle, the Republican nominee, and the bad ones of the -“sheeny”; and then Scully would furnish a meeting place, and he -would start the “Young Men’s Republican Association,” or -something of that sort, and have the rich brewer’s best beer by the -hogshead, and fireworks and speeches, just like the War Whoop League. Surely -Jurgis must know hundreds of men who would like that sort of fun; and there -would be the regular Republican leaders and workers to help him out, and they -would deliver a big enough majority on election day. -</p> - -<p> -When he had heard all this explanation to the end, Jurgis demanded: “But -how can I get a job in Packingtown? I’m blacklisted.” -</p> - -<p> -At which “Bush” Harper laughed. “I’ll attend to that -all right,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -And the other replied, “It’s a go, then; I’m your man.” -So Jurgis went out to the stockyards again, and was introduced to the political -lord of the district, the boss of Chicago’s mayor. It was Scully who -owned the brick-yards and the dump and the ice pond—though Jurgis did not -know it. It was Scully who was to blame for the unpaved street in which -Jurgis’s child had been drowned; it was Scully who had put into office -the magistrate who had first sent Jurgis to jail; it was Scully who was -principal stockholder in the company which had sold him the ramshackle -tenement, and then robbed him of it. But Jurgis knew none of these -things—any more than he knew that Scully was but a tool and puppet of the -packers. To him Scully was a mighty power, the “biggest” man he had -ever met. -</p> - -<p> -He was a little, dried-up Irishman, whose hands shook. He had a brief talk with -his visitor, watching him with his ratlike eyes, and making up his mind about -him; and then he gave him a note to Mr. Harmon, one of the head managers of -Durham’s— -</p> - -<p> -“The bearer, Jurgis Rudkus, is a particular friend of mine, and I would -like you to find him a good place, for important reasons. He was once -indiscreet, but you will perhaps be so good as to overlook that.” -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Harmon looked up inquiringly when he read this. “What does he mean by -‘indiscreet’?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“I was blacklisted, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -At which the other frowned. “Blacklisted?” he said. “How do -you mean?” And Jurgis turned red with embarrassment. -</p> - -<p> -He had forgotten that a blacklist did not exist. “I—that is—I -had difficulty in getting a place,” he stammered. -</p> - -<p> -“What was the matter?” -</p> - -<p> -“I got into a quarrel with a foreman—not my own boss, sir—and -struck him.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see,” said the other, and meditated for a few moments. -“What do you wish to do?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Anything, sir,” said Jurgis—“only I had a broken arm -this winter, and so I have to be careful.” -</p> - -<p> -“How would it suit you to be a night watchman?” -</p> - -<p> -“That wouldn’t do, sir. I have to be among the men at night.” -</p> - -<p> -“I see—politics. Well, would it suit you to trim hogs?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -And Mr. Harmon called a timekeeper and said, “Take this man to Pat Murphy -and tell him to find room for him somehow.” -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis marched into the hog-killing room, a place where, in the days -gone by, he had come begging for a job. Now he walked jauntily, and smiled to -himself, seeing the frown that came to the boss’s face as the timekeeper -said, “Mr. Harmon says to put this man on.” It would overcrowd his -department and spoil the record he was trying to make—but he said not a -word except “All right.” -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis became a workingman once more; and straightway he sought out his -old friends, and joined the union, and began to “root” for -“Scotty” Doyle. Doyle had done him a good turn once, he explained, -and was really a bully chap; Doyle was a workingman himself, and would -represent the workingmen—why did they want to vote for a millionaire -“sheeny,” and what the hell had Mike Scully ever done for them that -they should back his candidates all the time? And meantime Scully had given -Jurgis a note to the Republican leader of the ward, and he had gone there and -met the crowd he was to work with. Already they had hired a big hall, with some -of the brewer’s money, and every night Jurgis brought in a dozen new -members of the “Doyle Republican Association.” Pretty soon they had -a grand opening night; and there was a brass band, which marched through the -streets, and fireworks and bombs and red lights in front of the hall; and there -was an enormous crowd, with two overflow meetings—so that the pale and -trembling candidate had to recite three times over the little speech which one -of Scully’s henchmen had written, and which he had been a month learning -by heart. Best of all, the famous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, -presidential candidate, rode out in an automobile to discuss the sacred -privileges of American citizenship, and protection and prosperity for the -American workingman. His inspiriting address was quoted to the extent of half a -column in all the morning newspapers, which also said that it could be stated -upon excellent authority that the unexpected popularity developed by Doyle, the -Republican candidate for alderman, was giving great anxiety to Mr. Scully, the -chairman of the Democratic City Committee. -</p> - -<p> -The chairman was still more worried when the monster torchlight procession came -off, with the members of the Doyle Republican Association all in red capes and -hats, and free beer for every voter in the ward—the best beer ever given -away in a political campaign, as the whole electorate testified. During this -parade, and at innumerable cart-tail meetings as well, Jurgis labored -tirelessly. He did not make any speeches—there were lawyers and other -experts for that—but he helped to manage things; distributing notices and -posting placards and bringing out the crowds; and when the show was on he -attended to the fireworks and the beer. Thus in the course of the campaign he -handled many hundreds of dollars of the Hebrew brewer’s money, -administering it with naïve and touching fidelity. Toward the end, however, he -learned that he was regarded with hatred by the rest of the “boys,” -because he compelled them either to make a poorer showing than he or to do -without their share of the pie. After that Jurgis did his best to please them, -and to make up for the time he had lost before he discovered the extra -bungholes of the campaign barrel. -</p> - -<p> -He pleased Mike Scully, also. On election morning he was out at four -o’clock, “getting out the vote”; he had a two-horse carriage -to ride in, and he went from house to house for his friends, and escorted them -in triumph to the polls. He voted half a dozen times himself, and voted some of -his friends as often; he brought bunch after bunch of the newest -foreigners—Lithuanians, Poles, Bohemians, Slovaks—and when he had -put them through the mill he turned them over to another man to take to the -next polling place. When Jurgis first set out, the captain of the precinct gave -him a hundred dollars, and three times in the course of the day he came for -another hundred, and not more than twenty-five out of each lot got stuck in his -own pocket. The balance all went for actual votes, and on a day of Democratic -landslides they elected “Scotty” Doyle, the ex-tenpin setter, by -nearly a thousand plurality—and beginning at five o’clock in the -afternoon, and ending at three the next morning, Jurgis treated himself to a -most unholy and horrible “jag.” Nearly every one else in -Packingtown did the same, however, for there was universal exultation over this -triumph of popular government, this crushing defeat of an arrogant plutocrat by -the power of the common people. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> - -<p> -After the elections Jurgis stayed on in Packingtown and kept his job. The -agitation to break up the police protection of criminals was continuing, and it -seemed to him best to “lay low” for the present. He had nearly -three hundred dollars in the bank, and might have considered himself entitled -to a vacation; but he had an easy job, and force of habit kept him at it. -Besides, Mike Scully, whom he consulted, advised him that something might -“turn up” before long. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis got himself a place in a boardinghouse with some congenial friends. He -had already inquired of Aniele, and learned that Elzbieta and her family had -gone downtown, and so he gave no further thought to them. He went with a new -set, now, young unmarried fellows who were “sporty.” Jurgis had -long ago cast off his fertilizer clothing, and since going into politics he had -donned a linen collar and a greasy red necktie. He had some reason for thinking -of his dress, for he was making about eleven dollars a week, and two-thirds of -it he might spend upon his pleasures without ever touching his savings. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes he would ride down-town with a party of friends to the cheap theaters -and the music halls and other haunts with which they were familiar. Many of the -saloons in Packingtown had pool tables, and some of them bowling alleys, by -means of which he could spend his evenings in petty gambling. Also, there were -cards and dice. One time Jurgis got into a game on a Saturday night and won -prodigiously, and because he was a man of spirit he stayed in with the rest and -the game continued until late Sunday afternoon, and by that time he was -“out” over twenty dollars. On Saturday nights, also, a number of -balls were generally given in Packingtown; each man would bring his -“girl” with him, paying half a dollar for a ticket, and several -dollars additional for drinks in the course of the festivities, which continued -until three or four o’clock in the morning, unless broken up by fighting. -During all this time the same man and woman would dance together, -half-stupefied with sensuality and drink. -</p> - -<p> -Before long Jurgis discovered what Scully had meant by something “turning -up.” In May the agreement between the packers and the unions expired, and -a new agreement had to be signed. Negotiations were going on, and the yards -were full of talk of a strike. The old scale had dealt with the wages of the -skilled men only; and of the members of the Meat Workers’ Union about -two-thirds were unskilled men. In Chicago these latter were receiving, for the -most part, eighteen and a half cents an hour, and the unions wished to make -this the general wage for the next year. It was not nearly so large a wage as -it seemed—in the course of the negotiations the union officers examined -time checks to the amount of ten thousand dollars, and they found that the -highest wages paid had been fourteen dollars a week, and the lowest two dollars -and five cents, and the average of the whole, six dollars and sixty-five cents. -And six dollars and sixty-five cents was hardly too much for a man to keep a -family on, considering the fact that the price of dressed meat had increased -nearly fifty per cent in the last five years, while the price of “beef on -the hoof” had decreased as much, it would have seemed that the packers -ought to be able to pay it; but the packers were unwilling to pay it—they -rejected the union demand, and to show what their purpose was, a week or two -after the agreement expired they put down the wages of about a thousand men to -sixteen and a half cents, and it was said that old man Jones had vowed he would -put them to fifteen before he got through. There were a million and a half of -men in the country looking for work, a hundred thousand of them right in -Chicago; and were the packers to let the union stewards march into their places -and bind them to a contract that would lose them several thousand dollars a day -for a year? Not much! -</p> - -<p> -All this was in June; and before long the question was submitted to a -referendum in the unions, and the decision was for a strike. It was the same in -all the packing house cities; and suddenly the newspapers and public woke up to -face the gruesome spectacle of a meat famine. All sorts of pleas for a -reconsideration were made, but the packers were obdurate; and all the while -they were reducing wages, and heading off shipments of cattle, and rushing in -wagon-loads of mattresses and cots. So the men boiled over, and one night -telegrams went out from the union headquarters to all the big packing -centers—to St. Paul, South Omaha, Sioux City, St. Joseph, Kansas City, -East St. Louis, and New York—and the next day at noon between fifty and -sixty thousand men drew off their working clothes and marched out of the -factories, and the great “Beef Strike” was on. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis went to his dinner, and afterward he walked over to see Mike Scully, who -lived in a fine house, upon a street which had been decently paved and lighted -for his especial benefit. Scully had gone into semi-retirement, and looked -nervous and worried. “What do you want?” he demanded, when he saw -Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“I came to see if maybe you could get me a place during the -strike,” the other replied. -</p> - -<p> -And Scully knit his brows and eyed him narrowly. In that morning’s papers -Jurgis had read a fierce denunciation of the packers by Scully, who had -declared that if they did not treat their people better the city authorities -would end the matter by tearing down their plants. Now, therefore, Jurgis was -not a little taken aback when the other demanded suddenly, “See here, -Rudkus, why don’t you stick by your job?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis started. “Work as a scab?” he cried. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” demanded Scully. “What’s that to you?” -</p> - -<p> -“But—but—” stammered Jurgis. He had somehow taken it -for granted that he should go out with his union. “The packers need good -men, and need them bad,” continued the other, “and they’ll -treat a man right that stands by them. Why don’t you take your chance and -fix yourself?” -</p> - -<p> -“But,” said Jurgis, “how could I ever be of any use to -you—in politics?” -</p> - -<p> -“You couldn’t be it anyhow,” said Scully, abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not?” asked Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Hell, man!” cried the other. “Don’t you know -you’re a Republican? And do you think I’m always going to elect -Republicans? My brewer has found out already how we served him, and there is -the deuce to pay.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis looked dumfounded. He had never thought of that aspect of it before. -“I could be a Democrat,” he said. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” responded the other, “but not right away; a man -can’t change his politics every day. And besides, I don’t need -you—there’d be nothing for you to do. And it’s a long time to -election day, anyhow; and what are you going to do meantime?” -</p> - -<p> -“I thought I could count on you,” began Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” responded Scully, “so you could—I never yet went -back on a friend. But is it fair to leave the job I got you and come to me for -another? I have had a hundred fellows after me today, and what can I do? -I’ve put seventeen men on the city payroll to clean streets this one -week, and do you think I can keep that up forever? It wouldn’t do for me -to tell other men what I tell you, but you’ve been on the inside, and you -ought to have sense enough to see for yourself. What have you to gain by a -strike?” -</p> - -<p> -“I hadn’t thought,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Exactly,” said Scully, “but you’d better. Take my word -for it, the strike will be over in a few days, and the men will be beaten; and -meantime what you can get out of it will belong to you. Do you see?” -</p> - -<p> -And Jurgis saw. He went back to the yards, and into the workroom. The men had -left a long line of hogs in various stages of preparation, and the foreman was -directing the feeble efforts of a score or two of clerks and stenographers and -office boys to finish up the job and get them into the chilling rooms. Jurgis -went straight up to him and announced, “I have come back to work, Mr. -Murphy.” -</p> - -<p> -The boss’s face lighted up. “Good man!” he cried. “Come -ahead!” -</p> - -<p> -“Just a moment,” said Jurgis, checking his enthusiasm. “I -think I ought to get a little more wages.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” replied the other, “of course. What do you -want?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had debated on the way. His nerve almost failed him now, but he clenched -his hands. “I think I ought to have’ three dollars a day,” he -said. -</p> - -<p> -“All right,” said the other, promptly; and before the day was out -our friend discovered that the clerks and stenographers and office boys were -getting five dollars a day, and then he could have kicked himself! -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis became one of the new “American heroes,” a man whose -virtues merited comparison with those of the martyrs of Lexington and Valley -Forge. The resemblance was not complete, of course, for Jurgis was generously -paid and comfortably clad, and was provided with a spring cot and a mattress -and three substantial meals a day; also he was perfectly at ease, and safe from -all peril of life and limb, save only in the case that a desire for beer should -lead him to venture outside of the stockyards gates. And even in the exercise -of this privilege he was not left unprotected; a good part of the inadequate -police force of Chicago was suddenly diverted from its work of hunting -criminals, and rushed out to serve him. The police, and the strikers also, were -determined that there should be no violence; but there was another party -interested which was minded to the contrary—and that was the press. On -the first day of his life as a strikebreaker Jurgis quit work early, and in a -spirit of bravado he challenged three men of his acquaintance to go outside and -get a drink. They accepted, and went through the big Halsted Street gate, where -several policemen were watching, and also some union pickets, scanning sharply -those who passed in and out. Jurgis and his companions went south on Halsted -Street; past the hotel, and then suddenly half a dozen men started across the -street toward them and proceeded to argue with them concerning the error of -their ways. As the arguments were not taken in the proper spirit, they went on -to threats; and suddenly one of them jerked off the hat of one of the four and -flung it over the fence. The man started after it, and then, as a cry of -“Scab!” was raised and a dozen people came running out of saloons -and doorways, a second man’s heart failed him and he followed. Jurgis and -the fourth stayed long enough to give themselves the satisfaction of a quick -exchange of blows, and then they, too, took to their heels and fled back of the -hotel and into the yards again. Meantime, of course, policemen were coming on a -run, and as a crowd gathered other police got excited and sent in a riot call. -Jurgis knew nothing of this, but went back to “Packers’ -Avenue,” and in front of the “Central Time Station” he saw -one of his companions, breathless and wild with excitement, narrating to an -ever growing throng how the four had been attacked and surrounded by a howling -mob, and had been nearly torn to pieces. While he stood listening, smiling -cynically, several dapper young men stood by with notebooks in their hands, and -it was not more than two hours later that Jurgis saw newsboys running about -with armfuls of newspapers, printed in red and black letters six inches high: -</p> - -<p class="center"> -VIOLENCE IN THE YARDS! STRIKEBREAKERS SURROUNDED BY FRENZIED MOB! -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -If he had been able to buy all of the newspapers of the United States the next -morning, he might have discovered that his beer-hunting exploit was being -perused by some two score millions of people, and had served as a text for -editorials in half the staid and solemn business-men’s newspapers in the -land. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was to see more of this as time passed. For the present, his work being -over, he was free to ride into the city, by a railroad direct from the yards, -or else to spend the night in a room where cots had been laid in rows. He chose -the latter, but to his regret, for all night long gangs of strikebreakers kept -arriving. As very few of the better class of workingmen could be got for such -work, these specimens of the new American hero contained an assortment of the -criminals and thugs of the city, besides Negroes and the lowest -foreigners—Greeks, Roumanians, Sicilians, and Slovaks. They had been -attracted more by the prospect of disorder than by the big wages; and they made -the night hideous with singing and carousing, and only went to sleep when the -time came for them to get up to work. -</p> - -<p> -In the morning before Jurgis had finished his breakfast, “Pat” -Murphy ordered him to one of the superintendents, who questioned him as to his -experience in the work of the killing room. His heart began to thump with -excitement, for he divined instantly that his hour had come—that he was -to be a boss! -</p> - -<p> -Some of the foremen were union members, and many who were not had gone out with -the men. It was in the killing department that the packers had been left most -in the lurch, and precisely here that they could least afford it; the smoking -and canning and salting of meat might wait, and all the by-products might be -wasted—but fresh meats must be had, or the restaurants and hotels and -brownstone houses would feel the pinch, and then “public opinion” -would take a startling turn. -</p> - -<p> -An opportunity such as this would not come twice to a man; and Jurgis seized -it. Yes, he knew the work, the whole of it, and he could teach it to others. -But if he took the job and gave satisfaction he would expect to keep -it—they would not turn him off at the end of the strike? To which the -superintendent replied that he might safely trust Durham’s for -that—they proposed to teach these unions a lesson, and most of all those -foremen who had gone back on them. Jurgis would receive five dollars a day -during the strike, and twenty-five a week after it was settled. -</p> - -<p> -So our friend got a pair of “slaughter pen” boots and -“jeans,” and flung himself at his task. It was a weird sight, there -on the killing beds—a throng of stupid black Negroes, and foreigners who -could not understand a word that was said to them, mixed with pale-faced, -hollow-chested bookkeepers and clerks, half-fainting for the tropical heat and -the sickening stench of fresh blood—and all struggling to dress a dozen -or two cattle in the same place where, twenty-four hours ago, the old killing -gang had been speeding, with their marvelous precision, turning out four -hundred carcasses every hour! -</p> - -<p> -The Negroes and the “toughs” from the Lêvée did not want to work, -and every few minutes some of them would feel obliged to retire and recuperate. -In a couple of days Durham and Company had electric fans up to cool off the -rooms for them, and even couches for them to rest on; and meantime they could -go out and find a shady corner and take a “snooze,” and as there -was no place for any one in particular, and no system, it might be hours before -their boss discovered them. As for the poor office employees, they did their -best, moved to it by terror; thirty of them had been “fired” in a -bunch that first morning for refusing to serve, besides a number of women -clerks and typewriters who had declined to act as waitresses. -</p> - -<p> -It was such a force as this that Jurgis had to organize. He did his best, -flying here and there, placing them in rows and showing them the tricks; he had -never given an order in his life before, but he had taken enough of them to -know, and he soon fell into the spirit of it, and roared and stormed like any -old stager. He had not the most tractable pupils, however. “See hyar, -boss,” a big black “buck” would begin, “ef you -doan’ like de way Ah does dis job, you kin get somebody else to do -it.” Then a crowd would gather and listen, muttering threats. After the -first meal nearly all the steel knives had been missing, and now every Negro -had one, ground to a fine point, hidden in his boots. -</p> - -<p> -There was no bringing order out of such a chaos, Jurgis soon discovered; and he -fell in with the spirit of the thing—there was no reason why he should -wear himself out with shouting. If hides and guts were slashed and rendered -useless there was no way of tracing it to any one; and if a man lay off and -forgot to come back there was nothing to be gained by seeking him, for all the -rest would quit in the meantime. Everything went, during the strike, and the -packers paid. Before long Jurgis found that the custom of resting had suggested -to some alert minds the possibility of registering at more than one place and -earning more than one five dollars a day. When he caught a man at this he -“fired” him, but it chanced to be in a quiet corner, and the man -tendered him a ten-dollar bill and a wink, and he took them. Of course, before -long this custom spread, and Jurgis was soon making quite a good income from -it. -</p> - -<p> -In the face of handicaps such as these the packers counted themselves lucky if -they could kill off the cattle that had been crippled in transit and the hogs -that had developed disease. Frequently, in the course of a two or three -days’ trip, in hot weather and without water, some hog would develop -cholera, and die; and the rest would attack him before he had ceased kicking, -and when the car was opened there would be nothing of him left but the bones. -If all the hogs in this carload were not killed at once, they would soon be -down with the dread disease, and there would be nothing to do but make them -into lard. It was the same with cattle that were gored and dying, or were -limping with broken bones stuck through their flesh—they must be killed, -even if brokers and buyers and superintendents had to take off their coats and -help drive and cut and skin them. And meantime, agents of the packers were -gathering gangs of Negroes in the country districts of the far South, promising -them five dollars a day and board, and being careful not to mention there was a -strike; already carloads of them were on the way, with special rates from the -railroads, and all traffic ordered out of the way. Many towns and cities were -taking advantage of the chance to clear out their jails and workhouses—in -Detroit the magistrates would release every man who agreed to leave town within -twenty-four hours, and agents of the packers were in the courtrooms to ship -them right. And meantime trainloads of supplies were coming in for their -accommodation, including beer and whisky, so that they might not be tempted to -go outside. They hired thirty young girls in Cincinnati to “pack -fruit,” and when they arrived put them at work canning corned beef, and -put cots for them to sleep in a public hallway, through which the men passed. -As the gangs came in day and night, under the escort of squads of police, they -stowed away in unused workrooms and storerooms, and in the car sheds, crowded -so closely together that the cots touched. In some places they would use the -same room for eating and sleeping, and at night the men would put their cots -upon the tables, to keep away from the swarms of rats. -</p> - -<p> -But with all their best efforts, the packers were demoralized. Ninety per cent -of the men had walked out; and they faced the task of completely remaking their -labor force—and with the price of meat up thirty per cent, and the public -clamoring for a settlement. They made an offer to submit the whole question at -issue to arbitration; and at the end of ten days the unions accepted it, and -the strike was called off. It was agreed that all the men were to be -re-employed within forty-five days, and that there was to be “no -discrimination against union men.” -</p> - -<p> -This was an anxious time for Jurgis. If the men were taken back “without -discrimination,” he would lose his present place. He sought out the -superintendent, who smiled grimly and bade him “wait and see.” -Durham’s strikebreakers were few of them leaving. -</p> - -<p> -Whether or not the “settlement” was simply a trick of the packers -to gain time, or whether they really expected to break the strike and cripple -the unions by the plan, cannot be said; but that night there went out from the -office of Durham and Company a telegram to all the big packing centers, -“Employ no union leaders.” And in the morning, when the twenty -thousand men thronged into the yards, with their dinner pails and working -clothes, Jurgis stood near the door of the hog-trimming room, where he had -worked before the strike, and saw a throng of eager men, with a score or two of -policemen watching them; and he saw a superintendent come out and walk down the -line, and pick out man after man that pleased him; and one after another came, -and there were some men up near the head of the line who were never -picked—they being the union stewards and delegates, and the men Jurgis -had heard making speeches at the meetings. Each time, of course, there were -louder murmurings and angrier looks. Over where the cattle butchers were -waiting, Jurgis heard shouts and saw a crowd, and he hurried there. One big -butcher, who was president of the Packing Trades Council, had been passed over -five times, and the men were wild with rage; they had appointed a committee of -three to go in and see the superintendent, and the committee had made three -attempts, and each time the police had clubbed them back from the door. Then -there were yells and hoots, continuing until at last the superintendent came to -the door. “We all go back or none of us do!” cried a hundred -voices. And the other shook his fist at them, and shouted, “You went out -of here like cattle, and like cattle you’ll come back!” -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly the big butcher president leaped upon a pile of stones and -yelled: “It’s off, boys. We’ll all of us quit again!” -And so the cattle butchers declared a new strike on the spot; and gathering -their members from the other plants, where the same trick had been played, they -marched down Packers’ Avenue, which was thronged with a dense mass of -workers, cheering wildly. Men who had already got to work on the killing beds -dropped their tools and joined them; some galloped here and there on horseback, -shouting the tidings, and within half an hour the whole of Packingtown was on -strike again, and beside itself with fury. -</p> - -<p> -There was quite a different tone in Packingtown after this—the place was -a seething caldron of passion, and the “scab” who ventured into it -fared badly. There were one or two of these incidents each day, the newspapers -detailing them, and always blaming them upon the unions. Yet ten years before, -when there were no unions in Packingtown, there was a strike, and national -troops had to be called, and there were pitched battles fought at night, by the -light of blazing freight trains. Packingtown was always a center of violence; -in “Whisky Point,” where there were a hundred saloons and one glue -factory, there was always fighting, and always more of it in hot weather. Any -one who had taken the trouble to consult the station house blotter would have -found that there was less violence that summer than ever before—and this -while twenty thousand men were out of work, and with nothing to do all day but -brood upon bitter wrongs. There was no one to picture the battle the union -leaders were fighting—to hold this huge army in rank, to keep it from -straggling and pillaging, to cheer and encourage and guide a hundred thousand -people, of a dozen different tongues, through six long weeks of hunger and -disappointment and despair. -</p> - -<p> -Meantime the packers had set themselves definitely to the task of making a new -labor force. A thousand or two of strikebreakers were brought in every night, -and distributed among the various plants. Some of them were experienced -workers,—butchers, salesmen, and managers from the packers’ branch -stores, and a few union men who had deserted from other cities; but the vast -majority were “green” Negroes from the cotton districts of the far -South, and they were herded into the packing plants like sheep. There was a law -forbidding the use of buildings as lodginghouses unless they were licensed for -the purpose, and provided with proper windows, stairways, and fire escapes; but -here, in a “paint room,” reached only by an enclosed -“chute,” a room without a single window and only one door, a -hundred men were crowded upon mattresses on the floor. Up on the third story of -the “hog house” of Jones’s was a storeroom, without a window, -into which they crowded seven hundred men, sleeping upon the bare springs of -cots, and with a second shift to use them by day. And when the clamor of the -public led to an investigation into these conditions, and the mayor of the city -was forced to order the enforcement of the law, the packers got a judge to -issue an injunction forbidding him to do it! -</p> - -<p> -Just at this time the mayor was boasting that he had put an end to gambling and -prize fighting in the city; but here a swarm of professional gamblers had -leagued themselves with the police to fleece the strikebreakers; and any night, -in the big open space in front of Brown’s, one might see brawny Negroes -stripped to the waist and pounding each other for money, while a howling throng -of three or four thousand surged about, men and women, young white girls from -the country rubbing elbows with big buck Negroes with daggers in their boots, -while rows of woolly heads peered down from every window of the surrounding -factories. The ancestors of these black people had been savages in Africa; and -since then they had been chattel slaves, or had been held down by a community -ruled by the traditions of slavery. Now for the first time they were -free—free to gratify every passion, free to wreck themselves. They were -wanted to break a strike, and when it was broken they would be shipped away, -and their present masters would never see them again; and so whisky and women -were brought in by the carload and sold to them, and hell was let loose in the -yards. Every night there were stabbings and shootings; it was said that the -packers had blank permits, which enabled them to ship dead bodies from the city -without troubling the authorities. They lodged men and women on the same floor; -and with the night there began a saturnalia of debauchery—scenes such as -never before had been witnessed in America. And as the women were the dregs -from the brothels of Chicago, and the men were for the most part ignorant -country Negroes, the nameless diseases of vice were soon rife; and this where -food was being handled which was sent out to every corner of the civilized -world. -</p> - -<p> -The “Union Stockyards” were never a pleasant place; but now they -were not only a collection of slaughterhouses, but also the camping place of an -army of fifteen or twenty thousand human beasts. All day long the blazing -midsummer sun beat down upon that square mile of abominations: upon tens of -thousands of cattle crowded into pens whose wooden floors stank and steamed -contagion; upon bare, blistering, cinder-strewn railroad tracks, and huge -blocks of dingy meat factories, whose labyrinthine passages defied a breath of -fresh air to penetrate them; and there were not merely rivers of hot blood, and -car-loads of moist flesh, and rendering vats and soap caldrons, glue factories -and fertilizer tanks, that smelt like the craters of hell—there were also -tons of garbage festering in the sun, and the greasy laundry of the workers -hung out to dry, and dining rooms littered with food and black with flies, and -toilet rooms that were open sewers. -</p> - -<p> -And then at night, when this throng poured out into the streets to -play—fighting, gambling, drinking and carousing, cursing and screaming, -laughing and singing, playing banjoes and dancing! They were worked in the -yards all the seven days of the week, and they had their prize fights and crap -games on Sunday nights as well; but then around the corner one might see a -bonfire blazing, and an old, gray-headed Negress, lean and witchlike, her hair -flying wild and her eyes blazing, yelling and chanting of the fires of -perdition and the blood of the “Lamb,” while men and women lay down -upon the ground and moaned and screamed in convulsions of terror and remorse. -</p> - -<p> -Such were the stockyards during the strike; while the unions watched in sullen -despair, and the country clamored like a greedy child for its food, and the -packers went grimly on their way. Each day they added new workers, and could be -more stern with the old ones—could put them on piecework, and dismiss -them if they did not keep up the pace. Jurgis was now one of their agents in -this process; and he could feel the change day by day, like the slow starting -up of a huge machine. He had gotten used to being a master of men; and because -of the stifling heat and the stench, and the fact that he was a -“scab” and knew it and despised himself. He was drinking, and -developing a villainous temper, and he stormed and cursed and raged at his men, -and drove them until they were ready to drop with exhaustion. -</p> - -<p> -Then one day late in August, a superintendent ran into the place and shouted to -Jurgis and his gang to drop their work and come. They followed him outside, to -where, in the midst of a dense throng, they saw several two-horse trucks -waiting, and three patrol-wagon loads of police. Jurgis and his men sprang upon -one of the trucks, and the driver yelled to the crowd, and they went thundering -away at a gallop. Some steers had just escaped from the yards, and the strikers -had got hold of them, and there would be the chance of a scrap! -</p> - -<p> -They went out at the Ashland Avenue gate, and over in the direction of the -“dump.” There was a yell as soon as they were sighted, men and -women rushing out of houses and saloons as they galloped by. There were eight -or ten policemen on the truck, however, and there was no disturbance until they -came to a place where the street was blocked with a dense throng. Those on the -flying truck yelled a warning and the crowd scattered pell-mell, disclosing one -of the steers lying in its blood. There were a good many cattle butchers about -just then, with nothing much to do, and hungry children at home; and so some -one had knocked out the steer—and as a first-class man can kill and dress -one in a couple of minutes, there were a good many steaks and roasts already -missing. This called for punishment, of course; and the police proceeded to -administer it by leaping from the truck and cracking at every head they saw. -There were yells of rage and pain, and the terrified people fled into houses -and stores, or scattered helter-skelter down the street. Jurgis and his gang -joined in the sport, every man singling out his victim, and striving to bring -him to bay and punch him. If he fled into a house his pursuer would smash in -the flimsy door and follow him up the stairs, hitting every one who came within -reach, and finally dragging his squealing quarry from under a bed or a pile of -old clothes in a closet. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis and two policemen chased some men into a bar-room. One of them took -shelter behind the bar, where a policeman cornered him and proceeded to whack -him over the back and shoulders, until he lay down and gave a chance at his -head. The others leaped a fence in the rear, balking the second policeman, who -was fat; and as he came back, furious and cursing, a big Polish woman, the -owner of the saloon, rushed in screaming, and received a poke in the stomach -that doubled her up on the floor. Meantime Jurgis, who was of a practical -temper, was helping himself at the bar; and the first policeman, who had laid -out his man, joined him, handing out several more bottles, and filling his -pockets besides, and then, as he started to leave, cleaning off all the balance -with a sweep of his club. The din of the glass crashing to the floor brought -the fat Polish woman to her feet again, but another policeman came up behind -her and put his knee into her back and his hands over her eyes—and then -called to his companion, who went back and broke open the cash drawer and -filled his pockets with the contents. Then the three went outside, and the man -who was holding the woman gave her a shove and dashed out himself. The gang -having already got the carcass on to the truck, the party set out at a trot, -followed by screams and curses, and a shower of bricks and stones from unseen -enemies. These bricks and stones would figure in the accounts of the -“riot” which would be sent out to a few thousand newspapers within -an hour or two; but the episode of the cash drawer would never be mentioned -again, save only in the heartbreaking legends of Packingtown. -</p> - -<p> -It was late in the afternoon when they got back, and they dressed out the -remainder of the steer, and a couple of others that had been killed, and then -knocked off for the day. Jurgis went downtown to supper, with three friends who -had been on the other trucks, and they exchanged reminiscences on the way. -Afterward they drifted into a roulette parlor, and Jurgis, who was never lucky -at gambling, dropped about fifteen dollars. To console himself he had to drink -a good deal, and he went back to Packingtown about two o’clock in the -morning, very much the worse for his excursion, and, it must be confessed, -entirely deserving the calamity that was in store for him. -</p> - -<p> -As he was going to the place where he slept, he met a painted-cheeked woman in -a greasy “kimono,” and she put her arm about his waist to steady -him; they turned into a dark room they were passing—but scarcely had they -taken two steps before suddenly a door swung open, and a man entered, carrying -a lantern. “Who’s there?” he called sharply. And Jurgis -started to mutter some reply; but at the same instant the man raised his light, -which flashed in his face, so that it was possible to recognize him. Jurgis -stood stricken dumb, and his heart gave a leap like a mad thing. The man was -Connor! -</p> - -<p> -Connor, the boss of the loading gang! The man who had seduced his -wife—who had sent him to prison, and wrecked his home, ruined his life! -He stood there, staring, with the light shining full upon him. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had often thought of Connor since coming back to Packingtown, but it had -been as of something far off, that no longer concerned him. Now, however, when -he saw him, alive and in the flesh, the same thing happened to him that had -happened before—a flood of rage boiled up in him, a blind frenzy seized -him. And he flung himself at the man, and smote him between the eyes—and -then, as he fell, seized him by the throat and began to pound his head upon the -stones. -</p> - -<p> -The woman began screaming, and people came rushing in. The lantern had been -upset and extinguished, and it was so dark they could not see a thing; but they -could hear Jurgis panting, and hear the thumping of his victim’s skull, -and they rushed there and tried to pull him off. Precisely as before, Jurgis -came away with a piece of his enemy’s flesh between his teeth; and, as -before, he went on fighting with those who had interfered with him, until a -policeman had come and beaten him into insensibility. -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis spent the balance of the night in the stockyards station house. -This time, however, he had money in his pocket, and when he came to his senses -he could get something to drink, and also a messenger to take word of his -plight to “Bush” Harper. Harper did not appear, however, until -after the prisoner, feeling very weak and ill, had been hailed into court and -remanded at five hundred dollars’ bail to await the result of his -victim’s injuries. Jurgis was wild about this, because a different -magistrate had chanced to be on the bench, and he had stated that he had never -been arrested before, and also that he had been attacked first—and if -only someone had been there to speak a good word for him, he could have been -let off at once. -</p> - -<p> -But Harper explained that he had been downtown, and had not got the message. -“What’s happened to you?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve been doing a fellow up,” said Jurgis, “and -I’ve got to get five hundred dollars’ bail.” -</p> - -<p> -“I can arrange that all right,” said the other—“though -it may cost you a few dollars, of course. But what was the trouble?” -</p> - -<p> -“It was a man that did me a mean trick once,” answered Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Who is he?” -</p> - -<p> -“He’s a foreman in Brown’s or used to be. His name’s -Connor.” -</p> - -<p> -And the other gave a start. “Connor!” he cried. “Not Phil -Connor!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s the fellow. Why?” -</p> - -<p> -“Good God!” exclaimed the other, “then you’re in for -it, old man! <i>I</i> can’t help you!” -</p> - -<p> -“Not help me! Why not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Why, he’s one of Scully’s biggest men—he’s a -member of the War-Whoop League, and they talked of sending him to the -legislature! Phil Connor! Great heavens!” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis sat dumb with dismay. -</p> - -<p> -“Why, he can send you to Joliet, if he wants to!” declared the -other. -</p> - -<p> -“Can’t I have Scully get me off before he finds out about -it?” asked Jurgis, at length. -</p> - -<p> -“But Scully’s out of town,” the other answered. “I -don’t even know where he is—he’s run away to dodge the -strike.” -</p> - -<p> -That was a pretty mess, indeed. Poor Jurgis sat half-dazed. His pull had run up -against a bigger pull, and he was down and out! “But what am I going to -do?” he asked, weakly. -</p> - -<p> -“How should I know?” said the other. “I shouldn’t even -dare to get bail for you—why, I might ruin myself for life!” -</p> - -<p> -Again there was silence. “Can’t you do it for me,” Jurgis -asked, “and pretend that you didn’t know who I’d hit?” -</p> - -<p> -“But what good would that do you when you came to stand trial?” -asked Harper. Then he sat buried in thought for a minute or two. -“There’s nothing—unless it’s this,” he said. -“I could have your bail reduced; and then if you had the money you could -pay it and skip.” -</p> - -<p> -“How much will it be?” Jurgis asked, after he had had this -explained more in detail. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” said the other. “How much do you -own?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’ve got about three hundred dollars,” was the answer. -</p> - -<p> -“Well,” was Harper’s reply, “I’m not sure, but -I’ll try and get you off for that. I’ll take the risk for -friendship’s sake—for I’d hate to see you sent to -state’s prison for a year or two.” -</p> - -<p> -And so finally Jurgis ripped out his bankbook—which was sewed up in his -trousers—and signed an order, which “Bush” Harper wrote, for -all the money to be paid out. Then the latter went and got it, and hurried to -the court, and explained to the magistrate that Jurgis was a decent fellow and -a friend of Scully’s, who had been attacked by a strike-breaker. So the -bail was reduced to three hundred dollars, and Harper went on it himself; he -did not tell this to Jurgis, however—nor did he tell him that when the -time for trial came it would be an easy matter for him to avoid the forfeiting -of the bail, and pocket the three hundred dollars as his reward for the risk of -offending Mike Scully! All that he told Jurgis was that he was now free, and -that the best thing he could do was to clear out as quickly as possible; and so -Jurgis overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, took the dollar and fourteen -cents that was left him out of all his bank account, and put it with the two -dollars and quarter that was left from his last night’s celebration, and -boarded a streetcar and got off at the other end of Chicago. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> - -<p> -Poor Jurgis was now an outcast and a tramp once more. He was crippled—he -was as literally crippled as any wild animal which has lost its claws, or been -torn out of its shell. He had been shorn, at one cut, of all those mysterious -weapons whereby he had been able to make a living easily and to escape the -consequences of his actions. He could no longer command a job when he wanted -it; he could no longer steal with impunity—he must take his chances with -the common herd. Nay worse, he dared not mingle with the herd—he must -hide himself, for he was one marked out for destruction. His old companions -would betray him, for the sake of the influence they would gain thereby; and he -would be made to suffer, not merely for the offense he had committed, but for -others which would be laid at his door, just as had been done for some poor -devil on the occasion of that assault upon the “country customer” -by him and Duane. -</p> - -<p> -And also he labored under another handicap now. He had acquired new standards -of living, which were not easily to be altered. When he had been out of work -before, he had been content if he could sleep in a doorway or under a truck out -of the rain, and if he could get fifteen cents a day for saloon lunches. But -now he desired all sorts of other things, and suffered because he had to do -without them. He must have a drink now and then, a drink for its own sake, and -apart from the food that came with it. The craving for it was strong enough to -master every other consideration—he would have it, though it were his -last nickel and he had to starve the balance of the day in consequence. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis became once more a besieger of factory gates. But never since he had -been in Chicago had he stood less chance of getting a job than just then. For -one thing, there was the economic crisis, the million or two of men who had -been out of work in the spring and summer, and were not yet all back, by any -means. And then there was the strike, with seventy thousand men and women all -over the country idle for a couple of months—twenty thousand in Chicago, -and many of them now seeking work throughout the city. It did not remedy -matters that a few days later the strike was given up and about half the -strikers went back to work; for every one taken on, there was a -“scab” who gave up and fled. The ten or fifteen thousand -“green” Negroes, foreigners, and criminals were now being turned -loose to shift for themselves. Everywhere Jurgis went he kept meeting them, and -he was in an agony of fear lest some one of them should know that he was -“wanted.” He would have left Chicago, only by the time he had -realized his danger he was almost penniless; and it would be better to go to -jail than to be caught out in the country in the winter time. -</p> - -<p> -At the end of about ten days Jurgis had only a few pennies left; and he had not -yet found a job—not even a day’s work at anything, not a chance to -carry a satchel. Once again, as when he had come out of the hospital, he was -bound hand and foot, and facing the grisly phantom of starvation. Raw, naked -terror possessed him, a maddening passion that would never leave him, and that -wore him down more quickly than the actual want of food. He was going to die of -hunger! The fiend reached out its scaly arms for him—it touched him, its -breath came into his face; and he would cry out for the awfulness of it, he -would wake up in the night, shuddering, and bathed in perspiration, and start -up and flee. He would walk, begging for work, until he was exhausted; he could -not remain still—he would wander on, gaunt and haggard, gazing about him -with restless eyes. Everywhere he went, from one end of the vast city to the -other, there were hundreds of others like him; everywhere was the sight of -plenty and the merciless hand of authority waving them away. There is one kind -of prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that he desires is -outside; and there is another kind where the things are behind the bars, and -the man is outside. -</p> - -<p> -When he was down to his last quarter, Jurgis learned that before the bakeshops -closed at night they sold out what was left at half price, and after that he -would go and get two loaves of stale bread for a nickel, and break them up and -stuff his pockets with them, munching a bit from time to time. He would not -spend a penny save for this; and, after two or three days more, he even became -sparing of the bread, and would stop and peer into the ash barrels as he walked -along the streets, and now and then rake out a bit of something, shake it free -from dust, and count himself just so many minutes further from the end. -</p> - -<p> -So for several days he had been going about, ravenous all the time, and growing -weaker and weaker, and then one morning he had a hideous experience, that -almost broke his heart. He was passing down a street lined with warehouses, and -a boss offered him a job, and then, after he had started to work, turned him -off because he was not strong enough. And he stood by and saw another man put -into his place, and then picked up his coat, and walked off, doing all that he -could to keep from breaking down and crying like a baby. He was lost! He was -doomed! There was no hope for him! But then, with a sudden rush, his fear gave -place to rage. He fell to cursing. He would come back there after dark, and he -would show that scoundrel whether he was good for anything or not! -</p> - -<p> -He was still muttering this when suddenly, at the corner, he came upon a -green-grocery, with a tray full of cabbages in front of it. Jurgis, after one -swift glance about him, stooped and seized the biggest of them, and darted -round the corner with it. There was a hue and cry, and a score of men and boys -started in chase of him; but he came to an alley, and then to another branching -off from it and leading him into another street, where he fell into a walk, and -slipped his cabbage under his coat and went off unsuspected in the crowd. When -he had gotten a safe distance away he sat down and devoured half the cabbage -raw, stowing the balance away in his pockets till the next day. -</p> - -<p> -Just about this time one of the Chicago newspapers, which made much of the -“common people,” opened a “free-soup kitchen” for the -benefit of the unemployed. Some people said that they did this for the sake of -the advertising it gave them, and some others said that their motive was a fear -lest all their readers should be starved off; but whatever the reason, the soup -was thick and hot, and there was a bowl for every man, all night long. When -Jurgis heard of this, from a fellow “hobo,” he vowed that he would -have half a dozen bowls before morning; but, as it proved, he was lucky to get -one, for there was a line of men two blocks long before the stand, and there -was just as long a line when the place was finally closed up. -</p> - -<p> -This depot was within the danger line for Jurgis—in the -“Lêvée” district, where he was known; but he went there, all the -same, for he was desperate, and beginning to think of even the Bridewell as a -place of refuge. So far the weather had been fair, and he had slept out every -night in a vacant lot; but now there fell suddenly a shadow of the advancing -winter, a chill wind from the north and a driving storm of rain. That day -Jurgis bought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, and at night he spent his -last two pennies in a “stale-beer dive.” This was a place kept by a -Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs of beer that lay in barrels set -outside of the saloons; and after he had doctored it with chemicals to make it -“fizz,” he sold it for two cents a can, the purchase of a can -including the privilege of sleeping the night through upon the floor, with a -mass of degraded outcasts, men and women. -</p> - -<p> -All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, because he was always -contrasting them with the opportunities he had lost. For instance, just now it -was election time again—within five or six weeks the voters of the -country would select a President; and he heard the wretches with whom he -associated discussing it, and saw the streets of the city decorated with -placards and banners—and what words could describe the pangs of grief and -despair that shot through him? -</p> - -<p> -For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He had begged all day, -for his very life, and found not a soul to heed him, until toward evening he -saw an old lady getting off a streetcar and helped her down with her umbrellas -and bundles and then told her his “hard-luck story,” and after -answering all her suspicious questions satisfactorily, was taken to a -restaurant and saw a quarter paid down for a meal. And so he had soup and -bread, and boiled beef and potatoes and beans, and pie and coffee, and came out -with his skin stuffed tight as a football. And then, through the rain and the -darkness, far down the street he saw red lights flaring and heard the thumping -of a bass drum; and his heart gave a leap, and he made for the place on the -run—knowing without the asking that it meant a political meeting. -</p> - -<p> -The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers termed -“apathy.” For some reason the people refused to get excited over -the struggle, and it was almost impossible to get them to come to meetings, or -to make any noise when they did come. Those which had been held in Chicago so -far had proven most dismal failures, and tonight, the speaker being no less a -personage than a candidate for the vice-presidency of the nation, the political -managers had been trembling with anxiety. But a merciful providence had sent -this storm of cold rain—and now all it was necessary to do was to set off -a few fireworks, and thump awhile on a drum, and all the homeless wretches from -a mile around would pour in and fill the hall! And then on the morrow the -newspapers would have a chance to report the tremendous ovation, and to add -that it had been no “silk-stocking” audience, either, proving -clearly that the high tariff sentiments of the distinguished candidate were -pleasing to the wage-earners of the nation. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decorated with flags and -bunting; and after the chairman had made his little speech, and the orator of -the evening rose up, amid an uproar from the band—only fancy the emotions -of Jurgis upon making the discovery that the personage was none other than the -famous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, who had addressed the “Doyle -Republican Association” at the stockyards, and helped to elect Mike -Scully’s tenpin setter to the Chicago Board of Aldermen! -</p> - -<p> -In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears into Jurgis’s -eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon those golden hours, when he, -too, had a place beneath the shadow of the plum tree! When he, too, had been of -the elect, through whom the country is governed—when he had had a bung in -the campaign barrel for his own! And this was another election in which the -Republicans had all the money; and but for that one hideous accident he might -have had a share of it, instead of being where he was! -</p> - -<p> -The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; an ingenious -device whereby the workingman permitted the manufacturer to charge him higher -prices, in order that he might receive higher wages; thus taking his money out -of his pocket with one hand, and putting a part of it back with the other. To -the senator this unique arrangement had somehow become identified with the -higher verities of the universe. It was because of it that Columbia was the gem -of the ocean; and all her future triumphs, her power and good repute among the -nations, depended upon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up -the hands of those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of this heroic -company was “the Grand Old Party”— -</p> - -<p> -And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violent start. -Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperate effort to understand -what the senator was saying—to comprehend the extent of American -prosperity, the enormous expansion of American commerce, and the -Republic’s future in the Pacific and in South America, and wherever else -the oppressed were groaning. The reason for it was that he wanted to keep -awake. He knew that if he allowed himself to fall asleep he would begin to -snore loudly; and so he must listen—he must be interested! But he had -eaten such a big dinner, and he was so exhausted, and the hall was so warm, and -his seat was so comfortable! The senator’s gaunt form began to grow dim -and hazy, to tower before him and dance about, with figures of exports and -imports. Once his neighbor gave him a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up -with a start and tried to look innocent; but then he was at it again, and men -began to stare at him with annoyance, and to call out in vexation. Finally one -of them called a policeman, who came and grabbed Jurgis by the collar, and -jerked him to his feet, bewildered and terrified. Some of the audience turned -to see the commotion, and Senator Spareshanks faltered in his speech; but a -voice shouted cheerily: “We’re just firing a bum! Go ahead, old -sport!” And so the crowd roared, and the senator smiled genially, and -went on; and in a few seconds poor Jurgis found himself landed out in the rain, -with a kick and a string of curses. -</p> - -<p> -He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself. He was not -hurt, and he was not arrested—more than he had any right to expect. He -swore at himself and his luck for a while, and then turned his thoughts to -practical matters. He had no money, and no place to sleep; he must begin -begging again. -</p> - -<p> -He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the touch of the -icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was a lady, well dressed, and -protected by an umbrella; and he turned and walked beside her. “Please, -ma’am,” he began, “could you lend me the price of a -night’s lodging? I’m a poor working-man—” -</p> - -<p> -Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamp he had caught -sight of the lady’s face. He knew her. -</p> - -<p> -It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding feast! Alena -Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced with such a queenly air, -with Juozas Raczius, the teamster! Jurgis had only seen her once or twice -afterward, for Juozas had thrown her over for another girl, and Alena had gone -away from Packingtown, no one knew where. And now he met her here! -</p> - -<p> -She was as much surprised as he was. “Jurgis Rudkus!” she gasped. -“And what in the world is the matter with you?” -</p> - -<p> -“I—I’ve had hard luck,” he stammered. “I’m -out of work, and I’ve no home and no money. And you, Alena—are you -married?” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she answered, “I’m not married, but I’ve -got a good place.” -</p> - -<p> -They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer. Finally Alena spoke -again. “Jurgis,” she said, “I’d help you if I could, -upon my word I would, but it happens that I’ve come out without my purse, -and I honestly haven’t a penny with me: I can do something better for -you, though—I can tell you how to get help. I can tell you where Marija -is.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis gave a start. “Marija!” he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Alena; “and she’ll help you. She’s -got a place, and she’s doing well; she’ll be glad to see -you.” -</p> - -<p> -It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left Packingtown, feeling -like one escaped from jail; and it had been from Marija and Elzbieta that he -was escaping. But now, at the mere mention of them, his whole being cried out -with joy. He wanted to see them; he wanted to go home! They would help -him—they would be kind to him. In a flash he had thought over the -situation. He had a good excuse for running away—his grief at the death -of his son; and also he had a good excuse for not returning—the fact that -they had left Packingtown. “All right,” he said, “I’ll -go.” -</p> - -<p> -So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, “There’s no need -to give you my address, because Marija knows it.” And Jurgis set out, -without further ado. He found a large brownstone house of aristocratic -appearance, and rang the basement bell. A young colored girl came to the door, -opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously. -</p> - -<p> -“What do you want?” she demanded. -</p> - -<p> -“Does Marija Berczynskas live here?” he inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“I dunno,” said the girl. “What you want wid her?” -</p> - -<p> -“I want to see her,” said he; “she’s a relative of -mine.” -</p> - -<p> -The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, “Come -in.” Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: -“I’ll go see. What’s yo’ name?” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell her it’s Jurgis,” he answered, and the girl went -upstairs. She came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, “Dey -ain’t no sich person here.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis’s heart went down into his boots. “I was told this was where -she lived!” he cried. But the girl only shook her head. “De lady -says dey ain’t no sich person here,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. Then he turned to -go to the door. At the same instant, however, there came a knock upon it, and -the girl went to open it. Jurgis heard the shuffling of feet, and then heard -her give a cry; and the next moment she sprang back, and past him, her eyes -shining white with terror, and bounded up the stairway, screaming at the top of -her lungs: “<i>Police! Police! We’re pinched!</i>” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated forms rushing -upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her cries had been the signal for a wild -uproar above; the house was full of people, and as he entered the hallway he -saw them rushing hither and thither, crying and screaming with alarm. There -were men and women, the latter clad for the most part in wrappers, the former -in all stages of <i>déshabille</i>. At one side Jurgis caught a glimpse of a -big apartment with plush-covered chairs, and tables covered with trays and -glasses. There were playing cards scattered all over the floor—one of the -tables had been upset, and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents -running out upon the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, and two -men who were supporting her; and there were a dozen others crowding toward the -front door. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon it, causing the -crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout woman, with painted cheeks and -diamonds in her ears, came running down the stairs, panting breathlessly: -“To the rear! Quick!” -</p> - -<p> -She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the kitchen she -pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, disclosing a dark -passageway. “Go in!” she cried to the crowd, which now amounted to -twenty or thirty, and they began to pass through. Scarcely had the last one -disappeared, however, before there were cries from in front, and then the -panic-stricken throng poured out again, exclaiming: “They’re there -too! We’re trapped!” -</p> - -<p> -“Upstairs!” cried the woman, and there was another rush of the mob, -women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be first. One flight, two, -three—and then there was a ladder to the roof, with a crowd packed at the -foot of it, and one man at the top, straining and struggling to lift the trap -door. It was not to be stirred, however, and when the woman shouted up to -unhook it, he answered: “It’s already unhooked. There’s -somebody sitting on it!” -</p> - -<p> -And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: “You might as well quit, -you people. We mean business, this time.” -</p> - -<p> -So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came up, -staring here and there, and leering at their victims. Of the latter the men -were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking. The women took it as a -joke, as if they were used to it—though if they had been pale, one could -not have told, for the paint on their cheeks. One black-eyed young girl perched -herself upon the top of the balustrade, and began to kick with her slippered -foot at the helmets of the policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle -and pulled her down. On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon -trunks in the hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were -noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who wore a -bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned out all the -other sounds in the hall—and Jurgis took a glance at her, and then gave a -start, and a cry, “Marija!” -</p> - -<p> -She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half sprang to her -feet in amazement. “Jurgis!” she gasped. -</p> - -<p> -For a second or two they stood staring at each other. “How did you come -here?” Marija exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -“I came to see you,” he answered. -</p> - -<p> -“When?” -</p> - -<p> -“Just now.” -</p> - -<p> -“But how did you know—who told you I was here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street.” -</p> - -<p> -Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The rest of the -crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to him. -“And you?” Jurgis asked. “You live here?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Marija, “I live here.” Then suddenly came a -hail from below: “Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. -You’d best begin, or you’ll be sorry—it’s raining -outside.” -</p> - -<p> -“Br-r-r!” shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the -various doors which lined the hallway. -</p> - -<p> -“Come,” said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a -tiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing stand and -some dresses hanging behind the door. There were clothes scattered about on the -floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere—boxes of rouge and bottles of -perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of -slippers and a clock and a whisky bottle on a chair. -</p> - -<p> -Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she proceeded -to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble to close the door. -He had by this time divined what sort of a place he was in; and he had seen a -great deal of the world since he had left home, and was not easy to -shock—and yet it gave him a painful start that Marija should do this. -They had always been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that the -memory of old times ought to have ruled her. But then he laughed at himself for -a fool. What was he, to be pretending to decency! -</p> - -<p> -“How long have you been living here?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Nearly a year,” she answered. -</p> - -<p> -“Why did you come?” -</p> - -<p> -“I had to live,” she said; “and I couldn’t see the -children starve.” -</p> - -<p> -He paused for a moment, watching her. “You were out of work?” he -asked, finally. -</p> - -<p> -“I got sick,” she replied, “and after that I had no money. -And then Stanislovas died—” -</p> - -<p> -“Stanislovas dead!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Marija, “I forgot. You didn’t know about -it.” -</p> - -<p> -“How did he die?” -</p> - -<p> -“Rats killed him,” she answered. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis gave a gasp. “<i>Rats</i> killed him!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes as -she spoke. “He was working in an oil factory—at least he was hired -by the men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on a long pole; and -he’d drink a little out of each can, and one day he drank too much, and -fell asleep in a corner, and got locked up in the place all night. When they -found him the rats had killed him and eaten him nearly all up.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up her shoes. There was a -long silence. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. “Hurry up, there,” he -said. -</p> - -<p> -“As quick as I can,” said Marija, and she stood up and began -putting on her corsets with feverish haste. -</p> - -<p> -“Are the rest of the people alive?” asked Jurgis, finally. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“Where are they?” -</p> - -<p> -“They live not far from here. They’re all right now.” -</p> - -<p> -“They are working?” he inquired. -</p> - -<p> -“Elzbieta is,” said Marija, “when she can. I take care of -them most of the time—I’m making plenty of money now.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was silent for a moment. “Do they know you live here—how you -live?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Elzbieta knows,” answered Marija. “I couldn’t lie to -her. And maybe the children have found out by this time. It’s nothing to -be ashamed of—we can’t help it.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Tamoszius?” he asked. “Does <i>he</i> know?” -</p> - -<p> -Marija shrugged her shoulders. “How do I know?” she said. “I -haven’t seen him for over a year. He got blood poisoning and lost one -finger, and couldn’t play the violin any more; and then he went -away.” -</p> - -<p> -Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress. Jurgis sat -staring at her. He could hardly believe that she was the same woman he had -known in the old days; she was so quiet—so hard! It struck fear to his -heart to watch her. -</p> - -<p> -Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. “You look as if you had been -having a rough time of it yourself,” she said. -</p> - -<p> -“I have,” he answered. “I haven’t a cent in my pockets, -and nothing to do.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where have you been?” -</p> - -<p> -“All over. I’ve been hoboing it. Then I went back to the -yards—just before the strike.” He paused for a moment, hesitating. -“I asked for you,” he added. “I found you had gone away, no -one knew where. Perhaps you think I did you a dirty trick running away as I -did, Marija—” -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she answered, “I don’t blame you. We never -have—any of us. You did your best—the job was too much for -us.” She paused a moment, then added: “We were too -ignorant—that was the trouble. We didn’t stand any chance. If -I’d known what I know now we’d have won out.” -</p> - -<p> -“You’d have come here?” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” she answered; “but that’s not what I meant. I -meant you—how differently you would have behaved—about Ona.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it. -</p> - -<p> -“When people are starving,” the other continued, “and they -have anything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess you realize -it now when it’s too late. Ona could have taken care of us all, in the -beginning.” Marija spoke without emotion, as one who had come to regard -things from the business point of view. -</p> - -<p> -“I—yes, I guess so,” Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did not -add that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman’s job, for the -satisfaction of knocking down “Phil” Connor a second time. -</p> - -<p> -The policeman came to the door again just then. “Come on, now,” he -said. “Lively!” -</p> - -<p> -“All right,” said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big -enough to be a drum major’s, and full of ostrich feathers. She went out -into the hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman remaining to look under the -bed and behind the door. -</p> - -<p> -“What’s going to come of this?” Jurgis asked, as they started -down the steps. -</p> - -<p> -“The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing—it happens to us every now and -then. The madame’s having some sort of time with the police; I -don’t know what it is, but maybe they’ll come to terms before -morning. Anyhow, they won’t do anything to you. They always let the men -off.” -</p> - -<p> -“Maybe so,” he responded, “but not me—I’m afraid -I’m in for it.” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you mean?” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m wanted by the police,” he said, lowering his voice, -though of course their conversation was in Lithuanian. “They’ll -send me up for a year or two, I’m afraid.” -</p> - -<p> -“Hell!” said Marija. “That’s too bad. I’ll see if -I can’t get you off.” -</p> - -<p> -Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now massed, she sought -out the stout personage with the diamond earrings, and had a few whispered -words with her. The latter then approached the police sergeant who was in -charge of the raid. “Billy,” she said, pointing to Jurgis, -“there’s a fellow who came in to see his sister. He’d just -got in the door when you knocked. You aren’t taking hoboes, are -you?” -</p> - -<p> -The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. “Sorry,” he said, -“but the orders are every one but the servants.” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodging behind each -other like sheep that have smelled a wolf. There were old men and young men, -college boys and gray-beards old enough to be their grandfathers; some of them -wore evening dress—there was no one among them save Jurgis who showed any -signs of poverty. -</p> - -<p> -When the roundup was completed, the doors were opened and the party marched -out. Three patrol wagons were drawn up at the curb, and the whole neighborhood -had turned out to see the sport; there was much chaffing, and a universal -craning of necks. The women stared about them with defiant eyes, or laughed and -joked, while the men kept their heads bowed, and their hats pulled over their -faces. They were crowded into the patrol wagons as if into streetcars, and then -off they went amid a din of cheers. At the station house Jurgis gave a Polish -name and was put into a cell with half a dozen others; and while these sat and -talked in whispers, he lay down in a corner and gave himself up to his -thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis had looked into the deepest reaches of the social pit, and grown used to -the sights in them. Yet when he had thought of all humanity as vile and -hideous, he had somehow always excepted his own family that he had loved; and -now this sudden horrible discovery—Marija a whore, and Elzbieta and the -children living off her shame! Jurgis might argue with himself all he chose, -that he had done worse, and was a fool for caring—but still he could not -get over the shock of that sudden unveiling, he could not help being sunk in -grief because of it. The depths of him were troubled and shaken, memories were -stirred in him that had been sleeping so long he had counted them dead. -Memories of the old life—his old hopes and his old yearnings, his old -dreams of decency and independence! He saw Ona again, he heard her gentle voice -pleading with him. He saw little Antanas, whom he had meant to make a man. He -saw his trembling old father, who had blessed them all with his wonderful love. -He lived again through that day of horror when he had discovered Ona’s -shame—God, how he had suffered, what a madman he had been! How dreadful -it had all seemed to him; and now, today, he had sat and listened, and half -agreed when Marija told him he had been a fool! Yes—told him that he -ought to have sold his wife’s honor and lived by it!—And then there -was Stanislovas and his awful fate—that brief story which Marija had -narrated so calmly, with such dull indifference! The poor little fellow, with -his frostbitten fingers and his terror of the snow—his wailing voice rang -in Jurgis’s ears, as he lay there in the darkness, until the sweat -started on his forehead. Now and then he would quiver with a sudden spasm of -horror, at the picture of little Stanislovas shut up in the deserted building -and fighting for his life with the rats! -</p> - -<p> -All these emotions had become strangers to the soul of Jurgis; it was so long -since they had troubled him that he had ceased to think they might ever trouble -him again. Helpless, trapped, as he was, what good did they do him—why -should he ever have allowed them to torment him? It had been the task of his -recent life to fight them down, to crush them out of him; never in his life -would he have suffered from them again, save that they had caught him unawares, -and overwhelmed him before he could protect himself. He heard the old voices of -his soul, he saw its old ghosts beckoning to him, stretching out their arms to -him! But they were far-off and shadowy, and the gulf between them was black and -bottomless; they would fade away into the mists of the past once more. Their -voices would die, and never again would he hear them—and so the last -faint spark of manhood in his soul would flicker out. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> - -<p> -After breakfast Jurgis was driven to the court, which was crowded with the -prisoners and those who had come out of curiosity or in the hope of recognizing -one of the men and getting a case for blackmail. The men were called up first, -and reprimanded in a bunch, and then dismissed; but, Jurgis, to his terror, was -called separately, as being a suspicious-looking case. It was in this very same -court that he had been tried, that time when his sentence had been -“suspended”; it was the same judge, and the same clerk. The latter -now stared at Jurgis, as if he half thought that he knew him; but the judge had -no suspicions—just then his thoughts were upon a telephone message he was -expecting from a friend of the police captain of the district, telling what -disposition he should make of the case of “Polly” Simpson, as the -“madame” of the house was known. Meantime, he listened to the story -of how Jurgis had been looking for his sister, and advised him dryly to keep -his sister in a better place; then he let him go, and proceeded to fine each of -the girls five dollars, which fines were paid in a bunch from a wad of bills -which Madame Polly extracted from her stocking. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis waited outside and walked home with Marija. The police had left the -house, and already there were a few visitors; by evening the place would be -running again, exactly as if nothing had happened. Meantime, Marija took Jurgis -upstairs to her room, and they sat and talked. By daylight, Jurgis was able to -observe that the color on her cheeks was not the old natural one of abounding -health; her complexion was in reality a parchment yellow, and there were black -rings under her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -“Have you been sick?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Sick?” she said. “Hell!” (Marija had learned to -scatter her conversation with as many oaths as a longshoreman or a mule -driver.) “How can I ever be anything but sick, at this life?” -</p> - -<p> -She fell silent for a moment, staring ahead of her gloomily. “It’s -morphine,” she said, at last. “I seem to take more of it every -day.” -</p> - -<p> -“What’s that for?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“It’s the way of it; I don’t know why. If it isn’t -that, it’s drink. If the girls didn’t booze they couldn’t -stand it any time at all. And the madame always gives them dope when they first -come, and they learn to like it; or else they take it for headaches and such -things, and get the habit that way. I’ve got it, I know; I’ve tried -to quit, but I never will while I’m here.” -</p> - -<p> -“How long are you going to stay?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t know,” she said. “Always, I guess. What else -could I do?” -</p> - -<p> -“Don’t you save any money?” -</p> - -<p> -“Save!” said Marija. “Good Lord, no! I get enough, I suppose, -but it all goes. I get a half share, two dollars and a half for each customer, -and sometimes I make twenty-five or thirty dollars a night, and you’d -think I ought to save something out of that! But then I am charged for my room -and my meals—and such prices as you never heard of; and then for extras, -and drinks—for everything I get, and some I don’t. My laundry bill -is nearly twenty dollars each week alone—think of that! Yet what can I -do? I either have to stand it or quit, and it would be the same anywhere else. -It’s all I can do to save the fifteen dollars I give Elzbieta each week, -so the children can go to school.” -</p> - -<p> -Marija sat brooding in silence for a while; then, seeing that Jurgis was -interested, she went on: “That’s the way they keep the -girls—they let them run up debts, so they can’t get away. A young -girl comes from abroad, and she doesn’t know a word of English, and she -gets into a place like this, and when she wants to go the madame shows her that -she is a couple of hundred dollars in debt, and takes all her clothes away, and -threatens to have her arrested if she doesn’t stay and do as she’s -told. So she stays, and the longer she stays, the more in debt she gets. Often, -too, they are girls that didn’t know what they were coming to, that had -hired out for housework. Did you notice that little French girl with the yellow -hair, that stood next to me in the court?” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis answered in the affirmative. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, she came to America about a year ago. She was a store clerk, and -she hired herself to a man to be sent here to work in a factory. There were six -of them, all together, and they were brought to a house just down the street -from here, and this girl was put into a room alone, and they gave her some dope -in her food, and when she came to she found that she had been ruined. She -cried, and screamed, and tore her hair, but she had nothing but a wrapper, and -couldn’t get away, and they kept her half insensible with drugs all the -time, until she gave up. She never got outside of that place for ten months, -and then they sent her away, because she didn’t suit. I guess -they’ll put her out of here, too—she’s getting to have crazy -fits, from drinking absinthe. Only one of the girls that came out with her got -away, and she jumped out of a second-story window one night. There was a great -fuss about that—maybe you heard of it.” -</p> - -<p> -“I did,” said Jurgis, “I heard of it afterward.” (It -had happened in the place where he and Duane had taken refuge from their -“country customer.” The girl had become insane, fortunately for the -police.) -</p> - -<p> -“There’s lots of money in it,” said Marija—“they -get as much as forty dollars a head for girls, and they bring them from all -over. There are seventeen in this place, and nine different countries among -them. In some places you might find even more. We have half a dozen French -girls—I suppose it’s because the madame speaks the language. French -girls are bad, too, the worst of all, except for the Japanese. There’s a -place next door that’s full of Japanese women, but I wouldn’t live -in the same house with one of them.” -</p> - -<p> -Marija paused for a moment or two, and then she added: “Most of the women -here are pretty decent—you’d be surprised. I used to think they did -it because they liked to; but fancy a woman selling herself to every kind of -man that comes, old or young, black or white—and doing it because she -likes to!” -</p> - -<p> -“Some of them say they do,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“I know,” said she; “they say anything. They’re in, and -they know they can’t get out. But they didn’t like it when they -began—you’d find out—it’s always misery! There’s -a little Jewish girl here who used to run errands for a milliner, and got sick -and lost her place; and she was four days on the streets without a mouthful of -food, and then she went to a place just around the corner and offered herself, -and they made her give up her clothes before they would give her a bite to -eat!” -</p> - -<p> -Marija sat for a minute or two, brooding somberly. “Tell me about -yourself, Jurgis,” she said, suddenly. “Where have you been?” -</p> - -<p> -So he told her the long story of his adventures since his flight from home; his -life as a tramp, and his work in the freight tunnels, and the accident; and -then of Jack Duane, and of his political career in the stockyards, and his -downfall and subsequent failures. Marija listened with sympathy; it was easy to -believe the tale of his late starvation, for his face showed it all. “You -found me just in the nick of time,” she said. “I’ll stand by -you—I’ll help you till you can get some work.” -</p> - -<p> -“I don’t like to let you—” he began. -</p> - -<p> -“Why not? Because I’m here?” -</p> - -<p> -“No, not that,” he said. “But I went off and left -you—” -</p> - -<p> -“Nonsense!” said Marija. “Don’t think about it. I -don’t blame you.” -</p> - -<p> -“You must be hungry,” she said, after a minute or two. “You -stay here to lunch—I’ll have something up in the room.” -</p> - -<p> -She pressed a button, and a colored woman came to the door and took her order. -“It’s nice to have somebody to wait on you,” she observed, -with a laugh, as she lay back on the bed. -</p> - -<p> -As the prison breakfast had not been liberal, Jurgis had a good appetite, and -they had a little feast together, talking meanwhile of Elzbieta and the -children and old times. Shortly before they were through, there came another -colored girl, with the message that the “madame” wanted -Marija—“Lithuanian Mary,” as they called her here. -</p> - -<p> -“That means you have to go,” she said to Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -So he got up, and she gave him the new address of the family, a tenement over -in the Ghetto district. “You go there,” she said. -“They’ll be glad to see you.” -</p> - -<p> -But Jurgis stood hesitating. -</p> - -<p> -“I—I don’t like to,” he said. “Honest, Marija, -why don’t you just give me a little money and let me look for work -first?” -</p> - -<p> -“How do you need money?” was her reply. “All you want is -something to eat and a place to sleep, isn’t it?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” he said; “but then I don’t like to go there -after I left them—and while I have nothing to do, and while -you—you—” -</p> - -<p> -“Go on!” said Marija, giving him a push. “What are you -talking?—I won’t give you money,” she added, as she followed -him to the door, “because you’ll drink it up, and do yourself harm. -Here’s a quarter for you now, and go along, and they’ll be so glad -to have you back, you won’t have time to feel ashamed. Good-by!” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went out, and walked down the street to think it over. He decided -that he would first try to get work, and so he put in the rest of the day -wandering here and there among factories and warehouses without success. Then, -when it was nearly dark, he concluded to go home, and set out; but he came to a -restaurant, and went in and spent his quarter for a meal; and when he came out -he changed his mind—the night was pleasant, and he would sleep somewhere -outside, and put in the morrow hunting, and so have one more chance of a job. -So he started away again, when suddenly he chanced to look about him, and found -that he was walking down the same street and past the same hall where he had -listened to the political speech the night before. There was no red fire and no -band now, but there was a sign out, announcing a meeting, and a stream of -people pouring in through the entrance. In a flash Jurgis had decided that he -would chance it once more, and sit down and rest while making up his mind what -to do. There was no one taking tickets, so it must be a free show again. -</p> - -<p> -He entered. There were no decorations in the hall this time; but there was -quite a crowd upon the platform, and almost every seat in the place was filled. -He took one of the last, far in the rear, and straightway forgot all about his -surroundings. Would Elzbieta think that he had come to sponge off her, or would -she understand that he meant to get to work again and do his share? Would she -be decent to him, or would she scold him? If only he could get some sort of a -job before he went—if that last boss had only been willing to try him! -</p> - -<p> -—Then suddenly Jurgis looked up. A tremendous roar had burst from the -throats of the crowd, which by this time had packed the hall to the very doors. -Men and women were standing up, waving handkerchiefs, shouting, yelling. -Evidently the speaker had arrived, thought Jurgis; what fools they were making -of themselves! What were they expecting to get out of it anyhow—what had -they to do with elections, with governing the country? Jurgis had been behind -the scenes in politics. -</p> - -<p> -He went back to his thoughts, but with one further fact to reckon -with—that he was caught here. The hall was now filled to the doors; and -after the meeting it would be too late for him to go home, so he would have to -make the best of it outside. Perhaps it would be better to go home in the -morning, anyway, for the children would be at school, and he and Elzbieta could -have a quiet explanation. She always had been a reasonable person; and he -really did mean to do right. He would manage to persuade her of it—and -besides, Marija was willing, and Marija was furnishing the money. If Elzbieta -were ugly, he would tell her that in so many words. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis went on meditating; until finally, when he had been an hour or two in -the hall, there began to prepare itself a repetition of the dismal catastrophe -of the night before. Speaking had been going on all the time, and the audience -was clapping its hands and shouting, thrilling with excitement; and little by -little the sounds were beginning to blur in Jurgis’s ears, and his -thoughts were beginning to run together, and his head to wobble and nod. He -caught himself many times, as usual, and made desperate resolutions; but the -hall was hot and close, and his long walk and his dinner were too much for -him—in the end his head sank forward and he went off again. -</p> - -<p> -And then again someone nudged him, and he sat up with his old terrified start! -He had been snoring again, of course! And now what? He fixed his eyes ahead of -him, with painful intensity, staring at the platform as if nothing else ever -had interested him, or ever could interest him, all his life. He imagined the -angry exclamations, the hostile glances; he imagined the policeman striding -toward him—reaching for his neck. Or was he to have one more chance? Were -they going to let him alone this time? He sat trembling; waiting— -</p> - -<p> -And then suddenly came a voice in his ear, a woman’s voice, gentle and -sweet, “If you would try to listen, comrade, perhaps you would be -interested.” -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis was more startled by that than he would have been by the touch of a -policeman. He still kept his eyes fixed ahead, and did not stir; but his heart -gave a great leap. Comrade! Who was it that called him “comrade”? -</p> - -<p> -He waited long, long; and at last, when he was sure that he was no longer -watched, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eyes at the woman who sat -beside him. She was young and beautiful; she wore fine clothes, and was what is -called a “lady.” And she called him “comrade”! -</p> - -<p> -He turned a little, carefully, so that he could see her better; then he began -to watch her, fascinated. She had apparently forgotten all about him, and was -looking toward the platform. A man was speaking there—Jurgis heard his -voice vaguely; but all his thoughts were for this woman’s face. A feeling -of alarm stole over him as he stared at her. It made his flesh creep. What was -the matter with her, what could be going on, to affect any one like that? She -sat as one turned to stone, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, so tightly -that he could see the cords standing out in her wrists. There was a look of -excitement upon her face, of tense effort, as of one struggling mightily, or -witnessing a struggle. There was a faint quivering of her nostrils; and now and -then she would moisten her lips with feverish haste. Her bosom rose and fell as -she breathed, and her excitement seemed to mount higher and higher, and then to -sink away again, like a boat tossing upon ocean surges. What was it? What was -the matter? It must be something that the man was saying, up there on the -platform. What sort of a man was he? And what sort of thing was this, -anyhow?—So all at once it occurred to Jurgis to look at the speaker. -</p> - -<p> -It was like coming suddenly upon some wild sight of nature—a mountain -forest lashed by a tempest, a ship tossed about upon a stormy sea. Jurgis had -an unpleasant sensation, a sense of confusion, of disorder, of wild and -meaningless uproar. The man was tall and gaunt, as haggard as his auditor -himself; a thin black beard covered half of his face, and one could see only -two black hollows where the eyes were. He was speaking rapidly, in great -excitement; he used many gestures—as he spoke he moved here and there -upon the stage, reaching with his long arms as if to seize each person in his -audience. His voice was deep, like an organ; it was some time, however, before -Jurgis thought of the voice—he was too much occupied with his eyes to -think of what the man was saying. But suddenly it seemed as if the speaker had -begun pointing straight at him, as if he had singled him out particularly for -his remarks; and so Jurgis became suddenly aware of his voice, trembling, -vibrant with emotion, with pain and longing, with a burden of things -unutterable, not to be compassed by words. To hear it was to be suddenly -arrested, to be gripped, transfixed. -</p> - -<p> -“You listen to these things,” the man was saying, “and you -say, ‘Yes, they are true, but they have been that way always.’ Or -you say, ‘Maybe it will come, but not in my time—it will not help -me.’ And so you return to your daily round of toil, you go back to be -ground up for profits in the world-wide mill of economic might! To toil long -hours for another’s advantage; to live in mean and squalid homes, to work -in dangerous and unhealthful places; to wrestle with the specters of hunger and -privation, to take your chances of accident, disease, and death. And each day -the struggle becomes fiercer, the pace more cruel; each day you have to toil a -little harder, and feel the iron hand of circumstance close upon you a little -tighter. Months pass, years maybe—and then you come again; and again I am -here to plead with you, to know if want and misery have yet done their work -with you, if injustice and oppression have yet opened your eyes! I shall still -be waiting—there is nothing else that I can do. There is no wilderness -where I can hide from these things, there is no haven where I can escape them; -though I travel to the ends of the earth, I find the same accursed -system—I find that all the fair and noble impulses of humanity, the -dreams of poets and the agonies of martyrs, are shackled and bound in the -service of organized and predatory Greed! And therefore I cannot rest, I cannot -be silent; therefore I cast aside comfort and happiness, health and good -repute—and go out into the world and cry out the pain of my spirit! -Therefore I am not to be silenced by poverty and sickness, not by hatred and -obloquy, by threats and ridicule—not by prison and persecution, if they -should come—not by any power that is upon the earth or above the earth, -that was, or is, or ever can be created. If I fail tonight, I can only try -tomorrow; knowing that the fault must be mine—that if once the vision of -my soul were spoken upon earth, if once the anguish of its defeat were uttered -in human speech, it would break the stoutest barriers of prejudice, it would -shake the most sluggish soul to action! It would abash the most cynical, it -would terrify the most selfish; and the voice of mockery would be silenced, and -fraud and falsehood would slink back into their dens, and the truth would stand -forth alone! For I speak with the voice of the millions who are voiceless! Of -them that are oppressed and have no comforter! Of the disinherited of life, for -whom there is no respite and no deliverance, to whom the world is a prison, a -dungeon of torture, a tomb! With the voice of the little child who toils -tonight in a Southern cotton mill, staggering with exhaustion, numb with agony, -and knowing no hope but the grave! Of the mother who sews by candlelight in her -tenement garret, weary and weeping, smitten with the mortal hunger of her -babes! Of the man who lies upon a bed of rags, wrestling in his last sickness -and leaving his loved ones to perish! Of the young girl who, somewhere at this -moment, is walking the streets of this horrible city, beaten and starving, and -making her choice between the brothel and the lake! With the voice of those, -whoever and wherever they may be, who are caught beneath the wheels of the -Juggernaut of Greed! With the voice of humanity, calling for deliverance! Of -the everlasting soul of Man, arising from the dust; breaking its way out of its -prison—rending the bands of oppression and ignorance—groping its -way to the light!” -</p> - -<p> -The speaker paused. There was an instant of silence, while men caught their -breaths, and then like a single sound there came a cry from a thousand people. -Through it all Jurgis sat still, motionless and rigid, his eyes fixed upon the -speaker; he was trembling, smitten with wonder. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly the man raised his hands, and silence fell, and he began again. -</p> - -<p> -“I plead with you,” he said, “whoever you may be, provided -that you care about the truth; but most of all I plead with working-man, with -those to whom the evils I portray are not mere matters of sentiment, to be -dallied and toyed with, and then perhaps put aside and forgotten—to whom -they are the grim and relentless realities of the daily grind, the chains upon -their limbs, the lash upon their backs, the iron in their souls. To you, -working-men! To you, the toilers, who have made this land, and have no voice in -its councils! To you, whose lot it is to sow that others may reap, to labor and -obey, and ask no more than the wages of a beast of burden, the food and shelter -to keep you alive from day to day. It is to you that I come with my message of -salvation, it is to you that I appeal. I know how much it is to ask of -you—I know, for I have been in your place, I have lived your life, and -there is no man before me here tonight who knows it better. I have known what -it is to be a street-waif, a bootblack, living upon a crust of bread and -sleeping in cellar stairways and under empty wagons. I have known what it is to -dare and to aspire, to dream mighty dreams and to see them perish—to see -all the fair flowers of my spirit trampled into the mire by the wild-beast -powers of my life. I know what is the price that a working-man pays for -knowledge—I have paid for it with food and sleep, with agony of body and -mind, with health, almost with life itself; and so, when I come to you with a -story of hope and freedom, with the vision of a new earth to be created, of a -new labor to be dared, I am not surprised that I find you sordid and material, -sluggish and incredulous. That I do not despair is because I know also the -forces that are driving behind you—because I know the raging lash of -poverty, the sting of contempt and mastership, ‘the insolence of office -and the spurns.’ Because I feel sure that in the crowd that has come to -me tonight, no matter how many may be dull and heedless, no matter how many may -have come out of idle curiosity, or in order to ridicule—there will be -some one man whom pain and suffering have made desperate, whom some chance -vision of wrong and horror has startled and shocked into attention. And to him -my words will come like a sudden flash of lightning to one who travels in -darkness—revealing the way before him, the perils and the -obstacles—solving all problems, making all difficulties clear! The scales -will fall from his eyes, the shackles will be torn from his limbs—he will -leap up with a cry of thankfulness, he will stride forth a free man at last! A -man delivered from his self-created slavery! A man who will never more be -trapped—whom no blandishments will cajole, whom no threats will frighten; -who from tonight on will move forward, and not backward, who will study and -understand, who will gird on his sword and take his place in the army of his -comrades and brothers. Who will carry the good tidings to others, as I have -carried them to him—priceless gift of liberty and light that is neither -mine nor his, but is the heritage of the soul of man! Working-men, -working-men—comrades! open your eyes and look about you! You have lived -so long in the toil and heat that your senses are dulled, your souls are -numbed; but realize once in your lives this world in which you dwell—tear -off the rags of its customs and conventions—behold it as it is, in all -its hideous nakedness! Realize it, <i>realize it!</i> Realize that out upon the -plains of Manchuria tonight two hostile armies are facing each other—that -now, while we are seated here, a million human beings may be hurled at each -other’s throats, striving with the fury of maniacs to tear each other to -pieces! And this in the twentieth century, nineteen hundred years since the -Prince of Peace was born on earth! Nineteen hundred years that his words have -been preached as divine, and here two armies of men are rending and tearing -each other like the wild beasts of the forest! Philosophers have reasoned, -prophets have denounced, poets have wept and pleaded—and still this -hideous Monster roams at large! We have schools and colleges, newspapers and -books; we have searched the heavens and the earth, we have weighed and probed -and reasoned—and all to equip men to destroy each other! We call it War, -and pass it by—but do not put me off with platitudes and -conventions—come with me, come with me—<i>realize it!</i> See the -bodies of men pierced by bullets, blown into pieces by bursting shells! Hear -the crunching of the bayonet, plunged into human flesh; hear the groans and -shrieks of agony, see the faces of men crazed by pain, turned into fiends by -fury and hate! Put your hand upon that piece of flesh—it is hot and -quivering—just now it was a part of a man! This blood is still -steaming—it was driven by a human heart! Almighty God! and this goes -on—it is systematic, organized, premeditated! And we know it, and read of -it, and take it for granted; our papers tell of it, and the presses are not -stopped—our churches know of it, and do not close their doors—the -people behold it, and do not rise up in horror and revolution! -</p> - -<p> -“Or perhaps Manchuria is too far away for you—come home with me -then, come here to Chicago. Here in this city to-night ten thousand women are -shut up in foul pens, and driven by hunger to sell their bodies to live. And we -know it, we make it a jest! And these women are made in the image of your -mothers, they may be your sisters, your daughters; the child whom you left at -home tonight, whose laughing eyes will greet you in the morning—that fate -may be waiting for her! To-night in Chicago there are ten thousand men, -homeless and wretched, willing to work and begging for a chance, yet starving, -and fronting in terror the awful winter cold! Tonight in Chicago there are a -hundred thousand children wearing out their strength and blasting their lives -in the effort to earn their bread! There are a hundred thousand mothers who are -living in misery and squalor, struggling to earn enough to feed their little -ones! There are a hundred thousand old people, cast off and helpless, waiting -for death to take them from their torments! There are a million people, men and -women and children, who share the curse of the wage-slave; who toil every hour -they can stand and see, for just enough to keep them alive; who are condemned -till the end of their days to monotony and weariness, to hunger and misery, to -heat and cold, to dirt and disease, to ignorance and drunkenness and vice! And -then turn over the page with me, and gaze upon the other side of the picture. -There are a thousand—ten thousand, maybe—who are the masters of -these slaves, who own their toil. They do nothing to earn what they receive, -they do not even have to ask for it—it comes to them of itself, their -only care is to dispose of it. They live in palaces, they riot in luxury and -extravagance—such as no words can describe, as makes the imagination reel -and stagger, makes the soul grow sick and faint. They spend hundreds of dollars -for a pair of shoes, a handkerchief, a garter; they spend millions for horses -and automobiles and yachts, for palaces and banquets, for little shiny stones -with which to deck their bodies. Their life is a contest among themselves for -supremacy in ostentation and recklessness, in the destroying of useful and -necessary things, in the wasting of the labor and the lives of their fellow -creatures, the toil and anguish of the nations, the sweat and tears and blood -of the human race! It is all theirs—it comes to them; just as all the -springs pour into streamlets, and the streamlets into rivers, and the rivers -into the oceans—so, automatically and inevitably, all the wealth of -society comes to them. The farmer tills the soil, the miner digs in the earth, -the weaver tends the loom, the mason carves the stone; the clever man invents, -the shrewd man directs, the wise man studies, the inspired man sings—and -all the result, the products of the labor of brain and muscle, are gathered -into one stupendous stream and poured into their laps! The whole of society is -in their grip, the whole labor of the world lies at their mercy—and like -fierce wolves they rend and destroy, like ravening vultures they devour and -tear! The whole power of mankind belongs to them, forever and beyond -recall—do what it can, strive as it will, humanity lives for them and -dies for them! They own not merely the labor of society, they have bought the -governments; and everywhere they use their raped and stolen power to intrench -themselves in their privileges, to dig wider and deeper the channels through -which the river of profits flows to them!—And you, workingmen, -workingmen! You have been brought up to it, you plod on like beasts of burden, -thinking only of the day and its pain—yet is there a man among you who -can believe that such a system will continue forever—is there a man here -in this audience tonight so hardened and debased that he dare rise up before me -and say that he believes it can continue forever; that the product of the labor -of society, the means of existence of the human race, will always belong to -idlers and parasites, to be spent for the gratification of vanity and -lust—to be spent for any purpose whatever, to be at the disposal of any -individual will whatever—that somehow, somewhere, the labor of humanity -will not belong to humanity, to be used for the purposes of humanity, to be -controlled by the will of humanity? And if this is ever to be, how is it to -be—what power is there that will bring it about? Will it be the task of -your masters, do you think—will they write the charter of your liberties? -Will they forge you the sword of your deliverance, will they marshal you the -army and lead it to the fray? Will their wealth be spent for the -purpose—will they build colleges and churches to teach you, will they -print papers to herald your progress, and organize political parties to guide -and carry on the struggle? Can you not see that the task is your -task—yours to dream, yours to resolve, yours to execute? That if ever it -is carried out, it will be in the face of every obstacle that wealth and -mastership can oppose—in the face of ridicule and slander, of hatred and -persecution, of the bludgeon and the jail? That it will be by the power of your -naked bosoms, opposed to the rage of oppression! By the grim and bitter -teaching of blind and merciless affliction! By the painful gropings of the -untutored mind, by the feeble stammerings of the uncultured voice! By the sad -and lonely hunger of the spirit; by seeking and striving and yearning, by -heartache and despairing, by agony and sweat of blood! It will be by money paid -for with hunger, by knowledge stolen from sleep, by thoughts communicated under -the shadow of the gallows! It will be a movement beginning in the far-off past, -a thing obscure and unhonored, a thing easy to ridicule, easy to despise; a -thing unlovely, wearing the aspect of vengeance and hate—but to you, the -working-man, the wage-slave, calling with a voice insistent, -imperious—with a voice that you cannot escape, wherever upon the earth -you may be! With the voice of all your wrongs, with the voice of all your -desires; with the voice of your duty and your hope—of everything in the -world that is worth while to you! The voice of the poor, demanding that poverty -shall cease! The voice of the oppressed, pronouncing the doom of oppression! -The voice of power, wrought out of suffering—of resolution, crushed out -of weakness—of joy and courage, born in the bottomless pit of anguish and -despair! The voice of Labor, despised and outraged; a mighty giant, lying -prostrate—mountainous, colossal, but blinded, bound, and ignorant of his -strength. And now a dream of resistance haunts him, hope battling with fear; -until suddenly he stirs, and a fetter snaps—and a thrill shoots through -him, to the farthest ends of his huge body, and in a flash the dream becomes an -act! He starts, he lifts himself; and the bands are shattered, the burdens roll -off him—he rises—towering, gigantic; he springs to his feet, he -shouts in his newborn exultation—” -</p> - -<p> -And the speaker’s voice broke suddenly, with the stress of his feelings; -he stood with his arms stretched out above him, and the power of his vision -seemed to lift him from the floor. The audience came to its feet with a yell; -men waved their arms, laughing aloud in their excitement. And Jurgis was with -them, he was shouting to tear his throat; shouting because he could not help -it, because the stress of his feeling was more than he could bear. It was not -merely the man’s words, the torrent of his eloquence. It was his -presence, it was his voice: a voice with strange intonations that rang through -the chambers of the soul like the clanging of a bell—that gripped the -listener like a mighty hand about his body, that shook him and startled him -with sudden fright, with a sense of things not of earth, of mysteries never -spoken before, of presences of awe and terror! There was an unfolding of vistas -before him, a breaking of the ground beneath him, an upheaving, a stirring, a -trembling; he felt himself suddenly a mere man no longer—there were -powers within him undreamed of, there were demon forces contending, age-long -wonders struggling to be born; and he sat oppressed with pain and joy, while a -tingling stole down into his finger tips, and his breath came hard and fast. -The sentences of this man were to Jurgis like the crashing of thunder in his -soul; a flood of emotions surged up in him—all his old hopes and -longings, his old griefs and rages and despairs. All that he had ever felt in -his whole life seemed to come back to him at once, and with one new emotion, -hardly to be described. That he should have suffered such oppressions and such -horrors was bad enough; but that he should have been crushed and beaten by -them, that he should have submitted, and forgotten, and lived in -peace—ah, truly that was a thing not to be put into words, a thing not to -be borne by a human creature, a thing of terror and madness! -“What,” asks the prophet, “is the murder of them that kill -the body, to the murder of them that kill the soul?” And Jurgis was a man -whose soul had been murdered, who had ceased to hope and to struggle—who -had made terms with degradation and despair; and now, suddenly, in one awful -convulsion, the black and hideous fact was made plain to him! There was a -falling in of all the pillars of his soul, the sky seemed to split above -him—he stood there, with his clenched hands upraised, his eyes bloodshot, -and the veins standing out purple in his face, roaring in the voice of a wild -beast, frantic, incoherent, maniacal. And when he could shout no more he still -stood there, gasping, and whispering hoarsely to himself: “By God! By -God! By God!” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> - -<p> -The man had gone back to a seat upon the platform, and Jurgis realized that his -speech was over. The applause continued for several minutes; and then some one -started a song, and the crowd took it up, and the place shook with it. Jurgis -had never heard it, and he could not make out the words, but the wild and -wonderful spirit of it seized upon him—it was the -“Marseillaise!” As stanza after stanza of it thundered forth, he -sat with his hands clasped, trembling in every nerve. He had never been so -stirred in his life—it was a miracle that had been wrought in him. He -could not think at all, he was stunned; yet he knew that in the mighty upheaval -that had taken place in his soul, a new man had been born. He had been torn out -of the jaws of destruction, he had been delivered from the thraldom of despair; -the whole world had been changed for him—he was free, he was free! Even -if he were to suffer as he had before, even if he were to beg and starve, -nothing would be the same to him; he would understand it, and bear it. He would -no longer be the sport of circumstances, he would be a man, with a will and a -purpose; he would have something to fight for, something to die for, if need -be! Here were men who would show him and help him; and he would have friends -and allies, he would dwell in the sight of justice, and walk arm in arm with -power. -</p> - -<p> -The audience subsided again, and Jurgis sat back. The chairman of the meeting -came forward and began to speak. His voice sounded thin and futile after the -other’s, and to Jurgis it seemed a profanation. Why should any one else -speak, after that miraculous man—why should they not all sit in silence? -The chairman was explaining that a collection would now be taken up to defray -the expenses of the meeting, and for the benefit of the campaign fund of the -party. Jurgis heard; but he had not a penny to give, and so his thoughts went -elsewhere again. -</p> - -<p> -He kept his eyes fixed on the orator, who sat in an armchair, his head leaning -on his hand and his attitude indicating exhaustion. But suddenly he stood up -again, and Jurgis heard the chairman of the meeting saying that the speaker -would now answer any questions which the audience might care to put to him. The -man came forward, and some one—a woman—arose and asked about some -opinion the speaker had expressed concerning Tolstoy. Jurgis had never heard of -Tolstoy, and did not care anything about him. Why should any one want to ask -such questions, after an address like that? The thing was not to talk, but to -do; the thing was to get bold of others and rouse them, to organize them and -prepare for the fight! But still the discussion went on, in ordinary -conversational tones, and it brought Jurgis back to the everyday world. A few -minutes ago he had felt like seizing the hand of the beautiful lady by his -side, and kissing it; he had felt like flinging his arms about the neck of the -man on the other side of him. And now he began to realize again that he was a -“hobo,” that he was ragged and dirty, and smelled bad, and had no -place to sleep that night! -</p> - -<p> -And so, at last, when the meeting broke up, and the audience started to leave, -poor Jurgis was in an agony of uncertainty. He had not thought of -leaving—he had thought that the vision must last forever, that he had -found comrades and brothers. But now he would go out, and the thing would fade -away, and he would never be able to find it again! He sat in his seat, -frightened and wondering; but others in the same row wanted to get out, and so -he had to stand up and move along. As he was swept down the aisle he looked -from one person to another, wistfully; they were all excitedly discussing the -address—but there was nobody who offered to discuss it with him. He was -near enough to the door to feel the night air, when desperation seized him. He -knew nothing at all about that speech he had heard, not even the name of the -orator; and he was to go away—no, no, it was preposterous, he must speak -to some one; he must find that man himself and tell him. He would not despise -him, tramp as he was! -</p> - -<p> -So he stepped into an empty row of seats and watched, and when the crowd had -thinned out, he started toward the platform. The speaker was gone; but there -was a stage door that stood open, with people passing in and out, and no one on -guard. Jurgis summoned up his courage and went in, and down a hallway, and to -the door of a room where many people were crowded. No one paid any attention to -him, and he pushed in, and in a corner he saw the man he sought. The orator sat -in a chair, with his shoulders sunk together and his eyes half closed; his face -was ghastly pale, almost greenish in hue, and one arm lay limp at his side. A -big man with spectacles on stood near him, and kept pushing back the crowd, -saying, “Stand away a little, please; can’t you see the comrade is -worn out?” -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis stood watching, while five or ten minutes passed. Now and then the -man would look up, and address a word or two to those who were near him; and, -at last, on one of these occasions, his glance rested on Jurgis. There seemed -to be a slight hint of inquiry about it, and a sudden impulse seized the other. -He stepped forward. -</p> - -<p> -“I wanted to thank you, sir!” he began, in breathless haste. -“I could not go away without telling you how much—how glad I am I -heard you. I—I didn’t know anything about it all—” -</p> - -<p> -The big man with the spectacles, who had moved away, came back at this moment. -“The comrade is too tired to talk to any one—” he began; but -the other held up his hand. -</p> - -<p> -“Wait,” he said. “He has something to say to me.” And -then he looked into Jurgis’s face. “You want to know more about -Socialism?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -Jurgis started. “I—I—” he stammered. “Is it -Socialism? I didn’t know. I want to know about what you spoke of—I -want to help. I have been through all that.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where do you live?” asked the other. -</p> - -<p> -“I have no home,” said Jurgis, “I am out of work.” -</p> - -<p> -“You are a foreigner, are you not?” -</p> - -<p> -“Lithuanian, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -The man thought for a moment, and then turned to his friend. “Who is -there, Walters?” he asked. “There is Ostrinski—but he is a -Pole—” -</p> - -<p> -“Ostrinski speaks Lithuanian,” said the other. “All right, -then; would you mind seeing if he has gone yet?” -</p> - -<p> -The other started away, and the speaker looked at Jurgis again. He had deep, -black eyes, and a face full of gentleness and pain. “You must excuse me, -comrade,” he said. “I am just tired out—I have spoken every -day for the last month. I will introduce you to some one who will be able to -help you as well as I could—” -</p> - -<p> -The messenger had had to go no further than the door, he came back, followed by -a man whom he introduced to Jurgis as “Comrade Ostrinski.” Comrade -Ostrinski was a little man, scarcely up to Jurgis’s shoulder, wizened and -wrinkled, very ugly, and slightly lame. He had on a long-tailed black coat, -worn green at the seams and the buttonholes; his eyes must have been weak, for -he wore green spectacles that gave him a grotesque appearance. But his -handclasp was hearty, and he spoke in Lithuanian, which warmed Jurgis to him. -</p> - -<p> -“You want to know about Socialism?” he said. “Surely. Let us -go out and take a stroll, where we can be quiet and talk some.” -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis bade farewell to the master wizard, and went out. Ostrinski asked -where he lived, offering to walk in that direction; and so he had to explain -once more that he was without a home. At the other’s request he told his -story; how he had come to America, and what had happened to him in the -stockyards, and how his family had been broken up, and how he had become a -wanderer. So much the little man heard, and then he pressed Jurgis’s arm -tightly. “You have been through the mill, comrade!” he said. -“We will make a fighter out of you!” -</p> - -<p> -Then Ostrinski in turn explained his circumstances. He would have asked Jurgis -to his home—but he had only two rooms, and had no bed to offer. He would -have given up his own bed, but his wife was ill. Later on, when he understood -that otherwise Jurgis would have to sleep in a hallway, he offered him his -kitchen floor, a chance which the other was only too glad to accept. -“Perhaps tomorrow we can do better,” said Ostrinski. “We try -not to let a comrade starve.” -</p> - -<p> -Ostrinski’s home was in the Ghetto district, where he had two rooms in -the basement of a tenement. There was a baby crying as they entered, and he -closed the door leading into the bedroom. He had three young children, he -explained, and a baby had just come. He drew up two chairs near the kitchen -stove, adding that Jurgis must excuse the disorder of the place, since at such -a time one’s domestic arrangements were upset. Half of the kitchen was -given up to a workbench, which was piled with clothing, and Ostrinski explained -that he was a “pants finisher.” He brought great bundles of -clothing here to his home, where he and his wife worked on them. He made a -living at it, but it was getting harder all the time, because his eyes were -failing. What would come when they gave out he could not tell; there had been -no saving anything—a man could barely keep alive by twelve or fourteen -hours’ work a day. The finishing of pants did not take much skill, and -anybody could learn it, and so the pay was forever getting less. That was the -competitive wage system; and if Jurgis wanted to understand what Socialism was, -it was there he had best begin. The workers were dependent upon a job to exist -from day to day, and so they bid against each other, and no man could get more -than the lowest man would consent to work for. And thus the mass of the people -were always in a life-and-death struggle with poverty. That was -“competition,” so far as it concerned the wage-earner, the man who -had only his labor to sell; to those on top, the exploiters, it appeared very -differently, of course—there were few of them, and they could combine and -dominate, and their power would be unbreakable. And so all over the world two -classes were forming, with an unbridged chasm between them—the capitalist -class, with its enormous fortunes, and the proletariat, bound into slavery by -unseen chains. The latter were a thousand to one in numbers, but they were -ignorant and helpless, and they would remain at the mercy of their exploiters -until they were organized—until they had become -“class-conscious.” It was a slow and weary process, but it would go -on—it was like the movement of a glacier, once it was started it could -never be stopped. Every Socialist did his share, and lived upon the vision of -the “good time coming,”—when the working class should go to -the polls and seize the powers of government, and put an end to private -property in the means of production. No matter how poor a man was, or how much -he suffered, he could never be really unhappy while he knew of that future; -even if he did not live to see it himself, his children would, and, to a -Socialist, the victory of his class was his victory. Also he had always the -progress to encourage him; here in Chicago, for instance, the movement was -growing by leaps and bounds. Chicago was the industrial center of the country, -and nowhere else were the unions so strong; but their organizations did the -workers little good, for the employers were organized, also; and so the strikes -generally failed, and as fast as the unions were broken up the men were coming -over to the Socialists. -</p> - -<p> -Ostrinski explained the organization of the party, the machinery by which the -proletariat was educating itself. There were “locals” in every big -city and town, and they were being organized rapidly in the smaller places; a -local had anywhere from six to a thousand members, and there were fourteen -hundred of them in all, with a total of about twenty-five thousand members, who -paid dues to support the organization. “Local Cook County,” as the -city organization was called, had eighty branch locals, and it alone was -spending several thousand dollars in the campaign. It published a weekly in -English, and one each in Bohemian and German; also there was a monthly -published in Chicago, and a cooperative publishing house, that issued a million -and a half of Socialist books and pamphlets every year. All this was the growth -of the last few years—there had been almost nothing of it when Ostrinski -first came to Chicago. -</p> - -<p> -Ostrinski was a Pole, about fifty years of age. He had lived in Silesia, a -member of a despised and persecuted race, and had taken part in the proletarian -movement in the early seventies, when Bismarck, having conquered France, had -turned his policy of blood and iron upon the “International.” -Ostrinski himself had twice been in jail, but he had been young then, and had -not cared. He had had more of his share of the fight, though, for just when -Socialism had broken all its barriers and become the great political force of -the empire, he had come to America, and begun all over again. In America every -one had laughed at the mere idea of Socialism then—in America all men -were free. As if political liberty made wage slavery any the more tolerable! -said Ostrinski. -</p> - -<p> -The little tailor sat tilted back in his stiff kitchen chair, with his feet -stretched out upon the empty stove, and speaking in low whispers, so as not to -waken those in the next room. To Jurgis he seemed a scarcely less wonderful -person than the speaker at the meeting; he was poor, the lowest of the low, -hunger-driven and miserable—and yet how much he knew, how much he had -dared and achieved, what a hero he had been! There were others like him, -too—thousands like him, and all of them workingmen! That all this -wonderful machinery of progress had been created by his fellows—Jurgis -could not believe it, it seemed too good to be true. -</p> - -<p> -That was always the way, said Ostrinski; when a man was first converted to -Socialism he was like a crazy person—he could not understand how others -could fail to see it, and he expected to convert all the world the first week. -After a while he would realize how hard a task it was; and then it would be -fortunate that other new hands kept coming, to save him from settling down into -a rut. Just now Jurgis would have plenty of chance to vent his excitement, for -a presidential campaign was on, and everybody was talking politics. Ostrinski -would take him to the next meeting of the branch local, and introduce him, and -he might join the party. The dues were five cents a week, but any one who could -not afford this might be excused from paying. The Socialist party was a really -democratic political organization—it was controlled absolutely by its own -membership, and had no bosses. All of these things Ostrinski explained, as also -the principles of the party. You might say that there was really but one -Socialist principle—that of “no compromise,” which was the -essence of the proletarian movement all over the world. When a Socialist was -elected to office he voted with old party legislators for any measure that was -likely to be of help to the working class, but he never forgot that these -concessions, whatever they might be, were trifles compared with the great -purpose—the organizing of the working class for the revolution. So far, -the rule in America had been that one Socialist made another Socialist once -every two years; and if they should maintain the same rate they would carry the -country in 1912—though not all of them expected to succeed as quickly as -that. -</p> - -<p> -The Socialists were organized in every civilized nation; it was an -international political party, said Ostrinski, the greatest the world had ever -known. It numbered thirty million of adherents, and it cast eight million -votes. It had started its first newspaper in Japan, and elected its first -deputy in Argentina; in France it named members of cabinets, and in Italy and -Australia it held the balance of power and turned out ministries. In Germany, -where its vote was more than a third of the total vote of the empire, all other -parties and powers had united to fight it. It would not do, Ostrinski -explained, for the proletariat of one nation to achieve the victory, for that -nation would be crushed by the military power of the others; and so the -Socialist movement was a world movement, an organization of all mankind to -establish liberty and fraternity. It was the new religion of humanity—or -you might say it was the fulfillment of the old religion, since it implied but -the literal application of all the teachings of Christ. -</p> - -<p> -Until long after midnight Jurgis sat lost in the conversation of his new -acquaintance. It was a most wonderful experience to him—an almost -supernatural experience. It was like encountering an inhabitant of the fourth -dimension of space, a being who was free from all one’s own limitations. -For four years, now, Jurgis had been wondering and blundering in the depths of -a wilderness; and here, suddenly, a hand reached down and seized him, and -lifted him out of it, and set him upon a mountain-top, from which he could -survey it all—could see the paths from which he had wandered, the -morasses into which he had stumbled, the hiding places of the beasts of prey -that had fallen upon him. There were his Packingtown experiences, for -instance—what was there about Packingtown that Ostrinski could not -explain! To Jurgis the packers had been equivalent to fate; Ostrinski showed -him that they were the Beef Trust. They were a gigantic combination of capital, -which had crushed all opposition, and overthrown the laws of the land, and was -preying upon the people. Jurgis recollected how, when he had first come to -Packingtown, he had stood and watched the hog-killing, and thought how cruel -and savage it was, and come away congratulating himself that he was not a hog; -now his new acquaintance showed him that a hog was just what he had -been—one of the packers’ hogs. What they wanted from a hog was all -the profits that could be got out of him; and that was what they wanted from -the workingman, and also that was what they wanted from the public. What the -hog thought of it, and what he suffered, were not considered; and no more was -it with labor, and no more with the purchaser of meat. That was true everywhere -in the world, but it was especially true in Packingtown; there seemed to be -something about the work of slaughtering that tended to ruthlessness and -ferocity—it was literally the fact that in the methods of the packers a -hundred human lives did not balance a penny of profit. When Jurgis had made -himself familiar with the Socialist literature, as he would very quickly, he -would get glimpses of the Beef Trust from all sorts of aspects, and he would -find it everywhere the same; it was the incarnation of blind and insensate -Greed. It was a monster devouring with a thousand mouths, trampling with a -thousand hoofs; it was the Great Butcher—it was the spirit of Capitalism -made flesh. Upon the ocean of commerce it sailed as a pirate ship; it had -hoisted the black flag and declared war upon civilization. Bribery and -corruption were its everyday methods. In Chicago the city government was simply -one of its branch offices; it stole billions of gallons of city water openly, -it dictated to the courts the sentences of disorderly strikers, it forbade the -mayor to enforce the building laws against it. In the national capital it had -power to prevent inspection of its product, and to falsify government reports; -it violated the rebate laws, and when an investigation was threatened it burned -its books and sent its criminal agents out of the country. In the commercial -world it was a Juggernaut car; it wiped out thousands of businesses every year, -it drove men to madness and suicide. It had forced the price of cattle so low -as to destroy the stock-raising industry, an occupation upon which whole states -existed; it had ruined thousands of butchers who had refused to handle its -products. It divided the country into districts, and fixed the price of meat in -all of them; and it owned all the refrigerator cars, and levied an enormous -tribute upon all poultry and eggs and fruit and vegetables. With the millions -of dollars a week that poured in upon it, it was reaching out for the control -of other interests, railroads and trolley lines, gas and electric light -franchises—it already owned the leather and the grain business of the -country. The people were tremendously stirred up over its encroachments, but -nobody had any remedy to suggest; it was the task of Socialists to teach and -organize them, and prepare them for the time when they were to seize the huge -machine called the Beef Trust, and use it to produce food for human beings and -not to heap up fortunes for a band of pirates. It was long after midnight when -Jurgis lay down upon the floor of Ostrinski’s kitchen; and yet it was an -hour before he could get to sleep, for the glory of that joyful vision of the -people of Packingtown marching in and taking possession of the Union -Stockyards! -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> - -<p> -Jurgis had breakfast with Ostrinski and his family, and then he went home to -Elzbieta. He was no longer shy about it—when he went in, instead of -saying all the things he had been planning to say, he started to tell Elzbieta -about the revolution! At first she thought he was out of his mind, and it was -hours before she could really feel certain that he was himself. When, however, -she had satisfied herself that he was sane upon all subjects except politics, -she troubled herself no further about it. Jurgis was destined to find that -Elzbieta’s armor was absolutely impervious to Socialism. Her soul had -been baked hard in the fire of adversity, and there was no altering it now; -life to her was the hunt for daily bread, and ideas existed for her only as -they bore upon that. All that interested her in regard to this new frenzy which -had seized hold of her son-in-law was whether or not it had a tendency to make -him sober and industrious; and when she found he intended to look for work and -to contribute his share to the family fund, she gave him full rein to convince -her of anything. A wonderfully wise little woman was Elzbieta; she could think -as quickly as a hunted rabbit, and in half an hour she had chosen her -life-attitude to the Socialist movement. She agreed in everything with Jurgis, -except the need of his paying his dues; and she would even go to a meeting with -him now and then, and sit and plan her next day’s dinner amid the storm. -</p> - -<p> -For a week after he became a convert Jurgis continued to wander about all day, -looking for work; until at last he met with a strange fortune. He was passing -one of Chicago’s innumerable small hotels, and after some hesitation he -concluded to go in. A man he took for the proprietor was standing in the lobby, -and he went up to him and tackled him for a job. -</p> - -<p> -“What can you do?” the man asked. -</p> - -<p> -“Anything, sir,” said Jurgis, and added quickly: “I’ve -been out of work for a long time, sir. I’m an honest man, and I’m -strong and willing—” -</p> - -<p> -The other was eying him narrowly. “Do you drink?” he asked. -</p> - -<p> -“No, sir,” said Jurgis. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, I’ve been employing a man as a porter, and he drinks. -I’ve discharged him seven times now, and I’ve about made up my mind -that’s enough. Would you be a porter?” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“It’s hard work. You’ll have to clean floors and wash -spittoons and fill lamps and handle trunks—” -</p> - -<p> -“I’m willing, sir.” -</p> - -<p> -“All right. I’ll pay you thirty a month and board, and you can -begin now, if you feel like it. You can put on the other fellow’s -rig.” -</p> - -<p> -And so Jurgis fell to work, and toiled like a Trojan till night. Then he went -and told Elzbieta, and also, late as it was, he paid a visit to Ostrinski to -let him know of his good fortune. Here he received a great surprise, for when -he was describing the location of the hotel Ostrinski interrupted suddenly, -“Not Hinds’s!” -</p> - -<p> -“Yes,” said Jurgis, “that’s the name.” -</p> - -<p> -To which the other replied, “Then you’ve got the best boss in -Chicago—he’s a state organizer of our party, and one of our -best-known speakers!” -</p> - -<p> -So the next morning Jurgis went to his employer and told him; and the man -seized him by the hand and shook it. “By Jove!” he cried, -“that lets me out. I didn’t sleep all last night because I had -discharged a good Socialist!” -</p> - -<p> -So, after that, Jurgis was known to his “boss” as “Comrade -Jurgis,” and in return he was expected to call him “Comrade -Hinds.” “Tommy” Hinds, as he was known to his intimates, was -a squat little man, with broad shoulders and a florid face, decorated with gray -side whiskers. He was the kindest-hearted man that ever lived, and the -liveliest—inexhaustible in his enthusiasm, and talking Socialism all day -and all night. He was a great fellow to jolly along a crowd, and would keep a -meeting in an uproar; when once he got really waked up, the torrent of his -eloquence could be compared with nothing save Niagara. -</p> - -<p> -Tommy Hinds had begun life as a blacksmith’s helper, and had run away to -join the Union army, where he had made his first acquaintance with -“graft,” in the shape of rotten muskets and shoddy blankets. To a -musket that broke in a crisis he always attributed the death of his only -brother, and upon worthless blankets he blamed all the agonies of his own old -age. Whenever it rained, the rheumatism would get into his joints, and then he -would screw up his face and mutter: “Capitalism, my boy, capitalism! -‘<i>Écrasez l’Infâme!</i>’” He had one unfailing remedy -for all the evils of this world, and he preached it to every one; no matter -whether the person’s trouble was failure in business, or dyspepsia, or a -quarrelsome mother-in-law, a twinkle would come into his eyes and he would say, -“You know what to do about it—vote the Socialist ticket!” -</p> - -<p> -Tommy Hinds had set out upon the trail of the Octopus as soon as the war was -over. He had gone into business, and found himself in competition with the -fortunes of those who had been stealing while he had been fighting. The city -government was in their hands and the railroads were in league with them, and -honest business was driven to the wall; and so Hinds had put all his savings -into Chicago real estate, and set out singlehanded to dam the river of graft. -He had been a reform member of the city council, he had been a Greenbacker, a -Labor Unionist, a Populist, a Bryanite—and after thirty years of -fighting, the year 1896 had served to convince him that the power of -concentrated wealth could never be controlled, but could only be destroyed. He -had published a pamphlet about it, and set out to organize a party of his own, -when a stray Socialist leaflet had revealed to him that others had been ahead -of him. Now for eight years he had been fighting for the party, anywhere, -everywhere—whether it was a G.A.R. reunion, or a hotel-keepers’ -convention, or an Afro-American business-men’s banquet, or a Bible -society picnic, Tommy Hinds would manage to get himself invited to explain the -relations of Socialism to the subject in hand. After that he would start off -upon a tour of his own, ending at some place between New York and Oregon; and -when he came back from there, he would go out to organize new locals for the -state committee; and finally he would come home to rest—and talk -Socialism in Chicago. Hinds’s hotel was a very hot-bed of the propaganda; -all the employees were party men, and if they were not when they came, they -were quite certain to be before they went away. The proprietor would get into a -discussion with some one in the lobby, and as the conversation grew animated, -others would gather about to listen, until finally every one in the place would -be crowded into a group, and a regular debate would be under way. This went on -every night—when Tommy Hinds was not there to do it, his clerk did it; -and when his clerk was away campaigning, the assistant attended to it, while -Mrs. Hinds sat behind the desk and did the work. The clerk was an old crony of -the proprietor’s, an awkward, rawboned giant of a man, with a lean, -sallow face, a broad mouth, and whiskers under his chin, the very type and body -of a prairie farmer. He had been that all his life—he had fought the -railroads in Kansas for fifty years, a Granger, a Farmers’ Alliance man, -a “middle-of-the-road” Populist. Finally, Tommy Hinds had revealed -to him the wonderful idea of using the trusts instead of destroying them, and -he had sold his farm and come to Chicago. -</p> - -<p> -That was Amos Struver; and then there was Harry Adams, the assistant clerk, a -pale, scholarly-looking man, who came from Massachusetts, of Pilgrim stock. -Adams had been a cotton operative in Fall River, and the continued depression -in the industry had worn him and his family out, and he had emigrated to South -Carolina. In Massachusetts the percentage of white illiteracy is eight-tenths -of one per cent, while in South Carolina it is thirteen and six-tenths per -cent; also in South Carolina there is a property qualification for -voters—and for these and other reasons child labor is the rule, and so -the cotton mills were driving those of Massachusetts out of the business. Adams -did not know this, he only knew that the Southern mills were running; but when -he got there he found that if he was to live, all his family would have to -work, and from six o’clock at night to six o’clock in the morning. -So he had set to work to organize the mill hands, after the fashion in -Massachusetts, and had been discharged; but he had gotten other work, and stuck -at it, and at last there had been a strike for shorter hours, and Harry Adams -had attempted to address a street meeting, which was the end of him. In the -states of the far South the labor of convicts is leased to contractors, and -when there are not convicts enough they have to be supplied. Harry Adams was -sent up by a judge who was a cousin of the mill owner with whose business he -had interfered; and though the life had nearly killed him, he had been wise -enough not to murmur, and at the end of his term he and his family had left the -state of South Carolina—hell’s back yard, as he called it. He had -no money for carfare, but it was harvest-time, and they walked one day and -worked the next; and so Adams got at last to Chicago, and joined the Socialist -party. He was a studious man, reserved, and nothing of an orator; but he always -had a pile of books under his desk in the hotel, and articles from his pen were -beginning to attract attention in the party press. -</p> - -<p> -Contrary to what one would have expected, all this radicalism did not hurt the -hotel business; the radicals flocked to it, and the commercial travelers all -found it diverting. Of late, also, the hotel had become a favorite stopping -place for Western cattlemen. Now that the Beef Trust had adopted the trick of -raising prices to induce enormous shipments of cattle, and then dropping them -again and scooping in all they needed, a stock raiser was very apt to find -himself in Chicago without money enough to pay his freight bill; and so he had -to go to a cheap hotel, and it was no drawback to him if there was an agitator -talking in the lobby. These Western fellows were just “meat” for -Tommy Hinds—he would get a dozen of them around him and paint little -pictures of “the System.” Of course, it was not a week before he -had heard Jurgis’s story, and after that he would not have let his new -porter go for the world. “See here,” he would say, in the middle of -an argument, “I’ve got a fellow right here in my place who’s -worked there and seen every bit of it!” And then Jurgis would drop his -work, whatever it was, and come, and the other would say, “Comrade -Jurgis, just tell these gentlemen what you saw on the killing-beds.” At -first this request caused poor Jurgis the most acute agony, and it was like -pulling teeth to get him to talk; but gradually he found out what was wanted, -and in the end he learned to stand up and speak his piece with enthusiasm. His -employer would sit by and encourage him with exclamations and shakes of the -head; when Jurgis would give the formula for “potted ham,” or tell -about the condemned hogs that were dropped into the “destructors” -at the top and immediately taken out again at the bottom, to be shipped into -another state and made into lard, Tommy Hinds would bang his knee and cry, -“Do you think a man could make up a thing like that out of his -head?” -</p> - -<p> -And then the hotel-keeper would go on to show how the Socialists had the only -real remedy for such evils, how they alone “meant business” with -the Beef Trust. And when, in answer to this, the victim would say that the -whole country was getting stirred up, that the newspapers were full of -denunciations of it, and the government taking action against it, Tommy Hinds -had a knock-out blow all ready. “Yes,” he would say, “all -that is true—but what do you suppose is the reason for it? Are you -foolish enough to believe that it’s done for the public? There are other -trusts in the country just as illegal and extortionate as the Beef Trust: there -is the Coal Trust, that freezes the poor in winter—there is the Steel -Trust, that doubles the price of every nail in your shoes—there is the -Oil Trust, that keeps you from reading at night—and why do you suppose it -is that all the fury of the press and the government is directed against the -Beef Trust?” And when to this the victim would reply that there was -clamor enough over the Oil Trust, the other would continue: “Ten years -ago Henry D. Lloyd told all the truth about the Standard Oil Company in his -Wealth versus Commonwealth; and the book was allowed to die, and you hardly -ever hear of it. And now, at last, two magazines have the courage to tackle -‘Standard Oil’ again, and what happens? The newspapers ridicule the -authors, the churches defend the criminals, and the government—does -nothing. And now, why is it all so different with the Beef Trust?” -</p> - -<p> -Here the other would generally admit that he was “stuck”; and Tommy -Hinds would explain to him, and it was fun to see his eyes open. “If you -were a Socialist,” the hotel-keeper would say, “you would -understand that the power which really governs the United States today is the -Railroad Trust. It is the Railroad Trust that runs your state government, -wherever you live, and that runs the United States Senate. And all of the -trusts that I have named are railroad trusts—save only the Beef Trust! -The Beef Trust has defied the railroads—it is plundering them day by day -through the Private Car; and so the public is roused to fury, and the papers -clamor for action, and the government goes on the war-path! And you poor common -people watch and applaud the job, and think it’s all done for you, and -never dream that it is really the grand climax of the century-long battle of -commercial competition—the final death grapple between the chiefs of the -Beef Trust and ‘Standard Oil,’ for the prize of the mastery and -ownership of the United States of America!” -</p> - -<p> -Such was the new home in which Jurgis lived and worked, and in which his -education was completed. Perhaps you would imagine that he did not do much work -there, but that would be a great mistake. He would have cut off one hand for -Tommy Hinds; and to keep Hinds’s hotel a thing of beauty was his joy in -life. That he had a score of Socialist arguments chasing through his brain in -the meantime did not interfere with this; on the contrary, Jurgis scrubbed the -spittoons and polished the banisters all the more vehemently because at the -same time he was wrestling inwardly with an imaginary recalcitrant. It would be -pleasant to record that he swore off drinking immediately, and all the rest of -his bad habits with it; but that would hardly be exact. These revolutionists -were not angels; they were men, and men who had come up from the social pit, -and with the mire of it smeared over them. Some of them drank, and some of them -swore, and some of them ate pie with their knives; there was only one -difference between them and all the rest of the populace—that they were -men with a hope, with a cause to fight for and suffer for. There came times to -Jurgis when the vision seemed far-off and pale, and a glass of beer loomed -large in comparison; but if the glass led to another glass, and to too many -glasses, he had something to spur him to remorse and resolution on the morrow. -It was so evidently a wicked thing to spend one’s pennies for drink, when -the working class was wandering in darkness, and waiting to be delivered; the -price of a glass of beer would buy fifty copies of a leaflet, and one could -hand these out to the unregenerate, and then get drunk upon the thought of the -good that was being accomplished. That was the way the movement had been made, -and it was the only way it would progress; it availed nothing to know of it, -without fighting for it—it was a thing for all, not for a few! A -corollary of this proposition of course was, that any one who refused to -receive the new gospel was personally responsible for keeping Jurgis from his -heart’s desire; and this, alas, made him uncomfortable as an -acquaintance. He met some neighbors with whom Elzbieta had made friends in her -neighborhood, and he set out to make Socialists of them by wholesale, and -several times he all but got into a fight. -</p> - -<p> -It was all so painfully obvious to Jurgis! It was so incomprehensible how a man -could fail to see it! Here were all the opportunities of the country, the land, -and the buildings upon the land, the railroads, the mines, the factories, and -the stores, all in the hands of a few private individuals, called capitalists, -for whom the people were obliged to work for wages. The whole balance of what -the people produced went to heap up the fortunes of these capitalists, to heap, -and heap again, and yet again—and that in spite of the fact that they, -and every one about them, lived in unthinkable luxury! And was it not plain -that if the people cut off the share of those who merely “owned,” -the share of those who worked would be much greater? That was as plain as two -and two makes four; and it was the whole of it, absolutely the whole of it; and -yet there were people who could not see it, who would argue about everything -else in the world. They would tell you that governments could not manage things -as economically as private individuals; they would repeat and repeat that, and -think they were saying something! They could not see that -“economical” management by masters meant simply that they, the -people, were worked harder and ground closer and paid less! They were -wage-earners and servants, at the mercy of exploiters whose one thought was to -get as much out of them as possible; and they were taking an interest in the -process, were anxious lest it should not be done thoroughly enough! Was it not -honestly a trial to listen to an argument such as that? -</p> - -<p> -And yet there were things even worse. You would begin talking to some poor -devil who had worked in one shop for the last thirty years, and had never been -able to save a penny; who left home every morning at six o’clock, to go -and tend a machine, and come back at night too tired to take his clothes off; -who had never had a week’s vacation in his life, had never traveled, -never had an adventure, never learned anything, never hoped anything—and -when you started to tell him about Socialism he would sniff and say, -“I’m not interested in that—I’m an -individualist!” And then he would go on to tell you that Socialism was -“paternalism,” and that if it ever had its way the world would stop -progressing. It was enough to make a mule laugh, to hear arguments like that; -and yet it was no laughing matter, as you found out—for how many millions -of such poor deluded wretches there were, whose lives had been so stunted by -capitalism that they no longer knew what freedom was! And they really thought -that it was “individualism” for tens of thousands of them to herd -together and obey the orders of a steel magnate, and produce hundreds of -millions of dollars of wealth for him, and then let him give them libraries; -while for them to take the industry, and run it to suit themselves, and build -their own libraries—that would have been “Paternalism”! -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes the agony of such things as this was almost more than Jurgis could -bear; yet there was no way of escape from it, there was nothing to do but to -dig away at the base of this mountain of ignorance and prejudice. You must keep -at the poor fellow; you must hold your temper, and argue with him, and watch -for your chance to stick an idea or two into his head. And the rest of the time -you must sharpen up your weapons—you must think out new replies to his -objections, and provide yourself with new facts to prove to him the folly of -his ways. -</p> - -<p> -So Jurgis acquired the reading habit. He would carry in his pocket a tract or a -pamphlet which some one had loaned him, and whenever he had an idle moment -during the day he would plod through a paragraph, and then think about it while -he worked. Also he read the newspapers, and asked questions about them. One of -the other porters at Hinds’s was a sharp little Irishman, who knew -everything that Jurgis wanted to know; and while they were busy he would -explain to him the geography of America, and its history, its constitution and -its laws; also he gave him an idea of the business system of the country, the -great railroads and corporations, and who owned them, and the labor unions, and -the big strikes, and the men who had led them. Then at night, when he could get -off, Jurgis would attend the Socialist meetings. During the campaign one was -not dependent upon the street corner affairs, where the weather and the quality -of the orator were equally uncertain; there were hall meetings every night, and -one could hear speakers of national prominence. These discussed the political -situation from every point of view, and all that troubled Jurgis was the -impossibility of carrying off but a small part of the treasures they offered -him. -</p> - -<p> -There was a man who was known in the party as the “Little Giant.” -The Lord had used up so much material in the making of his head that there had -not been enough to complete his legs; but he got about on the platform, and -when he shook his raven whiskers the pillars of capitalism rocked. He had -written a veritable encyclopedia upon the subject, a book that was nearly as -big as himself—And then there was a young author, who came from -California, and had been a salmon fisher, an oyster-pirate, a longshoreman, a -sailor; who had tramped the country and been sent to jail, had lived in the -Whitechapel slums, and been to the Klondike in search of gold. All these things -he pictured in his books, and because he was a man of genius he forced the -world to hear him. Now he was famous, but wherever he went he still preached -the gospel of the poor. And then there was one who was known at the -“millionaire Socialist.” He had made a fortune in business, and -spent nearly all of it in building up a magazine, which the post office -department had tried to suppress, and had driven to Canada. He was a -quiet-mannered man, whom you would have taken for anything in the world but a -Socialist agitator. His speech was simple and informal—he could not -understand why any one should get excited about these things. It was a process -of economic evolution, he said, and he exhibited its laws and methods. Life was -a struggle for existence, and the strong overcame the weak, and in turn were -overcome by the strongest. Those who lost in the struggle were generally -exterminated; but now and then they had been known to save themselves by -combination—which was a new and higher kind of strength. It was so that -the gregarious animals had overcome the predaceous; it was so, in human -history, that the people had mastered the kings. The workers were simply the -citizens of industry, and the Socialist movement was the expression of their -will to survive. The inevitability of the revolution depended upon this fact, -that they had no choice but to unite or be exterminated; this fact, grim and -inexorable, depended upon no human will, it was the law of the economic -process, of which the editor showed the details with the most marvelous -precision. -</p> - -<p> -And later on came the evening of the great meeting of the campaign, when Jurgis -heard the two standard-bearers of his party. Ten years before there had been in -Chicago a strike of a hundred and fifty thousand railroad employees, and thugs -had been hired by the railroads to commit violence, and the President of the -United States had sent in troops to break the strike, by flinging the officers -of the union into jail without trial. The president of the union came out of -his cell a ruined man; but also he came out a Socialist; and now for just ten -years he had been traveling up and down the country, standing face to face with -the people, and pleading with them for justice. He was a man of electric -presence, tall and gaunt, with a face worn thin by struggle and suffering. The -fury of outraged manhood gleamed in it—and the tears of suffering little -children pleaded in his voice. When he spoke he paced the stage, lithe and -eager, like a panther. He leaned over, reaching out for his audience; he -pointed into their souls with an insistent finger. His voice was husky from -much speaking, but the great auditorium was as still as death, and every one -heard him. -</p> - -<p> -And then, as Jurgis came out from this meeting, some one handed him a paper -which he carried home with him and read; and so he became acquainted with the -“Appeal to Reason.” About twelve years previously a Colorado -real-estate speculator had made up his mind that it was wrong to gamble in the -necessities of life of human beings: and so he had retired and begun the -publication of a Socialist weekly. There had come a time when he had to set his -own type, but he had held on and won out, and now his publication was an -institution. It used a carload of paper every week, and the mail trains would -be hours loading up at the depot of the little Kansas town. It was a four-page -weekly, which sold for less than half a cent a copy; its regular subscription -list was a quarter of a million, and it went to every crossroads post office in -America. -</p> - -<p> -The “Appeal” was a “propaganda” paper. It had a manner -all its own—it was full of ginger and spice, of Western slang and hustle: -It collected news of the doings of the “plutes,” and served it up -for the benefit of the “American working-mule.” It would have -columns of the deadly parallel—the million dollars’ worth of -diamonds, or the fancy pet-poodle establishment of a society dame, beside the -fate of Mrs. Murphy of San Francisco, who had starved to death on the streets, -or of John Robinson, just out of the hospital, who had hanged himself in New -York because he could not find work. It collected the stories of graft and -misery from the daily press, and made a little pungent paragraphs out of them. -“Three banks of Bungtown, South Dakota, failed, and more savings of the -workers swallowed up!” “The mayor of Sandy Creek, Oklahoma, has -skipped with a hundred thousand dollars. That’s the kind of rulers the -old partyites give you!” “The president of the Florida Flying -Machine Company is in jail for bigamy. He was a prominent opponent of -Socialism, which he said would break up the home!” The -“Appeal” had what it called its “Army,” about thirty -thousand of the faithful, who did things for it; and it was always exhorting -the “Army” to keep its dander up, and occasionally encouraging it -with a prize competition, for anything from a gold watch to a private yacht or -an eighty-acre farm. Its office helpers were all known to the -“Army” by quaint titles—“Inky Ike,” “the -Bald-headed Man,” “the Redheaded Girl,” “the -Bulldog,” “the Office Goat,” and “the One Hoss.” -</p> - -<p> -But sometimes, again, the “Appeal” would be desperately serious. It -sent a correspondent to Colorado, and printed pages describing the overthrow of -American institutions in that state. In a certain city of the country it had -over forty of its “Army” in the headquarters of the Telegraph -Trust, and no message of importance to Socialists ever went through that a copy -of it did not go to the “Appeal.” It would print great broadsides -during the campaign; one copy that came to Jurgis was a manifesto addressed to -striking workingmen, of which nearly a million copies had been distributed in -the industrial centers, wherever the employers’ associations had been -carrying out their “open shop” program. “You have lost the -strike!” it was headed. “And now what are you going to do about -it?” It was what is called an “incendiary” appeal—it -was written by a man into whose soul the iron had entered. When this edition -appeared, twenty thousand copies were sent to the stockyards district; and they -were taken out and stowed away in the rear of a little cigar store, and every -evening, and on Sundays, the members of the Packingtown locals would get -armfuls and distribute them on the streets and in the houses. The people of -Packingtown had lost their strike, if ever a people had, and so they read these -papers gladly, and twenty thousand were hardly enough to go round. Jurgis had -resolved not to go near his old home again, but when he heard of this it was -too much for him, and every night for a week he would get on the car and ride -out to the stockyards, and help to undo his work of the previous year, when he -had sent Mike Scully’s ten-pin setter to the city Board of Aldermen. -</p> - -<p> -It was quite marvelous to see what a difference twelve months had made in -Packingtown—the eyes of the people were getting opened! The Socialists -were literally sweeping everything before them that election, and Scully and -the Cook County machine were at their wits’ end for an -“issue.” At the very close of the campaign they bethought -themselves of the fact that the strike had been broken by Negroes, and so they -sent for a South Carolina fire-eater, the “pitchfork senator,” as -he was called, a man who took off his coat when he talked to workingmen, and -damned and swore like a Hessian. This meeting they advertised extensively, and -the Socialists advertised it too—with the result that about a thousand of -them were on hand that evening. The “pitchfork senator” stood their -fusillade of questions for about an hour, and then went home in disgust, and -the balance of the meeting was a strictly party affair. Jurgis, who had -insisted upon coming, had the time of his life that night; he danced about and -waved his arms in his excitement—and at the very climax he broke loose -from his friends, and got out into the aisle, and proceeded to make a speech -himself! The senator had been denying that the Democratic party was corrupt; it -was always the Republicans who bought the votes, he said—and here was -Jurgis shouting furiously, “It’s a lie! It’s a lie!” -After which he went on to tell them how he knew it—that he knew it -because he had bought them himself! And he would have told the “pitchfork -senator” all his experiences, had not Harry Adams and a friend grabbed -him about the neck and shoved him into a seat. -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> - -<p> -One of the first things that Jurgis had done after he got a job was to go and -see Marija. She came down into the basement of the house to meet him, and he -stood by the door with his hat in his hand, saying, “I’ve got work -now, and so you can leave here.” -</p> - -<p> -But Marija only shook her head. There was nothing else for her to do, she said, -and nobody to employ her. She could not keep her past a secret—girls had -tried it, and they were always found out. There were thousands of men who came -to this place, and sooner or later she would meet one of them. “And -besides,” Marija added, “I can’t do anything. I’m no -good—I take dope. What could you do with me?” -</p> - -<p> -“Can’t you stop?” Jurgis cried. -</p> - -<p> -“No,” she answered, “I’ll never stop. What’s the -use of talking about it—I’ll stay here till I die, I guess. -It’s all I’m fit for.” And that was all that he could get her -to say—there was no use trying. When he told her he would not let -Elzbieta take her money, she answered indifferently: “Then it’ll be -wasted here—that’s all.” Her eyelids looked heavy and her -face was red and swollen; he saw that he was annoying her, that she only wanted -him to go away. So he went, disappointed and sad. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Jurgis was not very happy in his home-life. Elzbieta was sick a good deal -now, and the boys were wild and unruly, and very much the worse for their life -upon the streets. But he stuck by the family nevertheless, for they reminded -him of his old happiness; and when things went wrong he could solace himself -with a plunge into the Socialist movement. Since his life had been caught up -into the current of this great stream, things which had before been the whole -of life to him came to seem of relatively slight importance; his interests were -elsewhere, in the world of ideas. His outward life was commonplace and -uninteresting; he was just a hotel-porter, and expected to remain one while he -lived; but meantime, in the realm of thought, his life was a perpetual -adventure. There was so much to know—so many wonders to be discovered! -Never in all his life did Jurgis forget the day before election, when there -came a telephone message from a friend of Harry Adams, asking him to bring -Jurgis to see him that night; and Jurgis went, and met one of the minds of the -movement. -</p> - -<p> -The invitation was from a man named Fisher, a Chicago millionaire who had given -up his life to settlement work, and had a little home in the heart of the -city’s slums. He did not belong to the party, but he was in sympathy with -it; and he said that he was to have as his guest that night the editor of a big -Eastern magazine, who wrote against Socialism, but really did not know what it -was. The millionaire suggested that Adams bring Jurgis along, and then start up -the subject of “pure food,” in which the editor was interested. -</p> - -<p> -Young Fisher’s home was a little two-story brick house, dingy and -weather-beaten outside, but attractive within. The room that Jurgis saw was -half lined with books, and upon the walls were many pictures, dimly visible in -the soft, yellow light; it was a cold, rainy night, so a log fire was crackling -in the open hearth. Seven or eight people were gathered about it when Adams and -his friend arrived, and Jurgis saw to his dismay that three of them were -ladies. He had never talked to people of this sort before, and he fell into an -agony of embarrassment. He stood in the doorway clutching his hat tightly in -his hands, and made a deep bow to each of the persons as he was introduced; -then, when he was asked to have a seat, he took a chair in a dark corner, and -sat down upon the edge of it, and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with -his sleeve. He was terrified lest they should expect him to talk. -</p> - -<p> -There was the host himself, a tall, athletic young man, clad in evening dress, -as also was the editor, a dyspeptic-looking gentleman named Maynard. There was -the former’s frail young wife, and also an elderly lady, who taught -kindergarten in the settlement, and a young college student, a beautiful girl -with an intense and earnest face. She only spoke once or twice while Jurgis was -there—the rest of the time she sat by the table in the center of the -room, resting her chin in her hands and drinking in the conversation. There -were two other men, whom young Fisher had introduced to Jurgis as Mr. Lucas and -Mr. Schliemann; he heard them address Adams as “Comrade,” and so he -knew that they were Socialists. -</p> - -<p> -The one called Lucas was a mild and meek-looking little gentleman of clerical -aspect; he had been an itinerant evangelist, it transpired, and had seen the -light and become a prophet of the new dispensation. He traveled all over the -country, living like the apostles of old, upon hospitality, and preaching upon -street-corners when there was no hall. The other man had been in the midst of a -discussion with the editor when Adams and Jurgis came in; and at the suggestion -of the host they resumed it after the interruption. Jurgis was soon sitting -spellbound, thinking that here was surely the strangest man that had ever lived -in the world. -</p> - -<p> -Nicholas Schliemann was a Swede, a tall, gaunt person, with hairy hands and -bristling yellow beard; he was a university man, and had been a professor of -philosophy—until, as he said, he had found that he was selling his -character as well as his time. Instead he had come to America, where he lived -in a garret room in this slum district, and made volcanic energy take the place -of fire. He studied the composition of food-stuffs, and knew exactly how many -proteids and carbohydrates his body needed; and by scientific chewing he said -that he tripled the value of all he ate, so that it cost him eleven cents a -day. About the first of July he would leave Chicago for his vacation, on foot; -and when he struck the harvest fields he would set to work for two dollars and -a half a day, and come home when he had another year’s supply—a -hundred and twenty-five dollars. That was the nearest approach to independence -a man could make “under capitalism,” he explained; he would never -marry, for no sane man would allow himself to fall in love until after the -revolution. -</p> - -<p> -He sat in a big arm-chair, with his legs crossed, and his head so far in the -shadow that one saw only two glowing lights, reflected from the fire on the -hearth. He spoke simply, and utterly without emotion; with the manner of a -teacher setting forth to a group of scholars an axiom in geometry, he would -enunciate such propositions as made the hair of an ordinary person rise on end. -And when the auditor had asserted his non-comprehension, he would proceed to -elucidate by some new proposition, yet more appalling. To Jurgis the Herr Dr. -Schliemann assumed the proportions of a thunderstorm or an earthquake. And yet, -strange as it might seem, there was a subtle bond between them, and he could -follow the argument nearly all the time. He was carried over the difficult -places in spite of himself; and he went plunging away in mad career—a -very Mazeppa-ride upon the wild horse Speculation. -</p> - -<p> -Nicholas Schliemann was familiar with all the universe, and with man as a small -part of it. He understood human institutions, and blew them about like soap -bubbles. It was surprising that so much destructiveness could be contained in -one human mind. Was it government? The purpose of government was the guarding -of property-rights, the perpetuation of ancient force and modern fraud. Or was -it marriage? Marriage and prostitution were two sides of one shield, the -predatory man’s exploitation of the sex-pleasure. The difference between -them was a difference of class. If a woman had money she might dictate her own -terms: equality, a life contract, and the legitimacy—that is, the -property-rights—of her children. If she had no money, she was a -proletarian, and sold herself for an existence. And then the subject became -Religion, which was the Archfiend’s deadliest weapon. Government -oppressed the body of the wage-slave, but Religion oppressed his mind, and -poisoned the stream of progress at its source. The working-man was to fix his -hopes upon a future life, while his pockets were picked in this one; he was -brought up to frugality, humility, obedience—in short to all the -pseudo-virtues of capitalism. The destiny of civilization would be decided in -one final death struggle between the Red International and the Black, between -Socialism and the Roman Catholic Church; while here at home, “the stygian -midnight of American evangelicalism—” -</p> - -<p> -And here the ex-preacher entered the field, and there was a lively tussle. -“Comrade” Lucas was not what is called an educated man; he knew -only the Bible, but it was the Bible interpreted by real experience. And what -was the use, he asked, of confusing Religion with men’s perversions of -it? That the church was in the hands of the merchants at the moment was obvious -enough; but already there were signs of rebellion, and if Comrade Schliemann -could come back a few years from now— -</p> - -<p> -“Ah, yes,” said the other, “of course, I have no doubt that -in a hundred years the Vatican will be denying that it ever opposed Socialism, -just as at present it denies that it ever tortured Galileo.” -</p> - -<p> -“I am not defending the Vatican,” exclaimed Lucas, vehemently. -“I am defending the word of God—which is one long cry of the human -spirit for deliverance from the sway of oppression. Take the twenty-fourth -chapter of the Book of Job, which I am accustomed to quote in my addresses as -‘the Bible upon the Beef Trust’; or take the words of -Isaiah—or of the Master himself! Not the elegant prince of our debauched -and vicious art, not the jeweled idol of our society churches—but the -Jesus of the awful reality, the man of sorrow and pain, the outcast, despised -of the world, who had nowhere to lay his head—” -</p> - -<p> -“I will grant you Jesus,” interrupted the other. -</p> - -<p> -“Well, then,” cried Lucas, “and why should Jesus have nothing -to do with his church—why should his words and his life be of no -authority among those who profess to adore him? Here is a man who was the -world’s first revolutionist, the true founder of the Socialist movement; -a man whose whole being was one flame of hatred for wealth, and all that wealth -stands for,—for the pride of wealth, and the luxury of wealth, and the -tyranny of wealth; who was himself a beggar and a tramp, a man of the people, -an associate of saloon-keepers and women of the town; who again and again, in -the most explicit language, denounced wealth and the holding of wealth: -‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth!’—‘Sell -that ye have and give alms!’—‘Blessed are ye poor, for yours -is the kingdom of Heaven!’—‘Woe unto you that are rich, for -ye have received your consolation!’—‘Verily, I say unto you, -that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of Heaven!’ Who -denounced in unmeasured terms the exploiters of his own time: ‘Woe unto -you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites!’—‘Woe unto you also, -you lawyers!’—‘Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can -ye escape the damnation of hell?’ Who drove out the business men and -brokers from the temple with a whip! Who was crucified—think of -it—for an incendiary and a disturber of the social order! And this man -they have made into the high priest of property and smug respectability, a -divine sanction of all the horrors and abominations of modern commercial -civilization! Jeweled images are made of him, sensual priests burn incense to -him, and modern pirates of industry bring their dollars, wrung from the toil of -helpless women and children, and build temples to him, and sit in cushioned -seats and listen to his teachings expounded by doctors of dusty -divinity—” -</p> - -<p> -“Bravo!” cried Schliemann, laughing. But the other was in full -career—he had talked this subject every day for five years, and had never -yet let himself be stopped. “This Jesus of Nazareth!” he cried. -“This class-conscious working-man! This union carpenter! This agitator, -law-breaker, firebrand, anarchist! He, the sovereign lord and master of a world -which grinds the bodies and souls of human beings into dollars—if he -could come into the world this day and see the things that men have made in his -name, would it not blast his soul with horror? Would he not go mad at the sight -of it, he the Prince of Mercy and Love! That dreadful night when he lay in the -Garden of Gethsemane and writhed in agony until he sweat blood—do you -think that he saw anything worse than he might see tonight upon the plains of -Manchuria, where men march out with a jeweled image of him before them, to do -wholesale murder for the benefit of foul monsters of sensuality and cruelty? Do -you not know that if he were in St. Petersburg now, he would take the whip with -which he drove out the bankers from his temple—” -</p> - -<p> -Here the speaker paused an instant for breath. “No, comrade,” said -the other, dryly, “for he was a practical man. He would take pretty -little imitation lemons, such as are now being shipped into Russia, handy for -carrying in the pockets, and strong enough to blow a whole temple out of -sight.” -</p> - -<p> -Lucas waited until the company had stopped laughing over this; then he began -again: “But look at it from the point of view of practical politics, -comrade. Here is an historical figure whom all men reverence and love, whom -some regard as divine; and who was one of us—who lived our life, and -taught our doctrine. And now shall we leave him in the hands of his -enemies—shall we allow them to stifle and stultify his example? We have -his words, which no one can deny; and shall we not quote them to the people, -and prove to them what he was, and what he taught, and what he did? No, no, a -thousand times no!—we shall use his authority to turn out the knaves and -sluggards from his ministry, and we shall yet rouse the people to -action!—” -</p> - -<p> -Lucas halted again; and the other stretched out his hand to a paper on the -table. “Here, comrade,” he said, with a laugh, “here is a -place for you to begin. A bishop whose wife has just been robbed of fifty -thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds! And a most unctuous and oily of -bishops! An eminent and scholarly bishop! A philanthropist and friend of labor -bishop—a Civic Federation decoy duck for the chloroforming of the -wage-working-man!” -</p> - -<p> -To this little passage of arms the rest of the company sat as spectators. But -now Mr. Maynard, the editor, took occasion to remark, somewhat naïvely, that he -had always understood that Socialists had a cut-and-dried program for the -future of civilization; whereas here were two active members of the party, who, -from what he could make out, were agreed about nothing at all. Would the two, -for his enlightenment, try to ascertain just what they had in common, and why -they belonged to the same party? This resulted, after much debating, in the -formulating of two carefully worded propositions: First, that a Socialist -believes in the common ownership and democratic management of the means of -producing the necessities of life; and, second, that a Socialist believes that -the means by which this is to be brought about is the class conscious political -organization of the wage-earners. Thus far they were at one; but no farther. To -Lucas, the religious zealot, the co-operative commonwealth was the New -Jerusalem, the kingdom of Heaven, which is “within you.” To the -other, Socialism was simply a necessary step toward a far-distant goal, a step -to be tolerated with impatience. Schliemann called himself a “philosophic -anarchist”; and he explained that an anarchist was one who believed that -the end of human existence was the free development of every personality, -unrestricted by laws save those of its own being. Since the same kind of match -would light every one’s fire and the same-shaped loaf of bread would fill -every one’s stomach, it would be perfectly feasible to submit industry to -the control of a majority vote. There was only one earth, and the quantity of -material things was limited. Of intellectual and moral things, on the other -hand, there was no limit, and one could have more without another’s -having less; hence “Communism in material production, anarchism in -intellectual,” was the formula of modern proletarian thought. As soon as -the birth agony was over, and the wounds of society had been healed, there -would be established a simple system whereby each man was credited with his -labor and debited with his purchases; and after that the processes of -production, exchange, and consumption would go on automatically, and without -our being conscious of them, any more than a man is conscious of the beating of -his heart. And then, explained Schliemann, society would break up into -independent, self-governing communities of mutually congenial persons; examples -of which at present were clubs, churches, and political parties. After the -revolution, all the intellectual, artistic, and spiritual activities of men -would be cared for by such “free associations”; romantic novelists -would be supported by those who liked to read romantic novels, and -impressionist painters would be supported by those who liked to look at -impressionist pictures—and the same with preachers and scientists, -editors and actors and musicians. If any one wanted to work or paint or pray, -and could find no one to maintain him, he could support himself by working part -of the time. That was the case at present, the only difference being that the -competitive wage system compelled a man to work all the time to live, while, -after the abolition of privilege and exploitation, any one would be able to -support himself by an hour’s work a day. Also the artist’s audience -of the present was a small minority of people, all debased and vulgarized by -the effort it had cost them to win in the commercial battle, of the -intellectual and artistic activities which would result when the whole of -mankind was set free from the nightmare of competition, we could at present -form no conception whatever. -</p> - -<p> -And then the editor wanted to know upon what ground Dr. Schliemann asserted -that it might be possible for a society to exist upon an hour’s toil by -each of its members. “Just what,” answered the other, “would -be the productive capacity of society if the present resources of science were -utilized, we have no means of ascertaining; but we may be sure it would exceed -anything that would sound reasonable to minds inured to the ferocious -barbarities of capitalism. After the triumph of the international proletariat, -war would of course be inconceivable; and who can figure the cost of war to -humanity—not merely the value of the lives and the material that it -destroys, not merely the cost of keeping millions of men in idleness, of arming -and equipping them for battle and parade, but the drain upon the vital energies -of society by the war attitude and the war terror, the brutality and ignorance, -the drunkenness, prostitution, and crime it entails, the industrial impotence -and the moral deadness? Do you think that it would be too much to say that two -hours of the working time of every efficient member of a community goes to feed -the red fiend of war?” -</p> - -<p> -And then Schliemann went on to outline some of the wastes of competition: the -losses of industrial warfare; the ceaseless worry and friction; the -vices—such as drink, for instance, the use of which had nearly doubled in -twenty years, as a consequence of the intensification of the economic struggle; -the idle and unproductive members of the community, the frivolous rich and the -pauperized poor; the law and the whole machinery of repression; the wastes of -social ostentation, the milliners and tailors, the hairdressers, dancing -masters, chefs and lackeys. “You understand,” he said, “that -in a society dominated by the fact of commercial competition, money is -necessarily the test of prowess, and wastefulness the sole criterion of power. -So we have, at the present moment, a society with, say, thirty per cent of the -population occupied in producing useless articles, and one per cent occupied in -destroying them. And this is not all; for the servants and panders of the -parasites are also parasites, the milliners and the jewelers and the lackeys -have also to be supported by the useful members of the community. And bear in -mind also that this monstrous disease affects not merely the idlers and their -menials, its poison penetrates the whole social body. Beneath the hundred -thousand women of the elite are a million middle-class women, miserable because -they are not of the elite, and trying to appear of it in public; and beneath -them, in turn, are five million farmers’ wives reading ‘fashion -papers’ and trimming bonnets, and shop-girls and serving-maids selling -themselves into brothels for cheap jewelry and imitation seal-skin robes. And -then consider that, added to this competition in display, you have, like oil on -the flames, a whole system of competition in selling! You have manufacturers -contriving tens of thousands of catchpenny devices, storekeepers displaying -them, and newspapers and magazines filled up with advertisements of -them!” -</p> - -<p> -“And don’t forget the wastes of fraud,” put in young Fisher. -</p> - -<p> -“When one comes to the ultra-modern profession of advertising,” -responded Schliemann—“the science of persuading people to buy what -they do not want—he is in the very center of the ghastly charnel house of -capitalist destructiveness, and he scarcely knows which of a dozen horrors to -point out first. But consider the waste in time and energy incidental to making -ten thousand varieties of a thing for purposes of ostentation and snobbishness, -where one variety would do for use! Consider all the waste incidental to the -manufacture of cheap qualities of goods, of goods made to sell and deceive the -ignorant; consider the wastes of adulteration,—the shoddy clothing, the -cotton blankets, the unstable tenements, the ground-cork life-preservers, the -adulterated milk, the aniline soda water, the potato-flour -sausages—” -</p> - -<p> -“And consider the moral aspects of the thing,” put in the -ex-preacher. -</p> - -<p> -“Precisely,” said Schliemann; “the low knavery and the -ferocious cruelty incidental to them, the plotting and the lying and the -bribing, the blustering and bragging, the screaming egotism, the hurrying and -worrying. Of course, imitation and adulteration are the essence of -competition—they are but another form of the phrase ‘to buy in the -cheapest market and sell in the dearest.’ A government official has -stated that the nation suffers a loss of a billion and a quarter dollars a year -through adulterated foods; which means, of course, not only materials wasted -that might have been useful outside of the human stomach, but doctors and -nurses for people who would otherwise have been well, and undertakers for the -whole human race ten or twenty years before the proper time. Then again, -consider the waste of time and energy required to sell these things in a dozen -stores, where one would do. There are a million or two of business firms in the -country, and five or ten times as many clerks; and consider the handling and -rehandling, the accounting and reaccounting, the planning and worrying, the -balancing of petty profit and loss. Consider the whole machinery of the civil -law made necessary by these processes; the libraries of ponderous tomes, the -courts and juries to interpret them, the lawyers studying to circumvent them, -the pettifogging and chicanery, the hatreds and lies! Consider the wastes -incidental to the blind and haphazard production of commodities—the -factories closed, the workers idle, the goods spoiling in storage; consider the -activities of the stock manipulator, the paralyzing of whole industries, the -overstimulation of others, for speculative purposes; the assignments and bank -failures, the crises and panics, the deserted towns and the starving -populations! Consider the energies wasted in the seeking of markets, the -sterile trades, such as drummer, solicitor, bill-poster, advertising agent. -Consider the wastes incidental to the crowding into cities, made necessary by -competition and by monopoly railroad rates; consider the slums, the bad air, -the disease and the waste of vital energies; consider the office buildings, the -waste of time and material in the piling of story upon story, and the burrowing -underground! Then take the whole business of insurance, the enormous mass of -administrative and clerical labor it involves, and all utter -waste—” -</p> - -<p> -“I do not follow that,” said the editor. “The Cooperative -Commonwealth is a universal automatic insurance company and savings bank for -all its members. Capital being the property of all, injury to it is shared by -all and made up by all. The bank is the universal government credit-account, -the ledger in which every individual’s earnings and spendings are -balanced. There is also a universal government bulletin, in which are listed -and precisely described everything which the commonwealth has for sale. As no -one makes any profit by the sale, there is no longer any stimulus to -extravagance, and no misrepresentation; no cheating, no adulteration or -imitation, no bribery or ‘grafting.’” -</p> - -<p> -“How is the price of an article determined?” -</p> - -<p> -“The price is the labor it has cost to make and deliver it, and it is -determined by the first principles of arithmetic. The million workers in the -nation’s wheat fields have worked a hundred days each, and the total -product of the labor is a billion bushels, so the value of a bushel of wheat is -the tenth part of a farm labor-day. If we employ an arbitrary symbol, and pay, -say, five dollars a day for farm work, then the cost of a bushel of wheat is -fifty cents.” -</p> - -<p> -“You say ‘for farm work,’” said Mr. Maynard. -“Then labor is not to be paid alike?” -</p> - -<p> -“Manifestly not, since some work is easy and some hard, and we should -have millions of rural mail carriers, and no coal miners. Of course the wages -may be left the same, and the hours varied; one or the other will have to be -varied continually, according as a greater or less number of workers is needed -in any particular industry. That is precisely what is done at present, except -that the transfer of the workers is accomplished blindly and imperfectly, by -rumors and advertisements, instead of instantly and completely, by a universal -government bulletin.” -</p> - -<p> -“How about those occupations in which time is difficult to calculate? -What is the labor cost of a book?” -</p> - -<p> -“Obviously it is the labor cost of the paper, printing, and binding of -it—about a fifth of its present cost.” -</p> - -<p> -“And the author?” -</p> - -<p> -“I have already said that the state could not control intellectual -production. The state might say that it had taken a year to write the book, and -the author might say it had taken thirty. Goethe said that every <i>bon mot</i> -of his had cost a purse of gold. What I outline here is a national, or rather -international, system for the providing of the material needs of men. Since a -man has intellectual needs also, he will work longer, earn more, and provide -for them to his own taste and in his own way. I live on the same earth as the -majority, I wear the same kind of shoes and sleep in the same kind of bed; but -I do not think the same kind of thoughts, and I do not wish to pay for such -thinkers as the majority selects. I wish such things to be left to free effort, -as at present. If people want to listen to a certain preacher, they get -together and contribute what they please, and pay for a church and support the -preacher, and then listen to him; I, who do not want to listen to him, stay -away, and it costs me nothing. In the same way there are magazines about -Egyptian coins, and Catholic saints, and flying machines, and athletic records, -and I know nothing about any of them. On the other hand, if wage slavery were -abolished, and I could earn some spare money without paying tribute to an -exploiting capitalist, then there would be a magazine for the purpose of -interpreting and popularizing the gospel of Friedrich Nietzsche, the prophet of -Evolution, and also of Horace Fletcher, the inventor of the noble science of -clean eating; and incidentally, perhaps, for the discouraging of long skirts, -and the scientific breeding of men and women, and the establishing of divorce -by mutual consent.” -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Schliemann paused for a moment. “That was a lecture,” he said -with a laugh, “and yet I am only begun!” -</p> - -<p> -“What else is there?” asked Maynard. -</p> - -<p> -“I have pointed out some of the negative wastes of competition,” -answered the other. “I have hardly mentioned the positive economies of -co-operation. Allowing five to a family, there are fifteen million families in -this country; and at least ten million of these live separately, the domestic -drudge being either the wife or a wage slave. Now set aside the modern system -of pneumatic house-cleaning, and the economies of co-operative cooking; and -consider one single item, the washing of dishes. Surely it is moderate to say -that the dish-washing for a family of five takes half an hour a day; with ten -hours as a day’s work, it takes, therefore, half a million able-bodied -persons—mostly women to do the dish-washing of the country. And note that -this is most filthy and deadening and brutalizing work; that it is a cause of -anemia, nervousness, ugliness, and ill-temper; of prostitution, suicide, and -insanity; of drunken husbands and degenerate children—for all of which -things the community has naturally to pay. And now consider that in each of my -little free communities there would be a machine which would wash and dry the -dishes, and do it, not merely to the eye and the touch, but -scientifically—sterilizing them—and do it at a saving of all the -drudgery and nine-tenths of the time! All of these things you may find in the -books of Mrs. Gilman; and then take Kropotkin’s Fields, Factories, and -Workshops, and read about the new science of agriculture, which has been built -up in the last ten years; by which, with made soils and intensive culture, a -gardener can raise ten or twelve crops in a season, and two hundred tons of -vegetables upon a single acre; by which the population of the whole globe could -be supported on the soil now cultivated in the United States alone! It is -impossible to apply such methods now, owing to the ignorance and poverty of our -scattered farming population; but imagine the problem of providing the food -supply of our nation once taken in hand systematically and rationally, by -scientists! All the poor and rocky land set apart for a national timber -reserve, in which our children play, and our young men hunt, and our poets -dwell! The most favorable climate and soil for each product selected; the exact -requirements of the community known, and the acreage figured accordingly; the -most improved machinery employed, under the direction of expert agricultural -chemists! I was brought up on a farm, and I know the awful deadliness of farm -work; and I like to picture it all as it will be after the revolution. To -picture the great potato-planting machine, drawn by four horses, or an electric -motor, ploughing the furrow, cutting and dropping and covering the potatoes, -and planting a score of acres a day! To picture the great potato-digging -machine, run by electricity, perhaps, and moving across a thousand-acre field, -scooping up earth and potatoes, and dropping the latter into sacks! To every -other kind of vegetable and fruit handled in the same way—apples and -oranges picked by machinery, cows milked by electricity—things which are -already done, as you may know. To picture the harvest fields of the future, to -which millions of happy men and women come for a summer holiday, brought by -special trains, the exactly needful number to each place! And to contrast all -this with our present agonizing system of independent small farming,—a -stunted, haggard, ignorant man, mated with a yellow, lean, and sad-eyed drudge, -and toiling from four o’clock in the morning until nine at night, working -the children as soon as they are able to walk, scratching the soil with its -primitive tools, and shut out from all knowledge and hope, from all their -benefits of science and invention, and all the joys of the spirit—held to -a bare existence by competition in labor, and boasting of his freedom because -he is too blind to see his chains!” -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Schliemann paused a moment. “And then,” he continued, -“place beside this fact of an unlimited food supply, the newest discovery -of physiologists, that most of the ills of the human system are due to -overfeeding! And then again, it has been proven that meat is unnecessary as a -food; and meat is obviously more difficult to produce than vegetable food, less -pleasant to prepare and handle, and more likely to be unclean. But what of -that, so long as it tickles the palate more strongly?” -</p> - -<p> -“How would Socialism change that?” asked the girl-student, quickly. -It was the first time she had spoken. -</p> - -<p> -“So long as we have wage slavery,” answered Schliemann, “it -matters not in the least how debasing and repulsive a task may be, it is easy -to find people to perform it. But just as soon as labor is set free, then the -price of such work will begin to rise. So one by one the old, dingy, and -unsanitary factories will come down—it will be cheaper to build new; and -so the steamships will be provided with stoking machinery, and so the dangerous -trades will be made safe, or substitutes will be found for their products. In -exactly the same way, as the citizens of our Industrial Republic become -refined, year by year the cost of slaughterhouse products will increase; until -eventually those who want to eat meat will have to do their own -killing—and how long do you think the custom would survive then?—To -go on to another item—one of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism -in a democracy is political corruption; and one of the consequences of civic -administration by ignorant and vicious politicians, is that preventable -diseases kill off half our population. And even if science were allowed to try, -it could do little, because the majority of human beings are not yet human -beings at all, but simply machines for the creating of wealth for others. They -are penned up in filthy houses and left to rot and stew in misery, and the -conditions of their life make them ill faster than all the doctors in the world -could heal them; and so, of course, they remain as centers of contagion, -poisoning the lives of all of us, and making happiness impossible for even the -most selfish. For this reason I would seriously maintain that all the medical -and surgical discoveries that science can make in the future will be of less -importance than the application of the knowledge we already possess, when the -disinherited of the earth have established their right to a human -existence.” -</p> - -<p> -And here the Herr Doctor relapsed into silence again. Jurgis had noticed that -the beautiful young girl who sat by the center-table was listening with -something of the same look that he himself had worn, the time when he had first -discovered Socialism. Jurgis would have liked to talk to her, he felt sure that -she would have understood him. Later on in the evening, when the group broke -up, he heard Mrs. Fisher say to her, in a low voice, “I wonder if Mr. -Maynard will still write the same things about Socialism”; to which she -answered, “I don’t know—but if he does we shall know that he -is a knave!” -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p> -And only a few hours after this came election day—when the long campaign -was over, and the whole country seemed to stand still and hold its breath, -awaiting the issue. Jurgis and the rest of the staff of Hinds’s Hotel -could hardly stop to finish their dinner, before they hurried off to the big -hall which the party had hired for that evening. -</p> - -<p> -But already there were people waiting, and already the telegraph instrument on -the stage had begun clicking off the returns. When the final accounts were made -up, the Socialist vote proved to be over four hundred thousand—an -increase of something like three hundred and fifty per cent in four years. And -that was doing well; but the party was dependent for its early returns upon -messages from the locals, and naturally those locals which had been most -successful were the ones which felt most like reporting; and so that night -every one in the hall believed that the vote was going to be six, or seven, or -even eight hundred thousand. Just such an incredible increase had actually been -made in Chicago, and in the state; the vote of the city had been 6,700 in 1900, -and now it was 47,000; that of Illinois had been 9,600, and now it was 69,000! -So, as the evening waxed, and the crowd piled in, the meeting was a sight to be -seen. Bulletins would be read, and the people would shout themselves -hoarse—and then some one would make a speech, and there would be more -shouting; and then a brief silence, and more bulletins. There would come -messages from the secretaries of neighboring states, reporting their -achievements; the vote of Indiana had gone from 2,300 to 12,000, of Wisconsin -from 7,000 to 28,000; of Ohio from 4,800 to 36,000! There were telegrams to the -national office from enthusiastic individuals in little towns which had made -amazing and unprecedented increases in a single year: Benedict, Kansas, from 26 -to 260; Henderson, Kentucky, from 19 to 111; Holland, Michigan, from 14 to 208; -Cleo, Oklahoma, from 0 to 104; Martin’s Ferry, Ohio, from 0 to -296—and many more of the same kind. There were literally hundreds of such -towns; there would be reports from half a dozen of them in a single batch of -telegrams. And the men who read the despatches off to the audience were old -campaigners, who had been to the places and helped to make the vote, and could -make appropriate comments: Quincy, Illinois, from 189 to 831—that was -where the mayor had arrested a Socialist speaker! Crawford County, Kansas, from -285 to 1,975; that was the home of the “Appeal to Reason”! Battle -Creek, Michigan, from 4,261 to 10,184; that was the answer of labor to the -Citizens’ Alliance Movement! -</p> - -<p> -And then there were official returns from the various precincts and wards of -the city itself! Whether it was a factory district or one of the -“silk-stocking” wards seemed to make no particular difference in -the increase; but one of the things which surprised the party leaders most was -the tremendous vote that came rolling in from the stockyards. Packingtown -comprised three wards of the city, and the vote in the spring of 1903 had been -500, and in the fall of the same year, 1,600. Now, only one year later, it was -over 6,300—and the Democratic vote only 8,800! There were other wards in -which the Democratic vote had been actually surpassed, and in two districts, -members of the state legislature had been elected. Thus Chicago now led the -country; it had set a new standard for the party, it had shown the workingmen -the way! -</p> - -<p> -—So spoke an orator upon the platform; and two thousand pairs of eyes -were fixed upon him, and two thousand voices were cheering his every sentence. -The orator had been the head of the city’s relief bureau in the -stockyards, until the sight of misery and corruption had made him sick. He was -young, hungry-looking, full of fire; and as he swung his long arms and beat up -the crowd, to Jurgis he seemed the very spirit of the revolution. -“Organize! Organize! Organize!”—that was his cry. He was -afraid of this tremendous vote, which his party had not expected, and which it -had not earned. “These men are not Socialists!” he cried. -“This election will pass, and the excitement will die, and people will -forget about it; and if you forget about it, too, if you sink back and rest -upon your oars, we shall lose this vote that we have polled to-day, and our -enemies will laugh us to scorn! It rests with you to take your -resolution—now, in the flush of victory, to find these men who have voted -for us, and bring them to our meetings, and organize them and bind them to us! -We shall not find all our campaigns as easy as this one. Everywhere in the -country tonight the old party politicians are studying this vote, and setting -their sails by it; and nowhere will they be quicker or more cunning than here -in our own city. Fifty thousand Socialist votes in Chicago means a -municipal-ownership Democracy in the spring! And then they will fool the voters -once more, and all the powers of plunder and corruption will be swept into -office again! But whatever they may do when they get in, there is one thing -they will not do, and that will be the thing for which they were elected! They -will not give the people of our city municipal ownership—they will not -mean to do it, they will not try to do it; all that they will do is give our -party in Chicago the greatest opportunity that has ever come to Socialism in -America! We shall have the sham reformers self-stultified and self-convicted; -we shall have the radical Democracy left without a lie with which to cover its -nakedness! And then will begin the rush that will never be checked, the tide -that will never turn till it has reached its flood—that will be -irresistible, overwhelming—the rallying of the outraged workingmen of -Chicago to our standard! And we shall organize them, we shall drill them, we -shall marshal them for the victory! We shall bear down the opposition, we shall -sweep if before us—and <i>Chicago will be ours!</i> Chicago will be ours! -CHICAGO WILL BE OURS!” -</p> - -</div><!--end chapter--> - -<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE ***</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 140-h.htm or 140-h.zip</div> -<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/140/</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</body> - -</html> - - diff --git a/old/140-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/140-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 15c0a75..0000000 --- a/old/140-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/140.txt b/old/old/140.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0f27185..0000000 --- a/old/old/140.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14240 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Jungle - -Author: Upton Sinclair - -Release Date: March 11, 2006 [EBook #140] -[This file last updated on September 26, 2010] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE *** - - - - -Produced by David Meltzer, Christy Phillips, Scott Coulter, -Leroy Smith and David Widger - - - - - - -THE JUNGLE - -by Upton Sinclair - - -(1906) - - - - - -Chapter 1 - - -It was four o'clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began -to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the -exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon -Marija's broad shoulders--it was her task to see that all things went in -due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly -hither and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and -exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to see -that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. She -had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at the -hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that -personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had -flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, proceeded to -tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not -understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of -her in altitude, the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to -attempt to speak; and the result had been a furious altercation, which, -continuing all the way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of -urchins to the cortege at each side street for half a mile. - -This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door. -The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull -"broom, broom" of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied -with each other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics. Seeing -the throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the -ancestors of her coachman, and, springing from the moving carriage, -plunged in and proceeded to clear a way to the hall. Once within, she -turned and began to push the other way, roaring, meantime, "Eik! Eik! -Uzdaryk-duris!" in tones which made the orchestral uproar sound like -fairy music. - -"Z. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and -Liquors. Union Headquarters"--that was the way the signs ran. The -reader, who perhaps has never held much converse in the language of -far-off Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the place was -the rear room of a saloon in that part of Chicago known as "back of the -yards." This information is definite and suited to the matter of fact; -but how pitifully inadequate it would have seemed to one who understood -that it was also the supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of -God's gentlest creatures, the scene of the wedding feast and the -joy-transfiguration of little Ona Lukoszaite! - -She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from -pushing through the crowd, and in her happiness painful to look upon. -There was a light of wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and -her otherwise wan little face was flushed. She wore a muslin dress, -conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders. -There were five pink paper roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright -green rose leaves. There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, -and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together feverishly. -It was almost too much for her--you could see the pain of too great -emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was so -young--not quite sixteen--and small for her age, a mere child; and she -had just been married--and married to Jurgis,* (*Pronounced Yoorghis) of -all men, to Jurgis Rudkus, he with the white flower in the buttonhole of -his new black suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands. - -Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with -beetling brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his -ears--in short, they were one of those incongruous and impossible -married couples with which Mother Nature so often wills to -confound all prophets, before and after. Jurgis could take up a -two-hundred-and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and carry it into a car -without a stagger, or even a thought; and now he stood in a far corner, -frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his lips with -his tongue each time before he could answer the congratulations of his -friends. - -Gradually there was effected a separation between the spectators and -the guests--a separation at least sufficiently complete for working -purposes. There was no time during the festivities which ensued when -there were not groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners; -and if any one of these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked -sufficiently hungry, a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the -feast. It was one of the laws of the veselija that no one goes hungry; -and, while a rule made in the forests of Lithuania is hard to apply -in the stockyards district of Chicago, with its quarter of a million -inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children who ran in -from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A charming -informality was one of the characteristics of this celebration. The men -wore their hats, or, if they wished, they took them off, and their coats -with them; they ate when and where they pleased, and moved as often as -they pleased. There were to be speeches and singing, but no one had to -listen who did not care to; if he wished, meantime, to speak or sing -himself, he was perfectly free. The resulting medley of sound distracted -no one, save possibly alone the babies, of which there were present a -number equal to the total possessed by all the guests invited. There was -no other place for the babies to be, and so part of the preparations -for the evening consisted of a collection of cribs and carriages in one -corner. In these the babies slept, three or four together, or wakened -together, as the case might be. Those who were still older, and could -reach the tables, marched about munching contentedly at meat bones and -bologna sausages. - - -The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save -for a calendar, a picture of a race horse, and a family tree in a gilded -frame. To the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few loafers -in the doorway, and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a presiding -genius clad in soiled white, with waxed black mustaches and a carefully -oiled curl plastered against one side of his forehead. In the opposite -corner are two tables, filling a third of the room and laden with -dishes and cold viands, which a few of the hungrier guests are already -munching. At the head, where sits the bride, is a snow-white cake, with -an Eiffel tower of constructed decoration, with sugar roses and two -angels upon it, and a generous sprinkling of pink and green and yellow -candies. Beyond opens a door into the kitchen, where there is a glimpse -to be had of a range with much steam ascending from it, and many women, -old and young, rushing hither and thither. In the corner to the left are -the three musicians, upon a little platform, toiling heroically to make -some impression upon the hubbub; also the babies, similarly occupied, -and an open window whence the populace imbibes the sights and sounds and -odors. - -Suddenly some of the steam begins to advance, and, peering through it, -you discern Aunt Elizabeth, Ona's stepmother--Teta Elzbieta, as they -call her--bearing aloft a great platter of stewed duck. Behind her is -Kotrina, making her way cautiously, staggering beneath a similar burden; -and half a minute later there appears old Grandmother Majauszkiene, with -a big yellow bowl of smoking potatoes, nearly as big as herself. So, bit -by bit, the feast takes form--there is a ham and a dish of sauerkraut, -boiled rice, macaroni, bologna sausages, great piles of penny buns, -bowls of milk, and foaming pitchers of beer. There is also, not six feet -from your back, the bar, where you may order all you please and do not -have to pay for it. "Eiksz! Graicziau!" screams Marija Berczynskas, and -falls to work herself--for there is more upon the stove inside that will -be spoiled if it be not eaten. - -So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the -guests take their places. The young men, who for the most part have -been huddled near the door, summon their resolution and advance; and the -shrinking Jurgis is poked and scolded by the old folks until he consents -to seat himself at the right hand of the bride. The two bridesmaids, -whose insignia of office are paper wreaths, come next, and after them -the rest of the guests, old and young, boys and girls. The spirit of the -occasion takes hold of the stately bartender, who condescends to a plate -of stewed duck; even the fat policeman--whose duty it will be, later in -the evening, to break up the fights--draws up a chair to the foot of the -table. And the children shout and the babies yell, and every one laughs -and sings and chatters--while above all the deafening clamor Cousin -Marija shouts orders to the musicians. - -The musicians--how shall one begin to describe them? All this time they -have been there, playing in a mad frenzy--all of this scene must be -read, or said, or sung, to music. It is the music which makes it what -it is; it is the music which changes the place from the rear room of -a saloon in back of the yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little -corner of the high mansions of the sky. - -The little person who leads this trio is an inspired man. His fiddle -is out of tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an -inspired man--the hands of the muses have been laid upon him. He plays -like one possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can -feel them in the air round about him, capering frenetically; with their -invisible feet they set the pace, and the hair of the leader of the -orchestra rises on end, and his eyeballs start from their sockets, as he -toils to keep up with them. - -Tamoszius Kuszleika is his name, and he has taught himself to play the -violin by practicing all night, after working all day on the "killing -beds." He is in his shirt sleeves, with a vest figured with faded gold -horseshoes, and a pink-striped shirt, suggestive of peppermint candy. -A pair of military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to -give that suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band. He is -only about five feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight -inches short of the ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or -rather you would wonder, if the excitement of being in his presence left -you time to think of such things. - -For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is inspired--you might -almost say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his -head, he sways and swings to and fro; he has a wizened-up little face, -irresistibly comical; and, when he executes a turn or a flourish, his -brows knit and his lips work and his eyelids wink--the very ends of -his necktie bristle out. And every now and then he turns upon his -companions, nodding, signaling, beckoning frantically--with every inch -of him appealing, imploring, in behalf of the muses and their call. - -For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of -the orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with -black-rimmed spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven -mule; he responds to the whip but feebly, and then always falls -back into his old rut. The third man is very fat, with a round, red, -sentimental nose, and he plays with his eyes turned up to the sky and a -look of infinite yearning. He is playing a bass part upon his cello, -and so the excitement is nothing to him; no matter what happens in the -treble, it is his task to saw out one long-drawn and lugubrious note -after another, from four o'clock in the afternoon until nearly the same -hour next morning, for his third of the total income of one dollar per -hour. - -Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika -has risen in his excitement; a minute or two more and you see that he is -beginning to edge over toward the tables. His nostrils are dilated and -his breath comes fast--his demons are driving him. He nods and shakes -his head at his companions, jerking at them with his violin, until at -last the long form of the second violinist also rises up. In the end -all three of them begin advancing, step by step, upon the banqueters, -Valentinavyczia, the cellist, bumping along with his instrument between -notes. Finally all three are gathered at the foot of the tables, and -there Tamoszius mounts upon a stool. - -Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are -eating, some are laughing and talking--but you will make a great mistake -if you think there is one of them who does not hear him. His notes -are never true, and his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and -scratches on the high; but these things they heed no more than they heed -the dirt and noise and squalor about them--it is out of this material -that they have to build their lives, with it that they have to utter -their souls. And this is their utterance; merry and boisterous, or -mournful and wailing, or passionate and rebellious, this music is their -music, music of home. It stretches out its arms to them, they have -only to give themselves up. Chicago and its saloons and its slums fade -away--there are green meadows and sunlit rivers, mighty forests and -snow-clad hills. They behold home landscapes and childhood scenes -returning; old loves and friendships begin to waken, old joys and griefs -to laugh and weep. Some fall back and close their eyes, some beat upon -the table. Now and then one leaps up with a cry and calls for this song -or that; and then the fire leaps brighter in Tamoszius' eyes, and he -flings up his fiddle and shouts to his companions, and away they go in -mad career. The company takes up the choruses, and men and women cry out -like all possessed; some leap to their feet and stamp upon the floor, -lifting their glasses and pledging each other. Before long it occurs to -some one to demand an old wedding song, which celebrates the beauty of -the bride and the joys of love. In the excitement of this masterpiece -Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, making his -way toward the head, where sits the bride. There is not a foot of space -between the chairs of the guests, and Tamoszius is so short that he -pokes them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the low notes; but -still he presses in, and insists relentlessly that his companions must -follow. During their progress, needless to say, the sounds of the cello -are pretty well extinguished; but at last the three are at the head, and -Tamoszius takes his station at the right hand of the bride and begins to -pour out his soul in melting strains. - -Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little -something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her; but, -for the most part, she sits gazing with the same fearful eyes of wonder. -Teta Elzbieta is all in a flutter, like a hummingbird; her sisters, -too, keep running up behind her, whispering, breathless. But Ona seems -scarcely to hear them--the music keeps calling, and the far-off look -comes back, and she sits with her hands pressed together over her heart. -Then the tears begin to come into her eyes; and as she is ashamed to -wipe them away, and ashamed to let them run down her cheeks, she turns -and shakes her head a little, and then flushes red when she sees that -Jurgis is watching her. When in the end Tamoszius Kuszleika has reached -her side, and is waving his magic wand above her, Ona's cheeks are -scarlet, and she looks as if she would have to get up and run away. - -In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Berczynskas, whom -the muses suddenly visit. Marija is fond of a song, a song of lovers' -parting; she wishes to hear it, and, as the musicians do not know it, -she has risen, and is proceeding to teach them. Marija is short, but -powerful in build. She works in a canning factory, and all day long she -handles cans of beef that weigh fourteen pounds. She has a broad -Slavic face, with prominent red cheeks. When she opens her mouth, it -is tragical, but you cannot help thinking of a horse. She wears a blue -flannel shirt-waist, which is now rolled up at the sleeves, disclosing -her brawny arms; she has a carving fork in her hand, with which she -pounds on the table to mark the time. As she roars her song, in a voice -of which it is enough to say that it leaves no portion of the room -vacant, the three musicians follow her, laboriously and note by note, -but averaging one note behind; thus they toil through stanza after -stanza of a lovesick swain's lamentation:-- - - "Sudiev' kvietkeli, tu brangiausis; - Sudiev' ir laime, man biednam, - Matau--paskyre teip Aukszcziausis, - Jog vargt ant svieto reik vienam!" - -When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas -rises to his feet. Grandfather Anthony, Jurgis' father, is not more than -sixty years of age, but you would think that he was eighty. He has been -only six months in America, and the change has not done him good. In his -manhood he worked in a cotton mill, but then a coughing fell upon him, -and he had to leave; out in the country the trouble disappeared, but he -has been working in the pickle rooms at Durham's, and the breathing of -the cold, damp air all day has brought it back. Now as he rises he is -seized with a coughing fit, and holds himself by his chair and turns -away his wan and battered face until it passes. - -Generally it is the custom for the speech at a veselija to be taken out -of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days Dede -Antanas used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love letters -of his friends. Now it is understood that he has composed an original -speech of congratulation and benediction, and this is one of the events -of the day. Even the boys, who are romping about the room, draw near and -listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons in their eyes. -It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become possessed of the idea -that he has not much longer to stay with his children. His speech leaves -them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps -a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and hearty, is moved -to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and then to go on -and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers congratulations -and prophecies of happiness upon the bride and groom, proceeding to -particulars which greatly delight the young men, but which cause Ona -to blush more furiously than ever. Jokubas possesses what his -wife complacently describes as "poetiszka vaidintuve"--a poetical -imagination. - -Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no -pretense of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men -gather about the bar; some wander about, laughing and singing; here -and there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime -indifference to the others and to the orchestra as well. Everybody is -more or less restless--one would guess that something is on their minds. -And so it proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to -finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, and -the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real celebration -of the evening begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing -himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up, -reviews the scene; he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin, -then tucks it carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an -elaborate flourish, and finally smites the sounding strings and closes -his eyes, and floats away in spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz. -His companion follows, but with his eyes open, watching where he treads, -so to speak; and finally Valentinavyczia, after waiting for a little and -beating with his foot to get the time, casts up his eyes to the ceiling -and begins to saw--"Broom! broom! broom!" - -The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. -Apparently nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any -consequence--there is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just -as before they sang. Most of them prefer the "two-step," especially the -young, with whom it is the fashion. The older people have dances from -home, strange and complicated steps which they execute with grave -solemnity. Some do not dance anything at all, but simply hold each -other's hands and allow the undisciplined joy of motion to express -itself with their feet. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas and his wife, -Lucija, who together keep the delicatessen store, and consume nearly -as much as they sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the -middle of the floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking -slowly from side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of -toothless and perspiring ecstasy. - -Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail -of home--an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored -handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons. All these -things are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to -speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing. The girls wear -ready-made dresses or shirt waists, and some of them look quite pretty. -Some of the young men you would take to be Americans, of the type of -clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats in the room. Each of -these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing. Some hold -each other tightly, some at a cautious distance. Some hold their -hands out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some dance -springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity. There are -boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one -out of their way. There are nervous couples, whom these frighten, and -who cry, "Nusfok! Kas yra?" at them as they pass. Each couple is paired -for the evening--you will never see them change about. There is Alena -Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas -Raczius, to whom she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the evening, -and she would be really beautiful if she were not so proud. She wears -a white shirtwaist, which represents, perhaps, half a week's labor -painting cans. She holds her skirt with her hand as she dances, with -stately precision, after the manner of the grandes dames. Juozas is -driving one of Durham's wagons, and is making big wages. He affects a -"tough" aspect, wearing his hat on one side and keeping a cigarette in -his mouth all the evening. Then there is Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is also -beautiful, but humble. Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then she has -an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and so she -does not spend her wages for shirtwaists. Jadvyga is small and delicate, -with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little knot and -tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white dress which she -has made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is -high-waisted--almost under her arms, and not very becoming,--but that -does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas. She is small, -while he is big and powerful; she nestles in his arms as if she would -hide herself from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder. He in turn -has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; -and so she dances, and will dance the entire evening, and would dance -forever, in ecstasy of bliss. You would smile, perhaps, to see them--but -you would not smile if you knew all the story. This is the fifth year, -now, that Jadvyga has been engaged to Mikolas, and her heart is sick. -They would have been married in the beginning, only Mikolas has a father -who is drunk all day, and he is the only other man in a large family. -Even so they might have managed it (for Mikolas is a skilled man) but -for cruel accidents which have almost taken the heart out of them. He is -a beef-boner, and that is a dangerous trade, especially when you are on -piecework and trying to earn a bride. Your hands are slippery, and your -knife is slippery, and you are toiling like mad, when somebody happens -to speak to you, or you strike a bone. Then your hand slips up on the -blade, and there is a fearful gash. And that would not be so bad, only -for the deadly contagion. The cut may heal, but you never can tell. -Twice now; within the last three years, Mikolas has been lying at home -with blood poisoning--once for three months and once for nearly seven. -The last time, too, he lost his job, and that meant six weeks more of -standing at the doors of the packing houses, at six o'clock on bitter -winter mornings, with a foot of snow on the ground and more in the air. -There are learned people who can tell you out of the statistics that -beef-boners make forty cents an hour, but, perhaps, these people have -never looked into a beef-boner's hands. - -When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they -must, now and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently. -They never seem to tire; and there is no place for them to sit down -if they did. It is only for a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up -again, in spite of all the protests of the other two. This time it is -another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. Those who prefer to, go on -with the two-step, but the majority go through an intricate series of -motions, resembling more fancy skating than a dance. The climax of it is -a furious prestissimo, at which the couples seize hands and begin a mad -whirling. This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room joins -in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies quite -dazzling to look upon. But the sight of sights at this moment is -Tamoszius Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, but -Tamoszius has no mercy. The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he -bends over like a cyclist on the last lap of a race. His body shakes and -throbs like a runaway steam engine, and the ear cannot follow the flying -showers of notes--there is a pale blue mist where you look to see his -bowing arm. With a most wonderful rush he comes to the end of the tune, -and flings up his hands and staggers back exhausted; and with a final -shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling here and there, bringing -up against the walls of the room. - -After this there is beer for every one, the musicians included, and -the revelers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the -evening, which is the acziavimas. The acziavimas is a ceremony which, -once begun, will continue for three or four hours, and it involves one -uninterrupted dance. The guests form a great ring, locking hands, and, -when the music starts up, begin to move around in a circle. In the -center stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the -enclosure and dance with her. Each dances for several minutes--as long -as he pleases; it is a very merry proceeding, with laughter and singing, -and when the guest has finished, he finds himself face to face with Teta -Elzbieta, who holds the hat. Into it he drops a sum of money--a dollar, -or perhaps five dollars, according to his power, and his estimate of -the value of the privilege. The guests are expected to pay for this -entertainment; if they be proper guests, they will see that there is a -neat sum left over for the bride and bridegroom to start life upon. - -Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of this -entertainment. They will certainly be over two hundred dollars and maybe -three hundred; and three hundred dollars is more than the year's income -of many a person in this room. There are able-bodied men here who work -from early morning until late at night, in ice-cold cellars with a -quarter of an inch of water on the floor--men who for six or seven -months in the year never see the sunlight from Sunday afternoon till -the next Sunday morning--and who cannot earn three hundred dollars in -a year. There are little children here, scarce in their teens, who can -hardly see the top of the work benches--whose parents have lied to get -them their places--and who do not make the half of three hundred dollars -a year, and perhaps not even the third of it. And then to spend such -a sum, all in a single day of your life, at a wedding feast! (For -obviously it is the same thing, whether you spend it at once for your -own wedding, or in a long time, at the weddings of all your friends.) - -It is very imprudent, it is tragic--but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by -bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this -they cling with all the power of their souls--they cannot give up the -veselija! To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to -acknowledge defeat--and the difference between these two things is what -keeps the world going. The veselija has come down to them from a far-off -time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave -and gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could -break his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; provided that -once in his lifetime he might testify to the fact that life, with all -its cares and its terrors, is no such great thing after all, but merely -a bubble upon the surface of a river, a thing that one may toss about -and play with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a thing that one may -quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine. Thus having known himself for -the master of things, a man could go back to his toil and live upon the -memory all his days. - - -Endlessly the dancers swung round and round--when they were dizzy they -swung the other way. Hour after hour this had continued--the darkness -had fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. -The musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and played only -one tune, wearily, ploddingly. There were twenty bars or so of it, and -when they came to the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or so -they would fail to begin again, but instead would sink back exhausted; a -circumstance which invariably brought on a painful and terrifying scene, -that made the fat policeman stir uneasily in his sleeping place behind -the door. - -It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those hungry souls who -cling with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse. All day -long she had been in a state of wonderful exaltation; and now it was -leaving--and she would not let it go. Her soul cried out in the words of -Faust, "Stay, thou art fair!" Whether it was by beer, or by shouting, or -by music, or by motion, she meant that it should not go. And she would -go back to the chase of it--and no sooner be fairly started than her -chariot would be thrown off the track, so to speak, by the stupidity of -those thrice accursed musicians. Each time, Marija would emit a howl and -fly at them, shaking her fists in their faces, stamping upon the floor, -purple and incoherent with rage. In vain the frightened Tamoszius would -attempt to speak, to plead the limitations of the flesh; in vain would -the puffing and breathless ponas Jokubas insist, in vain would Teta -Elzbieta implore. "Szalin!" Marija would scream. "Palauk! isz kelio! -What are you paid for, children of hell?" And so, in sheer terror, the -orchestra would strike up again, and Marija would return to her place -and take up her task. - -She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her -excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired--the -soul of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers--what had -once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, -pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a -very volcano of energy. Now and then some one coming in or out would -leave the door open, and the night air was chill; Marija as she passed -would stretch out her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam would go -the door! Once this procedure was the cause of a calamity of which -Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. Little Sebastijonas, aged -three, had been wandering about oblivious to all things, holding turned -up over his mouth a bottle of liquid known as "pop," pink-colored, -ice-cold, and delicious. Passing through the doorway the door smote -him full, and the shriek which followed brought the dancing to a halt. -Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred times a day, and would -weep over the injury of a fly, seized little Sebastijonas in her arms -and bid fair to smother him with kisses. There was a long rest for the -orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while Marija was making her peace -with her victim, seating him upon the bar, and standing beside him and -holding to his lips a foaming schooner of beer. - -In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an -anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of -the more intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them. -The veselija is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore only -the more binding upon all. Every one's share was different--and yet -every one knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a -little more. Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all -this was changing; it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in -the air that one breathed here--it was affecting all the young men at -once. They would come in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner, -and then sneak off. One would throw another's hat out of the window, and -both would go out to get it, and neither could be seen again. Or now -and then half a dozen of them would get together and march out openly, -staring at you, and making fun of you to your face. Still others, worse -yet, would crowd about the bar, and at the expense of the host drink -themselves sodden, paying not the least attention to any one, and -leaving it to be thought that either they had danced with the bride -already, or meant to later on. - -All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with -dismay. So long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! Ona -stood by, her eyes wide with terror. Those frightful bills--how they had -haunted her, each item gnawing at her soul all day and spoiling her rest -at night. How often she had named them over one by one and figured -on them as she went to work--fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two -dollars and a quarter for the ducks, twelve dollars for the musicians, -five dollars at the church, and a blessing of the Virgin besides--and so -on without an end! Worst of all was the frightful bill that was still to -come from Graiczunas for the beer and liquor that might be consumed. -One could never get in advance more than a guess as to this from -a saloon-keeper--and then, when the time came he always came to you -scratching his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but that he -had done his best--your guests had gotten so very drunk. By him you -were sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even though you thought -yourself the dearest of the hundreds of friends he had. He would begin -to serve your guests out of a keg that was half full, and finish with -one that was half empty, and then you would be charged for two kegs of -beer. He would agree to serve a certain quality at a certain price, and -when the time came you and your friends would be drinking some horrible -poison that could not be described. You might complain, but you would -get nothing for your pains but a ruined evening; while, as for going to -law about it, you might as well go to heaven at once. The saloon-keeper -stood in with all the big politics men in the district; and when you had -once found out what it meant to get into trouble with such people, you -would know enough to pay what you were told to pay and shut up. - -What made all this the more painful was that it was so hard on the few -that had really done their best. There was poor old ponas Jokubas, for -instance--he had already given five dollars, and did not every one know -that Jokubas Szedvilas had just mortgaged his delicatessen store for two -hundred dollars to meet several months' overdue rent? And then there was -withered old poni Aniele--who was a widow, and had three children, and -the rheumatism besides, and did washing for the tradespeople on Halsted -Street at prices it would break your heart to hear named. Aniele had -given the entire profit of her chickens for several months. Eight of -them she owned, and she kept them in a little place fenced around on her -backstairs. All day long the children of Aniele were raking in the dump -for food for these chickens; and sometimes, when the competition there -was too fierce, you might see them on Halsted Street walking close to -the gutters, and with their mother following to see that no one robbed -them of their finds. Money could not tell the value of these chickens -to old Mrs. Jukniene--she valued them differently, for she had a feeling -that she was getting something for nothing by means of them--that with -them she was getting the better of a world that was getting the better -of her in so many other ways. So she watched them every hour of the day, -and had learned to see like an owl at night to watch them then. One of -them had been stolen long ago, and not a month passed that some one -did not try to steal another. As the frustrating of this one attempt -involved a score of false alarms, it will be understood what a tribute -old Mrs. Jukniene brought, just because Teta Elzbieta had once loaned -her some money for a few days and saved her from being turned out of her -house. - -More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about -these things was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the -conversation, who were themselves among the guilty--and surely that was -a thing to try the patience of a saint. Finally there came Jurgis, -urged by some one, and the story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in -silence, with his great black eyebrows knitted. Now and then there would -come a gleam underneath them and he would glance about the room. Perhaps -he would have liked to go at some of those fellows with his big clenched -fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how little good it would do him. -No bill would be any less for turning out any one at this time; and then -there would be the scandal--and Jurgis wanted nothing except to get away -with Ona and to let the world go its own way. So his hands relaxed and -he merely said quietly: "It is done, and there is no use in weeping, -Teta Elzbieta." Then his look turned toward Ona, who stood close to his -side, and he saw the wide look of terror in her eyes. "Little one," he -said, in a low voice, "do not worry--it will not matter to us. We will -pay them all somehow. I will work harder." That was always what Jurgis -said. Ona had grown used to it as the solution of all difficulties--"I -will work harder!" He had said that in Lithuania when one official had -taken his passport from him, and another had arrested him for being -without it, and the two had divided a third of his belongings. He had -said it again in New York, when the smooth-spoken agent had taken them -in hand and made them pay such high prices, and almost prevented their -leaving his place, in spite of their paying. Now he said it a third -time, and Ona drew a deep breath; it was so wonderful to have a husband, -just like a grown woman--and a husband who could solve all problems, and -who was so big and strong! - -The last sob of little Sebastijonas has been stifled, and the orchestra -has once more been reminded of its duty. The ceremony begins again--but -there are few now left to dance with, and so very soon the collection is -over and promiscuous dances once more begin. It is now after midnight, -however, and things are not as they were before. The dancers are dull -and heavy--most of them have been drinking hard, and have long ago -passed the stage of exhilaration. They dance in monotonous measure, -round after round, hour after hour, with eyes fixed upon vacancy, as if -they were only half conscious, in a constantly growing stupor. The men -grasp the women very tightly, but there will be half an hour together -when neither will see the other's face. Some couples do not care to -dance, and have retired to the corners, where they sit with their arms -enlaced. Others, who have been drinking still more, wander about the -room, bumping into everything; some are in groups of two or three, -singing, each group its own song. As time goes on there is a variety -of drunkenness, among the younger men especially. Some stagger about in -each other's arms, whispering maudlin words--others start quarrels upon -the slightest pretext, and come to blows and have to be pulled apart. -Now the fat policeman wakens definitely, and feels of his club to -see that it is ready for business. He has to be prompt--for these -two-o'clock-in-the-morning fights, if they once get out of hand, are -like a forest fire, and may mean the whole reserves at the station. The -thing to do is to crack every fighting head that you see, before there -are so many fighting heads that you cannot crack any of them. There is -but scant account kept of cracked heads in back of the yards, for men -who have to crack the heads of animals all day seem to get into the -habit, and to practice on their friends, and even on their families, -between times. This makes it a cause for congratulation that by -modern methods a very few men can do the painfully necessary work of -head-cracking for the whole of the cultured world. - -There is no fight that night--perhaps because Jurgis, too, is -watchful--even more so than the policeman. Jurgis has drunk a great -deal, as any one naturally would on an occasion when it all has to be -paid for, whether it is drunk or not; but he is a very steady man, and -does not easily lose his temper. Only once there is a tight shave--and -that is the fault of Marija Berczynskas. Marija has apparently concluded -about two hours ago that if the altar in the corner, with the deity in -soiled white, be not the true home of the muses, it is, at any rate, -the nearest substitute on earth attainable. And Marija is just fighting -drunk when there come to her ears the facts about the villains who have -not paid that night. Marija goes on the warpath straight off, without -even the preliminary of a good cursing, and when she is pulled off it -is with the coat collars of two villains in her hands. Fortunately, the -policeman is disposed to be reasonable, and so it is not Marija who is -flung out of the place. - -All this interrupts the music for not more than a minute or two. Then -again the merciless tune begins--the tune that has been played for the -last half-hour without one single change. It is an American tune this -time, one which they have picked up on the streets; all seem to know the -words of it--or, at any rate, the first line of it, which they hum -to themselves, over and over again without rest: "In the good old -summertime--in the good old summertime! In the good old summertime--in -the good old summertime!" There seems to be something hypnotic about -this, with its endlessly recurring dominant. It has put a stupor upon -every one who hears it, as well as upon the men who are playing it. No -one can get away from it, or even think of getting away from it; it is -three o'clock in the morning, and they have danced out all their joy, -and danced out all their strength, and all the strength that unlimited -drink can lend them--and still there is no one among them who has the -power to think of stopping. Promptly at seven o'clock this same Monday -morning they will every one of them have to be in their places at -Durham's or Brown's or Jones's, each in his working clothes. If one of -them be a minute late, he will be docked an hour's pay, and if he be -many minutes late, he will be apt to find his brass check turned to the -wall, which will send him out to join the hungry mob that waits every -morning at the gates of the packing houses, from six o'clock until -nearly half-past eight. There is no exception to this rule, not even -little Ona--who has asked for a holiday the day after her wedding day, -a holiday without pay, and been refused. While there are so many who -are anxious to work as you wish, there is no occasion for incommoding -yourself with those who must work otherwise. - -Little Ona is nearly ready to faint--and half in a stupor herself, -because of the heavy scent in the room. She has not taken a drop, but -every one else there is literally burning alcohol, as the lamps are -burning oil; some of the men who are sound asleep in their chairs or -on the floor are reeking of it so that you cannot go near them. Now -and then Jurgis gazes at her hungrily--he has long since forgotten his -shyness; but then the crowd is there, and he still waits and watches the -door, where a carriage is supposed to come. It does not, and finally he -will wait no longer, but comes up to Ona, who turns white and trembles. -He puts her shawl about her and then his own coat. They live only two -blocks away, and Jurgis does not care about the carriage. - -There is almost no farewell--the dancers do not notice them, and all -of the children and many of the old folks have fallen asleep of sheer -exhaustion. Dede Antanas is asleep, and so are the Szedvilases, husband -and wife, the former snoring in octaves. There is Teta Elzbieta, and -Marija, sobbing loudly; and then there is only the silent night, with -the stars beginning to pale a little in the east. Jurgis, without a -word, lifts Ona in his arms, and strides out with her, and she sinks her -head upon his shoulder with a moan. When he reaches home he is not sure -whether she has fainted or is asleep, but when he has to hold her with -one hand while he unlocks the door, he sees that she has opened her -eyes. - -"You shall not go to Brown's today, little one," he whispers, as he -climbs the stairs; and she catches his arm in terror, gasping: "No! No! -I dare not! It will ruin us!" - -But he answers her again: "Leave it to me; leave it to me. I will earn -more money--I will work harder." - - - -Chapter 2 - - -Jurgis talked lightly about work, because he was young. They told him -stories about the breaking down of men, there in the stockyards of -Chicago, and of what had happened to them afterward--stories to make -your flesh creep, but Jurgis would only laugh. He had only been there -four months, and he was young, and a giant besides. There was too much -health in him. He could not even imagine how it would feel to be beaten. -"That is well enough for men like you," he would say, "silpnas, puny -fellows--but my back is broad." - -Jurgis was like a boy, a boy from the country. He was the sort of man -the bosses like to get hold of, the sort they make it a grievance they -cannot get hold of. When he was told to go to a certain place, he would -go there on the run. When he had nothing to do for the moment, he would -stand round fidgeting, dancing, with the overflow of energy that was -in him. If he were working in a line of men, the line always moved -too slowly for him, and you could pick him out by his impatience and -restlessness. That was why he had been picked out on one important -occasion; for Jurgis had stood outside of Brown and Company's "Central -Time Station" not more than half an hour, the second day of his arrival -in Chicago, before he had been beckoned by one of the bosses. Of this he -was very proud, and it made him more disposed than ever to laugh at the -pessimists. In vain would they all tell him that there were men in that -crowd from which he had been chosen who had stood there a month--yes, -many months--and not been chosen yet. "Yes," he would say, "but what -sort of men? Broken-down tramps and good-for-nothings, fellows who have -spent all their money drinking, and want to get more for it. Do you want -me to believe that with these arms"--and he would clench his fists and -hold them up in the air, so that you might see the rolling muscles--"that -with these arms people will ever let me starve?" - -"It is plain," they would answer to this, "that you have come from the -country, and from very far in the country." And this was the fact, for -Jurgis had never seen a city, and scarcely even a fair-sized town, until -he had set out to make his fortune in the world and earn his right -to Ona. His father, and his father's father before him, and as many -ancestors back as legend could go, had lived in that part of Lithuania -known as Brelovicz, the Imperial Forest. This is a great tract of a -hundred thousand acres, which from time immemorial has been a hunting -preserve of the nobility. There are a very few peasants settled in it, -holding title from ancient times; and one of these was Antanas Rudkus, -who had been reared himself, and had reared his children in turn, upon -half a dozen acres of cleared land in the midst of a wilderness. There -had been one son besides Jurgis, and one sister. The former had been -drafted into the army; that had been over ten years ago, but since that -day nothing had ever been heard of him. The sister was married, and her -husband had bought the place when old Antanas had decided to go with his -son. - -It was nearly a year and a half ago that Jurgis had met Ona, at a -horse fair a hundred miles from home. Jurgis had never expected to get -married--he had laughed at it as a foolish trap for a man to walk into; -but here, without ever having spoken a word to her, with no more than -the exchange of half a dozen smiles, he found himself, purple in the -face with embarrassment and terror, asking her parents to sell her to -him for his wife--and offering his father's two horses he had been sent -to the fair to sell. But Ona's father proved as a rock--the girl was yet -a child, and he was a rich man, and his daughter was not to be had in -that way. So Jurgis went home with a heavy heart, and that spring and -summer toiled and tried hard to forget. In the fall, after the harvest -was over, he saw that it would not do, and tramped the full fortnight's -journey that lay between him and Ona. - -He found an unexpected state of affairs--for the girl's father had died, -and his estate was tied up with creditors; Jurgis' heart leaped as he -realized that now the prize was within his reach. There was Elzbieta -Lukoszaite, Teta, or Aunt, as they called her, Ona's stepmother, and -there were her six children, of all ages. There was also her brother -Jonas, a dried-up little man who had worked upon the farm. They were -people of great consequence, as it seemed to Jurgis, fresh out of the -woods; Ona knew how to read, and knew many other things that he did -not know, and now the farm had been sold, and the whole family was -adrift--all they owned in the world being about seven hundred rubles -which is half as many dollars. They would have had three times that, but -it had gone to court, and the judge had decided against them, and it had -cost the balance to get him to change his decision. - -Ona might have married and left them, but she would not, for she loved -Teta Elzbieta. It was Jonas who suggested that they all go to America, -where a friend of his had gotten rich. He would work, for his part, and -the women would work, and some of the children, doubtless--they would -live somehow. Jurgis, too, had heard of America. That was a country -where, they said, a man might earn three rubles a day; and Jurgis -figured what three rubles a day would mean, with prices as they were -where he lived, and decided forthwith that he would go to America and -marry, and be a rich man in the bargain. In that country, rich or poor, -a man was free, it was said; he did not have to go into the army, he did -not have to pay out his money to rascally officials--he might do as he -pleased, and count himself as good as any other man. So America was a -place of which lovers and young people dreamed. If one could only manage -to get the price of a passage, he could count his troubles at an end. - -It was arranged that they should leave the following spring, and -meantime Jurgis sold himself to a contractor for a certain time, and -tramped nearly four hundred miles from home with a gang of men to work -upon a railroad in Smolensk. This was a fearful experience, with filth -and bad food and cruelty and overwork; but Jurgis stood it and came out -in fine trim, and with eighty rubles sewed up in his coat. He did not -drink or fight, because he was thinking all the time of Ona; and for the -rest, he was a quiet, steady man, who did what he was told to, did not -lose his temper often, and when he did lose it made the offender anxious -that he should not lose it again. When they paid him off he dodged the -company gamblers and dramshops, and so they tried to kill him; but he -escaped, and tramped it home, working at odd jobs, and sleeping always -with one eye open. - -So in the summer time they had all set out for America. At the last -moment there joined them Marija Berczynskas, who was a cousin of Ona's. -Marija was an orphan, and had worked since childhood for a rich farmer -of Vilna, who beat her regularly. It was only at the age of twenty that -it had occurred to Marija to try her strength, when she had risen up and -nearly murdered the man, and then come away. - -There were twelve in all in the party, five adults and six children--and -Ona, who was a little of both. They had a hard time on the passage; -there was an agent who helped them, but he proved a scoundrel, and got -them into a trap with some officials, and cost them a good deal of -their precious money, which they clung to with such horrible fear. This -happened to them again in New York--for, of course, they knew nothing -about the country, and had no one to tell them, and it was easy for a -man in a blue uniform to lead them away, and to take them to a hotel and -keep them there, and make them pay enormous charges to get away. The law -says that the rate card shall be on the door of a hotel, but it does not -say that it shall be in Lithuanian. - - -It was in the stockyards that Jonas' friend had gotten rich, and so to -Chicago the party was bound. They knew that one word, Chicago and that -was all they needed to know, at least, until they reached the city. -Then, tumbled out of the cars without ceremony, they were no better off -than before; they stood staring down the vista of Dearborn Street, with -its big black buildings towering in the distance, unable to realize that -they had arrived, and why, when they said "Chicago," people no longer -pointed in some direction, but instead looked perplexed, or laughed, -or went on without paying any attention. They were pitiable in their -helplessness; above all things they stood in deadly terror of any sort -of person in official uniform, and so whenever they saw a policeman they -would cross the street and hurry by. For the whole of the first day they -wandered about in the midst of deafening confusion, utterly lost; and -it was only at night that, cowering in the doorway of a house, they -were finally discovered and taken by a policeman to the station. In the -morning an interpreter was found, and they were taken and put upon a -car, and taught a new word--"stockyards." Their delight at discovering -that they were to get out of this adventure without losing another share -of their possessions it would not be possible to describe. - -They sat and stared out of the window. They were on a street which -seemed to run on forever, mile after mile--thirty-four of them, if they -had known it--and each side of it one uninterrupted row of wretched -little two-story frame buildings. Down every side street they could see, -it was the same--never a hill and never a hollow, but always the same -endless vista of ugly and dirty little wooden buildings. Here and there -would be a bridge crossing a filthy creek, with hard-baked mud shores -and dingy sheds and docks along it; here and there would be a railroad -crossing, with a tangle of switches, and locomotives puffing, and -rattling freight cars filing by; here and there would be a great -factory, a dingy building with innumerable windows in it, and immense -volumes of smoke pouring from the chimneys, darkening the air above and -making filthy the earth beneath. But after each of these interruptions, -the desolate procession would begin again--the procession of dreary -little buildings. - -A full hour before the party reached the city they had begun to note the -perplexing changes in the atmosphere. It grew darker all the time, and -upon the earth the grass seemed to grow less green. Every minute, as -the train sped on, the colors of things became dingier; the fields were -grown parched and yellow, the landscape hideous and bare. And along -with the thickening smoke they began to notice another circumstance, a -strange, pungent odor. They were not sure that it was unpleasant, this -odor; some might have called it sickening, but their taste in odors was -not developed, and they were only sure that it was curious. Now, sitting -in the trolley car, they realized that they were on their way to the -home of it--that they had traveled all the way from Lithuania to it. -It was now no longer something far off and faint, that you caught in -whiffs; you could literally taste it, as well as smell it--you could -take hold of it, almost, and examine it at your leisure. They were -divided in their opinions about it. It was an elemental odor, raw and -crude; it was rich, almost rancid, sensual, and strong. There were some -who drank it in as if it were an intoxicant; there were others who put -their handkerchiefs to their faces. The new emigrants were still tasting -it, lost in wonder, when suddenly the car came to a halt, and the door -was flung open, and a voice shouted--"Stockyards!" - -They were left standing upon the corner, staring; down a side street -there were two rows of brick houses, and between them a vista: half -a dozen chimneys, tall as the tallest of buildings, touching the very -sky--and leaping from them half a dozen columns of smoke, thick, oily, -and black as night. It might have come from the center of the world, -this smoke, where the fires of the ages still smolder. It came as if -self-impelled, driving all before it, a perpetual explosion. It was -inexhaustible; one stared, waiting to see it stop, but still the great -streams rolled out. They spread in vast clouds overhead, writhing, -curling; then, uniting in one giant river, they streamed away down the -sky, stretching a black pall as far as the eye could reach. - -Then the party became aware of another strange thing. This, too, like -the color, was a thing elemental; it was a sound, a sound made up of ten -thousand little sounds. You scarcely noticed it at first--it sunk into -your consciousness, a vague disturbance, a trouble. It was like the -murmuring of the bees in the spring, the whisperings of the forest; it -suggested endless activity, the rumblings of a world in motion. It was -only by an effort that one could realize that it was made by animals, -that it was the distant lowing of ten thousand cattle, the distant -grunting of ten thousand swine. - -They would have liked to follow it up, but, alas, they had no time for -adventures just then. The policeman on the corner was beginning to watch -them; and so, as usual, they started up the street. Scarcely had they -gone a block, however, before Jonas was heard to give a cry, and began -pointing excitedly across the street. Before they could gather the -meaning of his breathless ejaculations he had bounded away, and they saw -him enter a shop, over which was a sign: "J. Szedvilas, Delicatessen." -When he came out again it was in company with a very stout gentleman in -shirt sleeves and an apron, clasping Jonas by both hands and laughing -hilariously. Then Teta Elzbieta recollected suddenly that Szedvilas -had been the name of the mythical friend who had made his fortune in -America. To find that he had been making it in the delicatessen business -was an extraordinary piece of good fortune at this juncture; though it -was well on in the morning, they had not breakfasted, and the children -were beginning to whimper. - -Thus was the happy ending to a woeful voyage. The two families literally -fell upon each other's necks--for it had been years since Jokubas -Szedvilas had met a man from his part of Lithuania. Before half the day -they were lifelong friends. Jokubas understood all the pitfalls of this -new world, and could explain all of its mysteries; he could tell them -the things they ought to have done in the different emergencies--and -what was still more to the point, he could tell them what to do now. He -would take them to poni Aniele, who kept a boardinghouse the other side -of the yards; old Mrs. Jukniene, he explained, had not what one would -call choice accommodations, but they might do for the moment. To this -Teta Elzbieta hastened to respond that nothing could be too cheap to -suit them just then; for they were quite terrified over the sums they -had had to expend. A very few days of practical experience in this land -of high wages had been sufficient to make clear to them the cruel fact -that it was also a land of high prices, and that in it the poor man -was almost as poor as in any other corner of the earth; and so there -vanished in a night all the wonderful dreams of wealth that had been -haunting Jurgis. What had made the discovery all the more painful was -that they were spending, at American prices, money which they had earned -at home rates of wages--and so were really being cheated by the world! -The last two days they had all but starved themselves--it made them -quite sick to pay the prices that the railroad people asked them for -food. - -Yet, when they saw the home of the Widow Jukniene they could not but -recoil, even so, in all their journey they had seen nothing so bad as -this. Poni Aniele had a four-room flat in one of that wilderness of -two-story frame tenements that lie "back of the yards." There were four -such flats in each building, and each of the four was a "boardinghouse" -for the occupancy of foreigners--Lithuanians, Poles, Slovaks, or -Bohemians. Some of these places were kept by private persons, some were -cooperative. There would be an average of half a dozen boarders to each -room--sometimes there were thirteen or fourteen to one room, fifty -or sixty to a flat. Each one of the occupants furnished his own -accommodations--that is, a mattress and some bedding. The mattresses -would be spread upon the floor in rows--and there would be nothing else -in the place except a stove. It was by no means unusual for two men -to own the same mattress in common, one working by day and using it by -night, and the other working at night and using it in the daytime. Very -frequently a lodging house keeper would rent the same beds to double -shifts of men. - -Mrs. Jukniene was a wizened-up little woman, with a wrinkled face. Her -home was unthinkably filthy; you could not enter by the front door at -all, owing to the mattresses, and when you tried to go up the backstairs -you found that she had walled up most of the porch with old boards -to make a place to keep her chickens. It was a standing jest of the -boarders that Aniele cleaned house by letting the chickens loose in -the rooms. Undoubtedly this did keep down the vermin, but it seemed -probable, in view of all the circumstances, that the old lady regarded -it rather as feeding the chickens than as cleaning the rooms. The truth -was that she had definitely given up the idea of cleaning anything, -under pressure of an attack of rheumatism, which had kept her doubled up -in one corner of her room for over a week; during which time eleven of -her boarders, heavily in her debt, had concluded to try their chances of -employment in Kansas City. This was July, and the fields were green. One -never saw the fields, nor any green thing whatever, in Packingtown; but -one could go out on the road and "hobo it," as the men phrased it, and -see the country, and have a long rest, and an easy time riding on the -freight cars. - - -Such was the home to which the new arrivals were welcomed. There was -nothing better to be had--they might not do so well by looking further, -for Mrs. Jukniene had at least kept one room for herself and her three -little children, and now offered to share this with the women and the -girls of the party. They could get bedding at a secondhand store, -she explained; and they would not need any, while the weather was so -hot--doubtless they would all sleep on the sidewalk such nights as this, -as did nearly all of her guests. "Tomorrow," Jurgis said, when they were -left alone, "tomorrow I will get a job, and perhaps Jonas will get one -also; and then we can get a place of our own." - -Later that afternoon he and Ona went out to take a walk and look about -them, to see more of this district which was to be their home. In back -of the yards the dreary two-story frame houses were scattered farther -apart, and there were great spaces bare--that seemingly had been -overlooked by the great sore of a city as it spread itself over the -surface of the prairie. These bare places were grown up with dingy, -yellow weeds, hiding innumerable tomato cans; innumerable children -played upon them, chasing one another here and there, screaming and -fighting. The most uncanny thing about this neighborhood was the number -of the children; you thought there must be a school just out, and it was -only after long acquaintance that you were able to realize that -there was no school, but that these were the children of the -neighborhood--that there were so many children to the block in -Packingtown that nowhere on its streets could a horse and buggy move -faster than a walk! - -It could not move faster anyhow, on account of the state of the streets. -Those through which Jurgis and Ona were walking resembled streets less -than they did a miniature topographical map. The roadway was commonly -several feet lower than the level of the houses, which were sometimes -joined by high board walks; there were no pavements--there were -mountains and valleys and rivers, gullies and ditches, and great hollows -full of stinking green water. In these pools the children played, and -rolled about in the mud of the streets; here and there one noticed them -digging in it, after trophies which they had stumbled on. One wondered -about this, as also about the swarms of flies which hung about the -scene, literally blackening the air, and the strange, fetid odor which -assailed one's nostrils, a ghastly odor, of all the dead things of the -universe. It impelled the visitor to questions and then the residents -would explain, quietly, that all this was "made" land, and that it had -been "made" by using it as a dumping ground for the city garbage. After -a few years the unpleasant effect of this would pass away, it was said; -but meantime, in hot weather--and especially when it rained--the flies -were apt to be annoying. Was it not unhealthful? the stranger would ask, -and the residents would answer, "Perhaps; but there is no telling." - -A little way farther on, and Jurgis and Ona, staring open-eyed and -wondering, came to the place where this "made" ground was in process of -making. Here was a great hole, perhaps two city blocks square, and with -long files of garbage wagons creeping into it. The place had an odor -for which there are no polite words; and it was sprinkled over with -children, who raked in it from dawn till dark. Sometimes visitors from -the packing houses would wander out to see this "dump," and they would -stand by and debate as to whether the children were eating the food they -got, or merely collecting it for the chickens at home. Apparently none -of them ever went down to find out. - -Beyond this dump there stood a great brickyard, with smoking chimneys. -First they took out the soil to make bricks, and then they filled it -up again with garbage, which seemed to Jurgis and Ona a felicitous -arrangement, characteristic of an enterprising country like America. A -little way beyond was another great hole, which they had emptied and not -yet filled up. This held water, and all summer it stood there, with the -near-by soil draining into it, festering and stewing in the sun; and -then, when winter came, somebody cut the ice on it, and sold it to the -people of the city. This, too, seemed to the newcomers an economical -arrangement; for they did not read the newspapers, and their heads were -not full of troublesome thoughts about "germs." - -They stood there while the sun went down upon this scene, and the sky in -the west turned blood-red, and the tops of the houses shone like fire. -Jurgis and Ona were not thinking of the sunset, however--their backs -were turned to it, and all their thoughts were of Packingtown, which -they could see so plainly in the distance. The line of the buildings -stood clear-cut and black against the sky; here and there out of the -mass rose the great chimneys, with the river of smoke streaming away to -the end of the world. It was a study in colors now, this smoke; in the -sunset light it was black and brown and gray and purple. All the sordid -suggestions of the place were gone--in the twilight it was a vision of -power. To the two who stood watching while the darkness swallowed it up, -it seemed a dream of wonder, with its talc of human energy, of things -being done, of employment for thousands upon thousands of men, of -opportunity and freedom, of life and love and joy. When they came away, -arm in arm, Jurgis was saying, "Tomorrow I shall go there and get a -job!" - - - -Chapter 3 - - -In his capacity as delicatessen vender, Jokubas Szedvilas had many -acquaintances. Among these was one of the special policemen employed -by Durham, whose duty it frequently was to pick out men for employment. -Jokubas had never tried it, but he expressed a certainty that he could -get some of his friends a job through this man. It was agreed, after -consultation, that he should make the effort with old Antanas and with -Jonas. Jurgis was confident of his ability to get work for himself, -unassisted by any one. As we have said before, he was not mistaken in -this. He had gone to Brown's and stood there not more than half an hour -before one of the bosses noticed his form towering above the rest, and -signaled to him. The colloquy which followed was brief and to the point: - -"Speak English?" - -"No; Lit-uanian." (Jurgis had studied this word carefully.) - -"Job?" - -"Je." (A nod.) - -"Worked here before?" - -"No 'stand." - -(Signals and gesticulations on the part of the boss. Vigorous shakes of -the head by Jurgis.) - -"Shovel guts?" - -"No 'stand." (More shakes of the head.) - -"Zarnos. Pagaiksztis. Szluofa!" (Imitative motions.) - -"Je." - -"See door. Durys?" (Pointing.) - -"Je." - -"To-morrow, seven o'clock. Understand? Rytoj! Prieszpietys! Septyni!" - -"Dekui, tamistai!" (Thank you, sir.) And that was all. Jurgis turned -away, and then in a sudden rush the full realization of his triumph -swept over him, and he gave a yell and a jump, and started off on a -run. He had a job! He had a job! And he went all the way home as if -upon wings, and burst into the house like a cyclone, to the rage of the -numerous lodgers who had just turned in for their daily sleep. - -Meantime Jokubas had been to see his friend the policeman, and received -encouragement, so it was a happy party. There being no more to be done -that day, the shop was left under the care of Lucija, and her husband -sallied forth to show his friends the sights of Packingtown. Jokubas did -this with the air of a country gentleman escorting a party of visitors -over his estate; he was an old-time resident, and all these wonders -had grown up under his eyes, and he had a personal pride in them. The -packers might own the land, but he claimed the landscape, and there was -no one to say nay to this. - - -They passed down the busy street that led to the yards. It was still -early morning, and everything was at its high tide of activity. A steady -stream of employees was pouring through the gate--employees of the -higher sort, at this hour, clerks and stenographers and such. For the -women there were waiting big two-horse wagons, which set off at a gallop -as fast as they were filled. In the distance there was heard again -the lowing of the cattle, a sound as of a far-off ocean calling. They -followed it, this time, as eager as children in sight of a circus -menagerie--which, indeed, the scene a good deal resembled. They crossed -the railroad tracks, and then on each side of the street were the pens -full of cattle; they would have stopped to look, but Jokubas hurried -them on, to where there was a stairway and a raised gallery, from which -everything could be seen. Here they stood, staring, breathless with -wonder. - -There is over a square mile of space in the yards, and more than half -of it is occupied by cattle pens; north and south as far as the eye can -reach there stretches a sea of pens. And they were all filled--so many -cattle no one had ever dreamed existed in the world. Red cattle, black, -white, and yellow cattle; old cattle and young cattle; great bellowing -bulls and little calves not an hour born; meek-eyed milch cows and -fierce, long-horned Texas steers. The sound of them here was as of all -the barnyards of the universe; and as for counting them--it would have -taken all day simply to count the pens. Here and there ran long alleys, -blocked at intervals by gates; and Jokubas told them that the number of -these gates was twenty-five thousand. Jokubas had recently been reading -a newspaper article which was full of statistics such as that, and he -was very proud as he repeated them and made his guests cry out with -wonder. Jurgis too had a little of this sense of pride. Had he not just -gotten a job, and become a sharer in all this activity, a cog in this -marvelous machine? Here and there about the alleys galloped men upon -horseback, booted, and carrying long whips; they were very busy, calling -to each other, and to those who were driving the cattle. They were -drovers and stock raisers, who had come from far states, and brokers and -commission merchants, and buyers for all the big packing houses. - -Here and there they would stop to inspect a bunch of cattle, and there -would be a parley, brief and businesslike. The buyer would nod or drop -his whip, and that would mean a bargain; and he would note it in his -little book, along with hundreds of others he had made that morning. -Then Jokubas pointed out the place where the cattle were driven to be -weighed, upon a great scale that would weigh a hundred thousand pounds -at once and record it automatically. It was near to the east entrance -that they stood, and all along this east side of the yards ran the -railroad tracks, into which the cars were run, loaded with cattle. -All night long this had been going on, and now the pens were full; by -tonight they would all be empty, and the same thing would be done again. - -"And what will become of all these creatures?" cried Teta Elzbieta. - -"By tonight," Jokubas answered, "they will all be killed and cut up; -and over there on the other side of the packing houses are more railroad -tracks, where the cars come to take them away." - -There were two hundred and fifty miles of track within the yards, their -guide went on to tell them. They brought about ten thousand head of -cattle every day, and as many hogs, and half as many sheep--which meant -some eight or ten million live creatures turned into food every year. -One stood and watched, and little by little caught the drift of the -tide, as it set in the direction of the packing houses. There were -groups of cattle being driven to the chutes, which were roadways about -fifteen feet wide, raised high above the pens. In these chutes the -stream of animals was continuous; it was quite uncanny to watch them, -pressing on to their fate, all unsuspicious a very river of death. Our -friends were not poetical, and the sight suggested to them no metaphors -of human destiny; they thought only of the wonderful efficiency of it -all. The chutes into which the hogs went climbed high up--to the very -top of the distant buildings; and Jokubas explained that the hogs went -up by the power of their own legs, and then their weight carried them -back through all the processes necessary to make them into pork. - -"They don't waste anything here," said the guide, and then he laughed -and added a witticism, which he was pleased that his unsophisticated -friends should take to be his own: "They use everything about the hog -except the squeal." In front of Brown's General Office building there -grows a tiny plot of grass, and this, you may learn, is the only bit -of green thing in Packingtown; likewise this jest about the hog and his -squeal, the stock in trade of all the guides, is the one gleam of humor -that you will find there. - -After they had seen enough of the pens, the party went up the street, -to the mass of buildings which occupy the center of the yards. These -buildings, made of brick and stained with innumerable layers of -Packingtown smoke, were painted all over with advertising signs, from -which the visitor realized suddenly that he had come to the home of many -of the torments of his life. It was here that they made those products -with the wonders of which they pestered him so--by placards that defaced -the landscape when he traveled, and by staring advertisements in the -newspapers and magazines--by silly little jingles that he could not get -out of his mind, and gaudy pictures that lurked for him around every -street corner. Here was where they made Brown's Imperial Hams and -Bacon, Brown's Dressed Beef, Brown's Excelsior Sausages! Here was the -headquarters of Durham's Pure Leaf Lard, of Durham's Breakfast Bacon, -Durham's Canned Beef, Potted Ham, Deviled Chicken, Peerless Fertilizer! - -Entering one of the Durham buildings, they found a number of other -visitors waiting; and before long there came a guide, to escort them -through the place. They make a great feature of showing strangers -through the packing plants, for it is a good advertisement. But Ponas -Jokubas whispered maliciously that the visitors did not see any more -than the packers wanted them to. They climbed a long series of stairways -outside of the building, to the top of its five or six stories. Here was -the chute, with its river of hogs, all patiently toiling upward; there -was a place for them to rest to cool off, and then through another -passageway they went into a room from which there is no returning for -hogs. - -It was a long, narrow room, with a gallery along it for visitors. At the -head there was a great iron wheel, about twenty feet in circumference, -with rings here and there along its edge. Upon both sides of this wheel -there was a narrow space, into which came the hogs at the end of their -journey; in the midst of them stood a great burly Negro, bare-armed and -bare-chested. He was resting for the moment, for the wheel had stopped -while men were cleaning up. In a minute or two, however, it began slowly -to revolve, and then the men upon each side of it sprang to work. They -had chains which they fastened about the leg of the nearest hog, and the -other end of the chain they hooked into one of the rings upon the wheel. -So, as the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly jerked off his feet and -borne aloft. - -At the same instant the car was assailed by a most terrifying shriek; -the visitors started in alarm, the women turned pale and shrank back. -The shriek was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing--for -once started upon that journey, the hog never came back; at the top of -the wheel he was shunted off upon a trolley, and went sailing down the -room. And meantime another was swung up, and then another, and another, -until there was a double line of them, each dangling by a foot and -kicking in frenzy--and squealing. The uproar was appalling, perilous -to the eardrums; one feared there was too much sound for the room to -hold--that the walls must give way or the ceiling crack. There were high -squeals and low squeals, grunts, and wails of agony; there would come a -momentary lull, and then a fresh outburst, louder than ever, surging up -to a deafening climax. It was too much for some of the visitors--the men -would look at each other, laughing nervously, and the women would stand -with hands clenched, and the blood rushing to their faces, and the tears -starting in their eyes. - -Meantime, heedless of all these things, the men upon the floor were -going about their work. Neither squeals of hogs nor tears of visitors -made any difference to them; one by one they hooked up the hogs, and -one by one with a swift stroke they slit their throats. There was a long -line of hogs, with squeals and lifeblood ebbing away together; until at -last each started again, and vanished with a splash into a huge vat of -boiling water. - -It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was -porkmaking by machinery, porkmaking by applied mathematics. And yet -somehow the most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the -hogs; they were so innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they were -so very human in their protests--and so perfectly within their rights! -They had done nothing to deserve it; and it was adding insult to injury, -as the thing was done here, swinging them up in this cold-blooded, -impersonal way, without a pretense of apology, without the homage of -a tear. Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; but this slaughtering -machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some horrible crime -committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of sight and -of memory. - -One could not stand and watch very long without becoming philosophical, -without beginning to deal in symbols and similes, and to hear the hog -squeal of the universe. Was it permitted to believe that there was -nowhere upon the earth, or above the earth, a heaven for hogs, where -they were requited for all this suffering? Each one of these hogs was -a separate creature. Some were white hogs, some were black; some were -brown, some were spotted; some were old, some young; some were long and -lean, some were monstrous. And each of them had an individuality of his -own, a will of his own, a hope and a heart's desire; each was full -of self-confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. And -trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while a -black shadow hung over him and a horrid Fate waited in his pathway. -Now suddenly it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. -Relentless, remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were -nothing to it--it did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his -feelings, had simply no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched -him gasp out his life. And now was one to believe that there was nowhere -a god of hogs, to whom this hog personality was precious, to whom these -hog squeals and agonies had a meaning? Who would take this hog into his -arms and comfort him, reward him for his work well done, and show him -the meaning of his sacrifice? Perhaps some glimpse of all this was in -the thoughts of our humble-minded Jurgis, as he turned to go on with the -rest of the party, and muttered: "Dieve--but I'm glad I'm not a hog!" - -The carcass hog was scooped out of the vat by machinery, and then it -fell to the second floor, passing on the way through a wonderful machine -with numerous scrapers, which adjusted themselves to the size and shape -of the animal, and sent it out at the other end with nearly all of its -bristles removed. It was then again strung up by machinery, and sent -upon another trolley ride; this time passing between two lines of men, -who sat upon a raised platform, each doing a certain single thing to -the carcass as it came to him. One scraped the outside of a leg; another -scraped the inside of the same leg. One with a swift stroke cut the -throat; another with two swift strokes severed the head, which fell -to the floor and vanished through a hole. Another made a slit down -the body; a second opened the body wider; a third with a saw cut the -breastbone; a fourth loosened the entrails; a fifth pulled them out--and -they also slid through a hole in the floor. There were men to scrape -each side and men to scrape the back; there were men to clean the -carcass inside, to trim it and wash it. Looking down this room, one saw, -creeping slowly, a line of dangling hogs a hundred yards in length; and -for every yard there was a man, working as if a demon were after him. At -the end of this hog's progress every inch of the carcass had been gone -over several times; and then it was rolled into the chilling room, where -it stayed for twenty-four hours, and where a stranger might lose himself -in a forest of freezing hogs. - -Before the carcass was admitted here, however, it had to pass a -government inspector, who sat in the doorway and felt of the glands in -the neck for tuberculosis. This government inspector did not have the -manner of a man who was worked to death; he was apparently not haunted -by a fear that the hog might get by him before he had finished his -testing. If you were a sociable person, he was quite willing to enter -into conversation with you, and to explain to you the deadly nature -of the ptomaines which are found in tubercular pork; and while he was -talking with you you could hardly be so ungrateful as to notice that a -dozen carcasses were passing him untouched. This inspector wore a blue -uniform, with brass buttons, and he gave an atmosphere of authority to -the scene, and, as it were, put the stamp of official approval upon the -things which were done in Durham's. - -Jurgis went down the line with the rest of the visitors, staring -open-mouthed, lost in wonder. He had dressed hogs himself in the forest -of Lithuania; but he had never expected to live to see one hog dressed -by several hundred men. It was like a wonderful poem to him, and he -took it all in guilelessly--even to the conspicuous signs demanding -immaculate cleanliness of the employees. Jurgis was vexed when the -cynical Jokubas translated these signs with sarcastic comments, offering -to take them to the secret rooms where the spoiled meats went to be -doctored. - -The party descended to the next floor, where the various waste materials -were treated. Here came the entrails, to be scraped and washed clean for -sausage casings; men and women worked here in the midst of a sickening -stench, which caused the visitors to hasten by, gasping. To another room -came all the scraps to be "tanked," which meant boiling and pumping off -the grease to make soap and lard; below they took out the refuse, and -this, too, was a region in which the visitors did not linger. In still -other places men were engaged in cutting up the carcasses that had been -through the chilling rooms. First there were the "splitters," the most -expert workmen in the plant, who earned as high as fifty cents an hour, -and did not a thing all day except chop hogs down the middle. Then there -were "cleaver men," great giants with muscles of iron; each had two men -to attend him--to slide the half carcass in front of him on the table, -and hold it while he chopped it, and then turn each piece so that he -might chop it once more. His cleaver had a blade about two feet long, -and he never made but one cut; he made it so neatly, too, that his -implement did not smite through and dull itself--there was just enough -force for a perfect cut, and no more. So through various yawning -holes there slipped to the floor below--to one room hams, to another -forequarters, to another sides of pork. One might go down to this floor -and see the pickling rooms, where the hams were put into vats, and the -great smoke rooms, with their airtight iron doors. In other rooms they -prepared salt pork--there were whole cellars full of it, built up in -great towers to the ceiling. In yet other rooms they were putting up -meats in boxes and barrels, and wrapping hams and bacon in oiled paper, -sealing and labeling and sewing them. From the doors of these rooms went -men with loaded trucks, to the platform where freight cars were waiting -to be filled; and one went out there and realized with a start that he -had come at last to the ground floor of this enormous building. - -Then the party went across the street to where they did the killing -of beef--where every hour they turned four or five hundred cattle into -meat. Unlike the place they had left, all this work was done on one -floor; and instead of there being one line of carcasses which moved to -the workmen, there were fifteen or twenty lines, and the men moved -from one to another of these. This made a scene of intense activity, a -picture of human power wonderful to watch. It was all in one great room, -like a circus amphitheater, with a gallery for visitors running over the -center. - -Along one side of the room ran a narrow gallery, a few feet from the -floor; into which gallery the cattle were driven by men with goads which -gave them electric shocks. Once crowded in here, the creatures were -prisoned, each in a separate pen, by gates that shut, leaving them no -room to turn around; and while they stood bellowing and plunging, over -the top of the pen there leaned one of the "knockers," armed with a -sledge hammer, and watching for a chance to deal a blow. The room echoed -with the thuds in quick succession, and the stamping and kicking of the -steers. The instant the animal had fallen, the "knocker" passed on to -another; while a second man raised a lever, and the side of the pen was -raised, and the animal, still kicking and struggling, slid out to -the "killing bed." Here a man put shackles about one leg, and pressed -another lever, and the body was jerked up into the air. There were -fifteen or twenty such pens, and it was a matter of only a couple of -minutes to knock fifteen or twenty cattle and roll them out. Then once -more the gates were opened, and another lot rushed in; and so out of -each pen there rolled a steady stream of carcasses, which the men upon -the killing beds had to get out of the way. - -The manner in which they did this was something to be seen and never -forgotten. They worked with furious intensity, literally upon the -run--at a pace with which there is nothing to be compared except a -football game. It was all highly specialized labor, each man having his -task to do; generally this would consist of only two or three specific -cuts, and he would pass down the line of fifteen or twenty carcasses, -making these cuts upon each. First there came the "butcher," to bleed -them; this meant one swift stroke, so swift that you could not see -it--only the flash of the knife; and before you could realize it, the -man had darted on to the next line, and a stream of bright red was -pouring out upon the floor. This floor was half an inch deep with blood, -in spite of the best efforts of men who kept shoveling it through holes; -it must have made the floor slippery, but no one could have guessed this -by watching the men at work. - -The carcass hung for a few minutes to bleed; there was no time lost, -however, for there were several hanging in each line, and one was always -ready. It was let down to the ground, and there came the "headsman," -whose task it was to sever the head, with two or three swift strokes. -Then came the "floorsman," to make the first cut in the skin; and then -another to finish ripping the skin down the center; and then half a -dozen more in swift succession, to finish the skinning. After they were -through, the carcass was again swung up; and while a man with a stick -examined the skin, to make sure that it had not been cut, and another -rolled it up and tumbled it through one of the inevitable holes in the -floor, the beef proceeded on its journey. There were men to cut it, and -men to split it, and men to gut it and scrape it clean inside. There -were some with hose which threw jets of boiling water upon it, and -others who removed the feet and added the final touches. In the end, as -with the hogs, the finished beef was run into the chilling room, to hang -its appointed time. - -The visitors were taken there and shown them, all neatly hung in rows, -labeled conspicuously with the tags of the government inspectors--and -some, which had been killed by a special process, marked with the -sign of the kosher rabbi, certifying that it was fit for sale to the -orthodox. And then the visitors were taken to the other parts of the -building, to see what became of each particle of the waste material -that had vanished through the floor; and to the pickling rooms, and the -salting rooms, the canning rooms, and the packing rooms, where choice -meat was prepared for shipping in refrigerator cars, destined to be -eaten in all the four corners of civilization. Afterward they went -outside, wandering about among the mazes of buildings in which was done -the work auxiliary to this great industry. There was scarcely a -thing needed in the business that Durham and Company did not make for -themselves. There was a great steam power plant and an electricity -plant. There was a barrel factory, and a boiler-repair shop. There was a -building to which the grease was piped, and made into soap and lard; and -then there was a factory for making lard cans, and another for making -soap boxes. There was a building in which the bristles were cleaned -and dried, for the making of hair cushions and such things; there was a -building where the skins were dried and tanned, there was another where -heads and feet were made into glue, and another where bones were made -into fertilizer. No tiniest particle of organic matter was wasted in -Durham's. Out of the horns of the cattle they made combs, buttons, -hairpins, and imitation ivory; out of the shinbones and other big bones -they cut knife and toothbrush handles, and mouthpieces for pipes; out of -the hoofs they cut hairpins and buttons, before they made the rest into -glue. From such things as feet, knuckles, hide clippings, and sinews -came such strange and unlikely products as gelatin, isinglass, -and phosphorus, bone black, shoe blacking, and bone oil. They had -curled-hair works for the cattle tails, and a "wool pullery" for the -sheepskins; they made pepsin from the stomachs of the pigs, and albumen -from the blood, and violin strings from the ill-smelling entrails. When -there was nothing else to be done with a thing, they first put it into a -tank and got out of it all the tallow and grease, and then they made it -into fertilizer. All these industries were gathered into buildings near -by, connected by galleries and railroads with the main establishment; -and it was estimated that they had handled nearly a quarter of a -billion of animals since the founding of the plant by the elder Durham -a generation and more ago. If you counted with it the other big -plants--and they were now really all one--it was, so Jokubas informed -them, the greatest aggregation of labor and capital ever gathered in -one place. It employed thirty thousand men; it supported directly two -hundred and fifty thousand people in its neighborhood, and indirectly it -supported half a million. It sent its products to every country in -the civilized world, and it furnished the food for no less than thirty -million people! - -To all of these things our friends would listen open-mouthed--it seemed -to them impossible of belief that anything so stupendous could have been -devised by mortal man. That was why to Jurgis it seemed almost profanity -to speak about the place as did Jokubas, skeptically; it was a thing -as tremendous as the universe--the laws and ways of its working no more -than the universe to be questioned or understood. All that a mere man -could do, it seemed to Jurgis, was to take a thing like this as he found -it, and do as he was told; to be given a place in it and a share in -its wonderful activities was a blessing to be grateful for, as one was -grateful for the sunshine and the rain. Jurgis was even glad that he had -not seen the place before meeting with his triumph, for he felt that the -size of it would have overwhelmed him. But now he had been admitted--he -was a part of it all! He had the feeling that this whole huge -establishment had taken him under its protection, and had become -responsible for his welfare. So guileless was he, and ignorant of the -nature of business, that he did not even realize that he had become an -employee of Brown's, and that Brown and Durham were supposed by all the -world to be deadly rivals--were even required to be deadly rivals by the -law of the land, and ordered to try to ruin each other under penalty of -fine and imprisonment! - - - -Chapter 4 - - -Promptly at seven the next morning Jurgis reported for work. He came -to the door that had been pointed out to him, and there he waited for -nearly two hours. The boss had meant for him to enter, but had not said -this, and so it was only when on his way out to hire another man that -he came upon Jurgis. He gave him a good cursing, but as Jurgis did not -understand a word of it he did not object. He followed the boss, who -showed him where to put his street clothes, and waited while he donned -the working clothes he had bought in a secondhand shop and brought with -him in a bundle; then he led him to the "killing beds." The work which -Jurgis was to do here was very simple, and it took him but a few minutes -to learn it. He was provided with a stiff besom, such as is used by -street sweepers, and it was his place to follow down the line the man -who drew out the smoking entrails from the carcass of the steer; this -mass was to be swept into a trap, which was then closed, so that no one -might slip into it. As Jurgis came in, the first cattle of the morning -were just making their appearance; and so, with scarcely time to look -about him, and none to speak to any one, he fell to work. It was a -sweltering day in July, and the place ran with steaming hot blood--one -waded in it on the floor. The stench was almost overpowering, but to -Jurgis it was nothing. His whole soul was dancing with joy--he was at -work at last! He was at work and earning money! All day long he was -figuring to himself. He was paid the fabulous sum of seventeen and a -half cents an hour; and as it proved a rush day and he worked until -nearly seven o'clock in the evening, he went home to the family with -the tidings that he had earned more than a dollar and a half in a single -day! - -At home, also, there was more good news; so much of it at once that -there was quite a celebration in Aniele's hall bedroom. Jonas had been -to have an interview with the special policeman to whom Szedvilas had -introduced him, and had been taken to see several of the bosses, with -the result that one had promised him a job the beginning of the next -week. And then there was Marija Berczynskas, who, fired with jealousy by -the success of Jurgis, had set out upon her own responsibility to get a -place. Marija had nothing to take with her save her two brawny arms -and the word "job," laboriously learned; but with these she had marched -about Packingtown all day, entering every door where there were signs of -activity. Out of some she had been ordered with curses; but Marija was -not afraid of man or devil, and asked every one she saw--visitors and -strangers, or work-people like herself, and once or twice even high and -lofty office personages, who stared at her as if they thought she was -crazy. In the end, however, she had reaped her reward. In one of the -smaller plants she had stumbled upon a room where scores of women and -girls were sitting at long tables preparing smoked beef in cans; and -wandering through room after room, Marija came at last to the place -where the sealed cans were being painted and labeled, and here she had -the good fortune to encounter the "forelady." Marija did not understand -then, as she was destined to understand later, what there was attractive -to a "forelady" about the combination of a face full of boundless good -nature and the muscles of a dray horse; but the woman had told her to -come the next day and she would perhaps give her a chance to learn the -trade of painting cans. The painting of cans being skilled piecework, -and paying as much as two dollars a day, Marija burst in upon the family -with the yell of a Comanche Indian, and fell to capering about the room -so as to frighten the baby almost into convulsions. - -Better luck than all this could hardly have been hoped for; there was -only one of them left to seek a place. Jurgis was determined that Teta -Elzbieta should stay at home to keep house, and that Ona should help -her. He would not have Ona working--he was not that sort of a man, he -said, and she was not that sort of a woman. It would be a strange thing -if a man like him could not support the family, with the help of -the board of Jonas and Marija. He would not even hear of letting the -children go to work--there were schools here in America for children, -Jurgis had heard, to which they could go for nothing. That the priest -would object to these schools was something of which he had as yet no -idea, and for the present his mind was made up that the children of Teta -Elzbieta should have as fair a chance as any other children. The oldest -of them, little Stanislovas, was but thirteen, and small for his age -at that; and while the oldest son of Szedvilas was only twelve, and had -worked for over a year at Jones's, Jurgis would have it that Stanislovas -should learn to speak English, and grow up to be a skilled man. - -So there was only old Dede Antanas; Jurgis would have had him rest -too, but he was forced to acknowledge that this was not possible, and, -besides, the old man would not hear it spoken of--it was his whim to -insist that he was as lively as any boy. He had come to America as -full of hope as the best of them; and now he was the chief problem that -worried his son. For every one that Jurgis spoke to assured him that it -was a waste of time to seek employment for the old man in Packingtown. -Szedvilas told him that the packers did not even keep the men who had -grown old in their own service--to say nothing of taking on new ones. -And not only was it the rule here, it was the rule everywhere in -America, so far as he knew. To satisfy Jurgis he had asked the -policeman, and brought back the message that the thing was not to be -thought of. They had not told this to old Anthony, who had consequently -spent the two days wandering about from one part of the yards to -another, and had now come home to hear about the triumph of the others, -smiling bravely and saying that it would be his turn another day. - -Their good luck, they felt, had given them the right to think about a -home; and sitting out on the doorstep that summer evening, they held -consultation about it, and Jurgis took occasion to broach a weighty -subject. Passing down the avenue to work that morning he had seen two -boys leaving an advertisement from house to house; and seeing that there -were pictures upon it, Jurgis had asked for one, and had rolled it up -and tucked it into his shirt. At noontime a man with whom he had been -talking had read it to him and told him a little about it, with the -result that Jurgis had conceived a wild idea. - -He brought out the placard, which was quite a work of art. It was nearly -two feet long, printed on calendered paper, with a selection of colors -so bright that they shone even in the moonlight. The center of the -placard was occupied by a house, brilliantly painted, new, and dazzling. -The roof of it was of a purple hue, and trimmed with gold; the house -itself was silvery, and the doors and windows red. It was a two-story -building, with a porch in front, and a very fancy scrollwork around the -edges; it was complete in every tiniest detail, even the doorknob, and -there was a hammock on the porch and white lace curtains in the windows. -Underneath this, in one corner, was a picture of a husband and wife -in loving embrace; in the opposite corner was a cradle, with -fluffy curtains drawn over it, and a smiling cherub hovering upon -silver-colored wings. For fear that the significance of all this should -be lost, there was a label, in Polish, Lithuanian, and German--"Dom. -Namai. Heim." "Why pay rent?" the linguistic circular went on to demand. -"Why not own your own home? Do you know that you can buy one for less -than your rent? We have built thousands of homes which are now occupied -by happy families."--So it became eloquent, picturing the blissfulness -of married life in a house with nothing to pay. It even quoted "Home, -Sweet Home," and made bold to translate it into Polish--though for some -reason it omitted the Lithuanian of this. Perhaps the translator found -it a difficult matter to be sentimental in a language in which a sob is -known as a gukcziojimas and a smile as a nusiszypsojimas. - -Over this document the family pored long, while Ona spelled out its -contents. It appeared that this house contained four rooms, besides a -basement, and that it might be bought for fifteen hundred dollars, the -lot and all. Of this, only three hundred dollars had to be paid down, -the balance being paid at the rate of twelve dollars a month. These were -frightful sums, but then they were in America, where people talked about -such without fear. They had learned that they would have to pay a -rent of nine dollars a month for a flat, and there was no way of doing -better, unless the family of twelve was to exist in one or two rooms, as -at present. If they paid rent, of course, they might pay forever, and be -no better off; whereas, if they could only meet the extra expense in the -beginning, there would at last come a time when they would not have any -rent to pay for the rest of their lives. - -They figured it up. There was a little left of the money belonging to -Teta Elzbieta, and there was a little left to Jurgis. Marija had about -fifty dollars pinned up somewhere in her stockings, and Grandfather -Anthony had part of the money he had gotten for his farm. If they all -combined, they would have enough to make the first payment; and if -they had employment, so that they could be sure of the future, it might -really prove the best plan. It was, of course, not a thing even to be -talked of lightly; it was a thing they would have to sift to the bottom. -And yet, on the other hand, if they were going to make the venture, the -sooner they did it the better, for were they not paying rent all the -time, and living in a most horrible way besides? Jurgis was used to -dirt--there was nothing could scare a man who had been with a railroad -gang, where one could gather up the fleas off the floor of the sleeping -room by the handful. But that sort of thing would not do for Ona. They -must have a better place of some sort soon--Jurgis said it with all the -assurance of a man who had just made a dollar and fifty-seven cents in -a single day. Jurgis was at a loss to understand why, with wages as they -were, so many of the people of this district should live the way they -did. - -The next day Marija went to see her "forelady," and was told to report -the first of the week, and learn the business of can-painter. Marija -went home, singing out loud all the way, and was just in time to join -Ona and her stepmother as they were setting out to go and make inquiry -concerning the house. That evening the three made their report to the -men--the thing was altogether as represented in the circular, or at any -rate so the agent had said. The houses lay to the south, about a mile -and a half from the yards; they were wonderful bargains, the gentleman -had assured them--personally, and for their own good. He could do this, -so he explained to them, for the reason that he had himself no interest -in their sale--he was merely the agent for a company that had built -them. These were the last, and the company was going out of business, so -if any one wished to take advantage of this wonderful no-rent plan, he -would have to be very quick. As a matter of fact there was just a little -uncertainty as to whether there was a single house left; for the agent -had taken so many people to see them, and for all he knew the company -might have parted with the last. Seeing Teta Elzbieta's evident grief at -this news, he added, after some hesitation, that if they really intended -to make a purchase, he would send a telephone message at his own -expense, and have one of the houses kept. So it had finally been -arranged--and they were to go and make an inspection the following -Sunday morning. - -That was Thursday; and all the rest of the week the killing gang -at Brown's worked at full pressure, and Jurgis cleared a dollar -seventy-five every day. That was at the rate of ten and one-half dollars -a week, or forty-five a month. Jurgis was not able to figure, except it -was a very simple sum, but Ona was like lightning at such things, and -she worked out the problem for the family. Marija and Jonas were each -to pay sixteen dollars a month board, and the old man insisted that he -could do the same as soon as he got a place--which might be any day now. -That would make ninety-three dollars. Then Marija and Jonas were between -them to take a third share in the house, which would leave only eight -dollars a month for Jurgis to contribute to the payment. So they would -have eighty-five dollars a month--or, supposing that Dede Antanas did -not get work at once, seventy dollars a month--which ought surely to be -sufficient for the support of a family of twelve. - -An hour before the time on Sunday morning the entire party set out. They -had the address written on a piece of paper, which they showed to some -one now and then. It proved to be a long mile and a half, but they -walked it, and half an hour or so later the agent put in an appearance. -He was a smooth and florid personage, elegantly dressed, and he spoke -their language freely, which gave him a great advantage in dealing with -them. He escorted them to the house, which was one of a long row of the -typical frame dwellings of the neighborhood, where architecture is a -luxury that is dispensed with. Ona's heart sank, for the house was not -as it was shown in the picture; the color scheme was different, for -one thing, and then it did not seem quite so big. Still, it was freshly -painted, and made a considerable show. It was all brand-new, so the -agent told them, but he talked so incessantly that they were quite -confused, and did not have time to ask many questions. There were all -sorts of things they had made up their minds to inquire about, but when -the time came, they either forgot them or lacked the courage. The other -houses in the row did not seem to be new, and few of them seemed to be -occupied. When they ventured to hint at this, the agent's reply was that -the purchasers would be moving in shortly. To press the matter would -have seemed to be doubting his word, and never in their lives had any -one of them ever spoken to a person of the class called "gentleman" -except with deference and humility. - -The house had a basement, about two feet below the street line, and a -single story, about six feet above it, reached by a flight of steps. In -addition there was an attic, made by the peak of the roof, and having -one small window in each end. The street in front of the house was -unpaved and unlighted, and the view from it consisted of a few exactly -similar houses, scattered here and there upon lots grown up with dingy -brown weeds. The house inside contained four rooms, plastered white; the -basement was but a frame, the walls being unplastered and the floor not -laid. The agent explained that the houses were built that way, as the -purchasers generally preferred to finish the basements to suit their own -taste. The attic was also unfinished--the family had been figuring that -in case of an emergency they could rent this attic, but they found that -there was not even a floor, nothing but joists, and beneath them the -lath and plaster of the ceiling below. All of this, however, did not -chill their ardor as much as might have been expected, because of the -volubility of the agent. There was no end to the advantages of the -house, as he set them forth, and he was not silent for an instant; he -showed them everything, down to the locks on the doors and the catches -on the windows, and how to work them. He showed them the sink in the -kitchen, with running water and a faucet, something which Teta Elzbieta -had never in her wildest dreams hoped to possess. After a discovery such -as that it would have seemed ungrateful to find any fault, and so they -tried to shut their eyes to other defects. - -Still, they were peasant people, and they hung on to their money by -instinct; it was quite in vain that the agent hinted at promptness--they -would see, they would see, they told him, they could not decide until -they had had more time. And so they went home again, and all day and -evening there was figuring and debating. It was an agony to them to have -to make up their minds in a matter such as this. They never could agree -all together; there were so many arguments upon each side, and one would -be obstinate, and no sooner would the rest have convinced him than it -would transpire that his arguments had caused another to waver. Once, in -the evening, when they were all in harmony, and the house was as good as -bought, Szedvilas came in and upset them again. Szedvilas had no use for -property owning. He told them cruel stories of people who had been done -to death in this "buying a home" swindle. They would be almost sure to -get into a tight place and lose all their money; and there was no end -of expense that one could never foresee; and the house might be -good-for-nothing from top to bottom--how was a poor man to know? Then, -too, they would swindle you with the contract--and how was a poor man -to understand anything about a contract? It was all nothing but robbery, -and there was no safety but in keeping out of it. And pay rent? asked -Jurgis. Ah, yes, to be sure, the other answered, that too was robbery. -It was all robbery, for a poor man. After half an hour of such -depressing conversation, they had their minds quite made up that they -had been saved at the brink of a precipice; but then Szedvilas went -away, and Jonas, who was a sharp little man, reminded them that the -delicatessen business was a failure, according to its proprietor, and -that this might account for his pessimistic views. Which, of course, -reopened the subject! - -The controlling factor was that they could not stay where they -were--they had to go somewhere. And when they gave up the house plan and -decided to rent, the prospect of paying out nine dollars a month forever -they found just as hard to face. All day and all night for nearly a -whole week they wrestled with the problem, and then in the end Jurgis -took the responsibility. Brother Jonas had gotten his job, and was -pushing a truck in Durham's; and the killing gang at Brown's continued -to work early and late, so that Jurgis grew more confident every hour, -more certain of his mastership. It was the kind of thing the man of the -family had to decide and carry through, he told himself. Others might -have failed at it, but he was not the failing kind--he would show them -how to do it. He would work all day, and all night, too, if need be; he -would never rest until the house was paid for and his people had a home. -So he told them, and so in the end the decision was made. - -They had talked about looking at more houses before they made the -purchase; but then they did not know where any more were, and they did -not know any way of finding out. The one they had seen held the sway in -their thoughts; whenever they thought of themselves in a house, it was -this house that they thought of. And so they went and told the agent -that they were ready to make the agreement. They knew, as an abstract -proposition, that in matters of business all men are to be accounted -liars; but they could not but have been influenced by all they had heard -from the eloquent agent, and were quite persuaded that the house was -something they had run a risk of losing by their delay. They drew a deep -breath when he told them that they were still in time. - -They were to come on the morrow, and he would have the papers all drawn -up. This matter of papers was one in which Jurgis understood to the full -the need of caution; yet he could not go himself--every one told him -that he could not get a holiday, and that he might lose his job by -asking. So there was nothing to be done but to trust it to the women, -with Szedvilas, who promised to go with them. Jurgis spent a whole -evening impressing upon them the seriousness of the occasion--and then -finally, out of innumerable hiding places about their persons and in -their baggage, came forth the precious wads of money, to be done up -tightly in a little bag and sewed fast in the lining of Teta Elzbieta's -dress. - -Early in the morning they sallied forth. Jurgis had given them so many -instructions and warned them against so many perils, that the women were -quite pale with fright, and even the imperturbable delicatessen vender, -who prided himself upon being a businessman, was ill at ease. The agent -had the deed all ready, and invited them to sit down and read it; this -Szedvilas proceeded to do--a painful and laborious process, during which -the agent drummed upon the desk. Teta Elzbieta was so embarrassed that -the perspiration came out upon her forehead in beads; for was not this -reading as much as to say plainly to the gentleman's face that they -doubted his honesty? Yet Jokubas Szedvilas read on and on; and presently -there developed that he had good reason for doing so. For a horrible -suspicion had begun dawning in his mind; he knitted his brows more and -more as he read. This was not a deed of sale at all, so far as he could -see--it provided only for the renting of the property! It was hard -to tell, with all this strange legal jargon, words he had never heard -before; but was not this plain--"the party of the first part hereby -covenants and agrees to rent to the said party of the second part!" And -then again--"a monthly rental of twelve dollars, for a period of eight -years and four months!" Then Szedvilas took off his spectacles, and -looked at the agent, and stammered a question. - -The agent was most polite, and explained that that was the usual -formula; that it was always arranged that the property should be merely -rented. He kept trying to show them something in the next paragraph; but -Szedvilas could not get by the word "rental"--and when he translated it -to Teta Elzbieta, she too was thrown into a fright. They would not own -the home at all, then, for nearly nine years! The agent, with infinite -patience, began to explain again; but no explanation would do now. -Elzbieta had firmly fixed in her mind the last solemn warning of Jurgis: -"If there is anything wrong, do not give him the money, but go out and -get a lawyer." It was an agonizing moment, but she sat in the chair, her -hands clenched like death, and made a fearful effort, summoning all her -powers, and gasped out her purpose. - -Jokubas translated her words. She expected the agent to fly into a -passion, but he was, to her bewilderment, as ever imperturbable; he even -offered to go and get a lawyer for her, but she declined this. They went -a long way, on purpose to find a man who would not be a confederate. -Then let any one imagine their dismay, when, after half an hour, they -came in with a lawyer, and heard him greet the agent by his first name! -They felt that all was lost; they sat like prisoners summoned to hear -the reading of their death warrant. There was nothing more that they -could do--they were trapped! The lawyer read over the deed, and when -he had read it he informed Szedvilas that it was all perfectly regular, -that the deed was a blank deed such as was often used in these sales. -And was the price as agreed? the old man asked--three hundred dollars -down, and the balance at twelve dollars a month, till the total of -fifteen hundred dollars had been paid? Yes, that was correct. And it was -for the sale of such and such a house--the house and lot and everything? -Yes,--and the lawyer showed him where that was all written. And it was -all perfectly regular--there were no tricks about it of any sort? They -were poor people, and this was all they had in the world, and if there -was anything wrong they would be ruined. And so Szedvilas went on, -asking one trembling question after another, while the eyes of the women -folks were fixed upon him in mute agony. They could not understand what -he was saying, but they knew that upon it their fate depended. And when -at last he had questioned until there was no more questioning to be -done, and the time came for them to make up their minds, and either -close the bargain or reject it, it was all that poor Teta Elzbieta could -do to keep from bursting into tears. Jokubas had asked her if she wished -to sign; he had asked her twice--and what could she say? How did she -know if this lawyer were telling the truth--that he was not in the -conspiracy? And yet, how could she say so--what excuse could she give? -The eyes of every one in the room were upon her, awaiting her decision; -and at last, half blind with her tears, she began fumbling in her -jacket, where she had pinned the precious money. And she brought it out -and unwrapped it before the men. All of this Ona sat watching, from a -corner of the room, twisting her hands together, meantime, in a fever of -fright. Ona longed to cry out and tell her stepmother to stop, that it -was all a trap; but there seemed to be something clutching her by the -throat, and she could not make a sound. And so Teta Elzbieta laid the -money on the table, and the agent picked it up and counted it, and then -wrote them a receipt for it and passed them the deed. Then he gave a -sigh of satisfaction, and rose and shook hands with them all, still as -smooth and polite as at the beginning. Ona had a dim recollection of the -lawyer telling Szedvilas that his charge was a dollar, which occasioned -some debate, and more agony; and then, after they had paid that, too, -they went out into the street, her stepmother clutching the deed in her -hand. They were so weak from fright that they could not walk, but had to -sit down on the way. - -So they went home, with a deadly terror gnawing at their souls; and that -evening Jurgis came home and heard their story, and that was the end. -Jurgis was sure that they had been swindled, and were ruined; and he -tore his hair and cursed like a madman, swearing that he would kill the -agent that very night. In the end he seized the paper and rushed out -of the house, and all the way across the yards to Halsted Street. He -dragged Szedvilas out from his supper, and together they rushed to -consult another lawyer. When they entered his office the lawyer -sprang up, for Jurgis looked like a crazy person, with flying hair and -bloodshot eyes. His companion explained the situation, and the lawyer -took the paper and began to read it, while Jurgis stood clutching the -desk with knotted hands, trembling in every nerve. - -Once or twice the lawyer looked up and asked a question of Szedvilas; -the other did not know a word that he was saying, but his eyes were -fixed upon the lawyer's face, striving in an agony of dread to read his -mind. He saw the lawyer look up and laugh, and he gave a gasp; the man -said something to Szedvilas, and Jurgis turned upon his friend, his -heart almost stopping. - -"Well?" he panted. - -"He says it is all right," said Szedvilas. - -"All right!" - -"Yes, he says it is just as it should be." And Jurgis, in his relief, -sank down into a chair. - -"Are you sure of it?" he gasped, and made Szedvilas translate question -after question. He could not hear it often enough; he could not ask -with enough variations. Yes, they had bought the house, they had really -bought it. It belonged to them, they had only to pay the money and it -would be all right. Then Jurgis covered his face with his hands, for -there were tears in his eyes, and he felt like a fool. But he had had -such a horrible fright; strong man as he was, it left him almost too -weak to stand up. - -The lawyer explained that the rental was a form--the property was said -to be merely rented until the last payment had been made, the purpose -being to make it easier to turn the party out if he did not make the -payments. So long as they paid, however, they had nothing to fear, the -house was all theirs. - -Jurgis was so grateful that he paid the half dollar the lawyer asked -without winking an eyelash, and then rushed home to tell the news to the -family. He found Ona in a faint and the babies screaming, and the whole -house in an uproar--for it had been believed by all that he had gone to -murder the agent. It was hours before the excitement could be calmed; -and all through that cruel night Jurgis would wake up now and then -and hear Ona and her stepmother in the next room, sobbing softly to -themselves. - - - -Chapter 5 - - -They had bought their home. It was hard for them to realize that the -wonderful house was theirs to move into whenever they chose. They spent -all their time thinking about it, and what they were going to put into -it. As their week with Aniele was up in three days, they lost no time -in getting ready. They had to make some shift to furnish it, and every -instant of their leisure was given to discussing this. - -A person who had such a task before him would not need to look very far -in Packingtown--he had only to walk up the avenue and read the signs, -or get into a streetcar, to obtain full information as to pretty much -everything a human creature could need. It was quite touching, the zeal -of people to see that his health and happiness were provided for. Did -the person wish to smoke? There was a little discourse about cigars, -showing him exactly why the Thomas Jefferson Five-cent Perfecto was the -only cigar worthy of the name. Had he, on the other hand, smoked too -much? Here was a remedy for the smoking habit, twenty-five doses for a -quarter, and a cure absolutely guaranteed in ten doses. In innumerable -ways such as this, the traveler found that somebody had been busied to -make smooth his paths through the world, and to let him know what had -been done for him. In Packingtown the advertisements had a style all -of their own, adapted to the peculiar population. One would be tenderly -solicitous. "Is your wife pale?" it would inquire. "Is she discouraged, -does she drag herself about the house and find fault with everything? -Why do you not tell her to try Dr. Lanahan's Life Preservers?" Another -would be jocular in tone, slapping you on the back, so to speak. "Don't -be a chump!" it would exclaim. "Go and get the Goliath Bunion Cure." -"Get a move on you!" would chime in another. "It's easy, if you wear the -Eureka Two-fifty Shoe." - -Among these importunate signs was one that had caught the attention -of the family by its pictures. It showed two very pretty little birds -building themselves a home; and Marija had asked an acquaintance to read -it to her, and told them that it related to the furnishing of a house. -"Feather your nest," it ran--and went on to say that it could furnish -all the necessary feathers for a four-room nest for the ludicrously -small sum of seventy-five dollars. The particularly important thing -about this offer was that only a small part of the money need be had at -once--the rest one might pay a few dollars every month. Our friends had -to have some furniture, there was no getting away from that; but their -little fund of money had sunk so low that they could hardly get to sleep -at night, and so they fled to this as their deliverance. There was more -agony and another paper for Elzbieta to sign, and then one night when -Jurgis came home, he was told the breathless tidings that the furniture -had arrived and was safely stowed in the house: a parlor set of four -pieces, a bedroom set of three pieces, a dining room table and four -chairs, a toilet set with beautiful pink roses painted all over it, -an assortment of crockery, also with pink roses--and so on. One of the -plates in the set had been found broken when they unpacked it, and -Ona was going to the store the first thing in the morning to make them -change it; also they had promised three saucepans, and there had only -two come, and did Jurgis think that they were trying to cheat them? - -The next day they went to the house; and when the men came from work -they ate a few hurried mouthfuls at Aniele's, and then set to work at -the task of carrying their belongings to their new home. The distance -was in reality over two miles, but Jurgis made two trips that night, -each time with a huge pile of mattresses and bedding on his head, with -bundles of clothing and bags and things tied up inside. Anywhere else -in Chicago he would have stood a good chance of being arrested; but the -policemen in Packingtown were apparently used to these informal movings, -and contented themselves with a cursory examination now and then. It was -quite wonderful to see how fine the house looked, with all the things in -it, even by the dim light of a lamp: it was really home, and almost as -exciting as the placard had described it. Ona was fairly dancing, and -she and Cousin Marija took Jurgis by the arm and escorted him from room -to room, sitting in each chair by turns, and then insisting that he -should do the same. One chair squeaked with his great weight, and they -screamed with fright, and woke the baby and brought everybody running. -Altogether it was a great day; and tired as they were, Jurgis and Ona -sat up late, contented simply to hold each other and gaze in rapture -about the room. They were going to be married as soon as they could get -everything settled, and a little spare money put by; and this was to be -their home--that little room yonder would be theirs! - -It was in truth a never-ending delight, the fixing up of this house. -They had no money to spend for the pleasure of spending, but there -were a few absolutely necessary things, and the buying of these was a -perpetual adventure for Ona. It must always be done at night, so that -Jurgis could go along; and even if it were only a pepper cruet, or half -a dozen glasses for ten cents, that was enough for an expedition. On -Saturday night they came home with a great basketful of things, and -spread them out on the table, while every one stood round, and the -children climbed up on the chairs, or howled to be lifted up to see. -There were sugar and salt and tea and crackers, and a can of lard and -a milk pail, and a scrubbing brush, and a pair of shoes for the second -oldest boy, and a can of oil, and a tack hammer, and a pound of nails. -These last were to be driven into the walls of the kitchen and the -bedrooms, to hang things on; and there was a family discussion as to the -place where each one was to be driven. Then Jurgis would try to hammer, -and hit his fingers because the hammer was too small, and get mad -because Ona had refused to let him pay fifteen cents more and get a -bigger hammer; and Ona would be invited to try it herself, and hurt -her thumb, and cry out, which necessitated the thumb's being kissed -by Jurgis. Finally, after every one had had a try, the nails would be -driven, and something hung up. Jurgis had come home with a big packing -box on his head, and he sent Jonas to get another that he had bought. He -meant to take one side out of these tomorrow, and put shelves in them, -and make them into bureaus and places to keep things for the bedrooms. -The nest which had been advertised had not included feathers for quite -so many birds as there were in this family. - -They had, of course, put their dining table in the kitchen, and the -dining room was used as the bedroom of Teta Elzbieta and five of her -children. She and the two youngest slept in the only bed, and the other -three had a mattress on the floor. Ona and her cousin dragged a mattress -into the parlor and slept at night, and the three men and the oldest boy -slept in the other room, having nothing but the very level floor to -rest on for the present. Even so, however, they slept soundly--it was -necessary for Teta Elzbieta to pound more than once on the door at a quarter -past five every morning. She would have ready a great pot full of -steaming black coffee, and oatmeal and bread and smoked sausages; and -then she would fix them their dinner pails with more thick slices of -bread with lard between them--they could not afford butter--and some -onions and a piece of cheese, and so they would tramp away to work. - -This was the first time in his life that he had ever really worked, it -seemed to Jurgis; it was the first time that he had ever had anything -to do which took all he had in him. Jurgis had stood with the rest up in -the gallery and watched the men on the killing beds, marveling at their -speed and power as if they had been wonderful machines; it somehow never -occurred to one to think of the flesh-and-blood side of it--that is, not -until he actually got down into the pit and took off his coat. Then he -saw things in a different light, he got at the inside of them. The pace -they set here, it was one that called for every faculty of a man--from -the instant the first steer fell till the sounding of the noon whistle, -and again from half-past twelve till heaven only knew what hour in the -late afternoon or evening, there was never one instant's rest for a man, -for his hand or his eye or his brain. Jurgis saw how they managed it; -there were portions of the work which determined the pace of the rest, -and for these they had picked men whom they paid high wages, and whom -they changed frequently. You might easily pick out these pacemakers, -for they worked under the eye of the bosses, and they worked like men -possessed. This was called "speeding up the gang," and if any man could -not keep up with the pace, there were hundreds outside begging to try. - -Yet Jurgis did not mind it; he rather enjoyed it. It saved him the -necessity of flinging his arms about and fidgeting as he did in most -work. He would laugh to himself as he ran down the line, darting a -glance now and then at the man ahead of him. It was not the pleasantest -work one could think of, but it was necessary work; and what more had -a man the right to ask than a chance to do something useful, and to get -good pay for doing it? - -So Jurgis thought, and so he spoke, in his bold, free way; very much to -his surprise, he found that it had a tendency to get him into trouble. -For most of the men here took a fearfully different view of the thing. -He was quite dismayed when he first began to find it out--that most of -the men hated their work. It seemed strange, it was even terrible, -when you came to find out the universality of the sentiment; but it was -certainly the fact--they hated their work. They hated the bosses -and they hated the owners; they hated the whole place, the whole -neighborhood--even the whole city, with an all-inclusive hatred, bitter -and fierce. Women and little children would fall to cursing about it; it -was rotten, rotten as hell--everything was rotten. When Jurgis would ask -them what they meant, they would begin to get suspicious, and content -themselves with saying, "Never mind, you stay here and see for -yourself." - -One of the first problems that Jurgis ran upon was that of the unions. -He had had no experience with unions, and he had to have it explained -to him that the men were banded together for the purpose of fighting -for their rights. Jurgis asked them what they meant by their rights, a -question in which he was quite sincere, for he had not any idea of any -rights that he had, except the right to hunt for a job, and do as he was -told when he got it. Generally, however, this harmless question would -only make his fellow workingmen lose their tempers and call him a fool. -There was a delegate of the butcher-helpers' union who came to see -Jurgis to enroll him; and when Jurgis found that this meant that he -would have to part with some of his money, he froze up directly, and the -delegate, who was an Irishman and only knew a few words of Lithuanian, -lost his temper and began to threaten him. In the end Jurgis got into a -fine rage, and made it sufficiently plain that it would take more than -one Irishman to scare him into a union. Little by little he gathered -that the main thing the men wanted was to put a stop to the habit of -"speeding-up"; they were trying their best to force a lessening of the -pace, for there were some, they said, who could not keep up with it, -whom it was killing. But Jurgis had no sympathy with such ideas as -this--he could do the work himself, and so could the rest of them, he -declared, if they were good for anything. If they couldn't do it, let -them go somewhere else. Jurgis had not studied the books, and he would -not have known how to pronounce "laissez faire"; but he had been round -the world enough to know that a man has to shift for himself in it, -and that if he gets the worst of it, there is nobody to listen to him -holler. - -Yet there have been known to be philosophers and plain men who swore -by Malthus in the books, and would, nevertheless, subscribe to a relief -fund in time of a famine. It was the same with Jurgis, who consigned the -unfit to destruction, while going about all day sick at heart because -of his poor old father, who was wandering somewhere in the yards begging -for a chance to earn his bread. Old Antanas had been a worker ever since -he was a child; he had run away from home when he was twelve, because -his father beat him for trying to learn to read. And he was a faithful -man, too; he was a man you might leave alone for a month, if only you -had made him understand what you wanted him to do in the meantime. And -now here he was, worn out in soul and body, and with no more place in -the world than a sick dog. He had his home, as it happened, and some one -who would care for him if he never got a job; but his son could not help -thinking, suppose this had not been the case. Antanas Rudkus had been -into every building in Packingtown by this time, and into nearly every -room; he had stood mornings among the crowd of applicants till the very -policemen had come to know his face and to tell him to go home and give -it up. He had been likewise to all the stores and saloons for a mile -about, begging for some little thing to do; and everywhere they had -ordered him out, sometimes with curses, and not once even stopping to -ask him a question. - -So, after all, there was a crack in the fine structure of Jurgis' faith -in things as they are. The crack was wide while Dede Antanas was hunting -a job--and it was yet wider when he finally got it. For one evening the -old man came home in a great state of excitement, with the tale that he -had been approached by a man in one of the corridors of the pickle rooms -of Durham's, and asked what he would pay to get a job. He had not -known what to make of this at first; but the man had gone on with -matter-of-fact frankness to say that he could get him a job, provided -that he were willing to pay one-third of his wages for it. Was he a -boss? Antanas had asked; to which the man had replied that that was -nobody's business, but that he could do what he said. - -Jurgis had made some friends by this time, and he sought one of them and -asked what this meant. The friend, who was named Tamoszius Kuszleika, -was a sharp little man who folded hides on the killing beds, and he -listened to what Jurgis had to say without seeming at all surprised. -They were common enough, he said, such cases of petty graft. It was -simply some boss who proposed to add a little to his income. After -Jurgis had been there awhile he would know that the plants were simply -honeycombed with rottenness of that sort--the bosses grafted off the -men, and they grafted off each other; and some day the superintendent -would find out about the boss, and then he would graft off the boss. -Warming to the subject, Tamoszius went on to explain the situation. Here -was Durham's, for instance, owned by a man who was trying to make as -much money out of it as he could, and did not care in the least how he -did it; and underneath him, ranged in ranks and grades like an army, -were managers and superintendents and foremen, each one driving the -man next below him and trying to squeeze out of him as much work as -possible. And all the men of the same rank were pitted against each -other; the accounts of each were kept separately, and every man lived -in terror of losing his job, if another made a better record than he. So -from top to bottom the place was simply a seething caldron of jealousies -and hatreds; there was no loyalty or decency anywhere about it, there -was no place in it where a man counted for anything against a dollar. -And worse than there being no decency, there was not even any honesty. -The reason for that? Who could say? It must have been old Durham in the -beginning; it was a heritage which the self-made merchant had left to -his son, along with his millions. - -Jurgis would find out these things for himself, if he stayed there long -enough; it was the men who had to do all the dirty jobs, and so there -was no deceiving them; and they caught the spirit of the place, and did -like all the rest. Jurgis had come there, and thought he was going to -make himself useful, and rise and become a skilled man; but he would -soon find out his error--for nobody rose in Packingtown by doing good -work. You could lay that down for a rule--if you met a man who was -rising in Packingtown, you met a knave. That man who had been sent to -Jurgis' father by the boss, he would rise; the man who told tales -and spied upon his fellows would rise; but the man who minded his own -business and did his work--why, they would "speed him up" till they had -worn him out, and then they would throw him into the gutter. - -Jurgis went home with his head buzzing. Yet he could not bring himself -to believe such things--no, it could not be so. Tamoszius was simply -another of the grumblers. He was a man who spent all his time fiddling; -and he would go to parties at night and not get home till sunrise, and -so of course he did not feel like work. Then, too, he was a puny little -chap; and so he had been left behind in the race, and that was why he -was sore. And yet so many strange things kept coming to Jurgis' notice -every day! - -He tried to persuade his father to have nothing to do with the offer. -But old Antanas had begged until he was worn out, and all his courage -was gone; he wanted a job, any sort of a job. So the next day he went -and found the man who had spoken to him, and promised to bring him a -third of all he earned; and that same day he was put to work in Durham's -cellars. It was a "pickle room," where there was never a dry spot to -stand upon, and so he had to take nearly the whole of his first week's -earnings to buy him a pair of heavy-soled boots. He was a "squeedgie" -man; his job was to go about all day with a long-handled mop, swabbing -up the floor. Except that it was damp and dark, it was not an unpleasant -job, in summer. - -Now Antanas Rudkus was the meekest man that God ever put on earth; and -so Jurgis found it a striking confirmation of what the men all said, -that his father had been at work only two days before he came home as -bitter as any of them, and cursing Durham's with all the power of his -soul. For they had set him to cleaning out the traps; and the family -sat round and listened in wonder while he told them what that meant. It -seemed that he was working in the room where the men prepared the beef -for canning, and the beef had lain in vats full of chemicals, and men -with great forks speared it out and dumped it into trucks, to be taken -to the cooking room. When they had speared out all they could reach, -they emptied the vat on the floor, and then with shovels scraped up the -balance and dumped it into the truck. This floor was filthy, yet -they set Antanas with his mop slopping the "pickle" into a hole that -connected with a sink, where it was caught and used over again forever; -and if that were not enough, there was a trap in the pipe, where all the -scraps of meat and odds and ends of refuse were caught, and every few -days it was the old man's task to clean these out, and shovel their -contents into one of the trucks with the rest of the meat! - -This was the experience of Antanas; and then there came also Jonas and -Marija with tales to tell. Marija was working for one of the independent -packers, and was quite beside herself and outrageous with triumph over -the sums of money she was making as a painter of cans. But one day she -walked home with a pale-faced little woman who worked opposite to her, -Jadvyga Marcinkus by name, and Jadvyga told her how she, Marija, had -chanced to get her job. She had taken the place of an Irishwoman who had -been working in that factory ever since any one could remember. For over -fifteen years, so she declared. Mary Dennis was her name, and a long -time ago she had been seduced, and had a little boy; he was a cripple, -and an epileptic, but still he was all that she had in the world to -love, and they had lived in a little room alone somewhere back of -Halsted Street, where the Irish were. Mary had had consumption, and all -day long you might hear her coughing as she worked; of late she had been -going all to pieces, and when Marija came, the "forelady" had suddenly -decided to turn her off. The forelady had to come up to a certain -standard herself, and could not stop for sick people, Jadvyga explained. -The fact that Mary had been there so long had not made any difference -to her--it was doubtful if she even knew that, for both the forelady and -the superintendent were new people, having only been there two or three -years themselves. Jadvyga did not know what had become of the poor -creature; she would have gone to see her, but had been sick herself. She -had pains in her back all the time, Jadvyga explained, and feared -that she had womb trouble. It was not fit work for a woman, handling -fourteen-pound cans all day. - -It was a striking circumstance that Jonas, too, had gotten his job by -the misfortune of some other person. Jonas pushed a truck loaded with -hams from the smoke rooms on to an elevator, and thence to the packing -rooms. The trucks were all of iron, and heavy, and they put about -threescore hams on each of them, a load of more than a quarter of a -ton. On the uneven floor it was a task for a man to start one of these -trucks, unless he was a giant; and when it was once started he naturally -tried his best to keep it going. There was always the boss prowling -about, and if there was a second's delay he would fall to cursing; -Lithuanians and Slovaks and such, who could not understand what was said -to them, the bosses were wont to kick about the place like so many -dogs. Therefore these trucks went for the most part on the run; and the -predecessor of Jonas had been jammed against the wall by one and crushed -in a horrible and nameless manner. - -All of these were sinister incidents; but they were trifles compared to -what Jurgis saw with his own eyes before long. One curious thing he -had noticed, the very first day, in his profession of shoveler of guts; -which was the sharp trick of the floor bosses whenever there chanced to -come a "slunk" calf. Any man who knows anything about butchering knows -that the flesh of a cow that is about to calve, or has just calved, is -not fit for food. A good many of these came every day to the packing -houses--and, of course, if they had chosen, it would have been an easy -matter for the packers to keep them till they were fit for food. But -for the saving of time and fodder, it was the law that cows of that sort -came along with the others, and whoever noticed it would tell the -boss, and the boss would start up a conversation with the government -inspector, and the two would stroll away. So in a trice the carcass of -the cow would be cleaned out, and entrails would have vanished; it was -Jurgis' task to slide them into the trap, calves and all, and on the -floor below they took out these "slunk" calves, and butchered them for -meat, and used even the skins of them. - -One day a man slipped and hurt his leg; and that afternoon, when the -last of the cattle had been disposed of, and the men were leaving, -Jurgis was ordered to remain and do some special work which this injured -man had usually done. It was late, almost dark, and the government -inspectors had all gone, and there were only a dozen or two of men on -the floor. That day they had killed about four thousand cattle, and -these cattle had come in freight trains from far states, and some of -them had got hurt. There were some with broken legs, and some with gored -sides; there were some that had died, from what cause no one could -say; and they were all to be disposed of, here in darkness and silence. -"Downers," the men called them; and the packing house had a special -elevator upon which they were raised to the killing beds, where the gang -proceeded to handle them, with an air of businesslike nonchalance which -said plainer than any words that it was a matter of everyday routine. It -took a couple of hours to get them out of the way, and in the end Jurgis -saw them go into the chilling rooms with the rest of the meat, being -carefully scattered here and there so that they could not be identified. -When he came home that night he was in a very somber mood, having begun -to see at last how those might be right who had laughed at him for his -faith in America. - - - -Chapter 6 - - -Jurgis and Ona were very much in love; they had waited a long time--it -was now well into the second year, and Jurgis judged everything by the -criterion of its helping or hindering their union. All his thoughts were -there; he accepted the family because it was a part of Ona. And he was -interested in the house because it was to be Ona's home. Even the tricks -and cruelties he saw at Durham's had little meaning for him just then, -save as they might happen to affect his future with Ona. - -The marriage would have been at once, if they had had their way; but -this would mean that they would have to do without any wedding feast, -and when they suggested this they came into conflict with the old -people. To Teta Elzbieta especially the very suggestion was an -affliction. What! she would cry. To be married on the roadside like a -parcel of beggars! No! No!--Elzbieta had some traditions behind her; -she had been a person of importance in her girlhood--had lived on a big -estate and had servants, and might have married well and been a lady, -but for the fact that there had been nine daughters and no sons in the -family. Even so, however, she knew what was decent, and clung to her -traditions with desperation. They were not going to lose all caste, even -if they had come to be unskilled laborers in Packingtown; and that Ona -had even talked of omitting a _veselija_ was enough to keep her stepmother -lying awake all night. It was in vain for them to say that they had -so few friends; they were bound to have friends in time, and then the -friends would talk about it. They must not give up what was right for a -little money--if they did, the money would never do them any good, they -could depend upon that. And Elzbieta would call upon Dede Antanas to -support her; there was a fear in the souls of these two, lest this -journey to a new country might somehow undermine the old home virtues of -their children. The very first Sunday they had all been taken to mass; -and poor as they were, Elzbieta had felt it advisable to invest a little -of her resources in a representation of the babe of Bethlehem, made -in plaster, and painted in brilliant colors. Though it was only a foot -high, there was a shrine with four snow-white steeples, and the Virgin -standing with her child in her arms, and the kings and shepherds and -wise men bowing down before him. It had cost fifty cents; but Elzbieta -had a feeling that money spent for such things was not to be counted too -closely, it would come back in hidden ways. The piece was beautiful on -the parlor mantel, and one could not have a home without some sort of -ornament. - -The cost of the wedding feast would, of course, be returned to them; -but the problem was to raise it even temporarily. They had been in the -neighborhood so short a time that they could not get much credit, and -there was no one except Szedvilas from whom they could borrow even a -little. Evening after evening Jurgis and Ona would sit and figure the -expenses, calculating the term of their separation. They could not -possibly manage it decently for less than two hundred dollars, and even -though they were welcome to count in the whole of the earnings of Marija -and Jonas, as a loan, they could not hope to raise this sum in less -than four or five months. So Ona began thinking of seeking employment -herself, saying that if she had even ordinarily good luck, she might be -able to take two months off the time. They were just beginning to adjust -themselves to this necessity, when out of the clear sky there fell a -thunderbolt upon them--a calamity that scattered all their hopes to the -four winds. - -About a block away from them there lived another Lithuanian family, -consisting of an elderly widow and one grown son; their name was -Majauszkis, and our friends struck up an acquaintance with them before -long. One evening they came over for a visit, and naturally the first -subject upon which the conversation turned was the neighborhood and its -history; and then Grandmother Majauszkiene, as the old lady was called, -proceeded to recite to them a string of horrors that fairly froze their -blood. She was a wrinkled-up and wizened personage--she must have been -eighty--and as she mumbled the grim story through her toothless gums, -she seemed a very old witch to them. Grandmother Majauszkiene had lived -in the midst of misfortune so long that it had come to be her element, -and she talked about starvation, sickness, and death as other people -might about weddings and holidays. - -The thing came gradually. In the first place as to the house they -had bought, it was not new at all, as they had supposed; it was about -fifteen years old, and there was nothing new upon it but the paint, -which was so bad that it needed to be put on new every year or two. The -house was one of a whole row that was built by a company which existed -to make money by swindling poor people. The family had paid fifteen -hundred dollars for it, and it had not cost the builders five hundred, -when it was new. Grandmother Majauszkiene knew that because her son -belonged to a political organization with a contractor who put up -exactly such houses. They used the very flimsiest and cheapest material; -they built the houses a dozen at a time, and they cared about nothing at -all except the outside shine. The family could take her word as to the -trouble they would have, for she had been through it all--she and her -son had bought their house in exactly the same way. They had fooled the -company, however, for her son was a skilled man, who made as high as a -hundred dollars a month, and as he had had sense enough not to marry, -they had been able to pay for the house. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene saw that her friends were puzzled at this -remark; they did not quite see how paying for the house was "fooling the -company." Evidently they were very inexperienced. Cheap as the houses -were, they were sold with the idea that the people who bought them would -not be able to pay for them. When they failed--if it were only by a -single month--they would lose the house and all that they had paid on -it, and then the company would sell it over again. And did they often -get a chance to do that? Dieve! (Grandmother Majauszkiene raised her -hands.) They did it--how often no one could say, but certainly more than -half of the time. They might ask any one who knew anything at all about -Packingtown as to that; she had been living here ever since this house -was built, and she could tell them all about it. And had it ever been -sold before? Susimilkie! Why, since it had been built, no less than four -families that their informant could name had tried to buy it and failed. -She would tell them a little about it. - -The first family had been Germans. The families had all been of -different nationalities--there had been a representative of several -races that had displaced each other in the stockyards. Grandmother -Majauszkiene had come to America with her son at a time when so far as -she knew there was only one other Lithuanian family in the district; -the workers had all been Germans then--skilled cattle butchers that the -packers had brought from abroad to start the business. Afterward, as -cheaper labor had come, these Germans had moved away. The next were the -Irish--there had been six or eight years when Packingtown had been a -regular Irish city. There were a few colonies of them still here, enough -to run all the unions and the police force and get all the graft; but -most of those who were working in the packing houses had gone away at -the next drop in wages--after the big strike. The Bohemians had come -then, and after them the Poles. People said that old man Durham himself -was responsible for these immigrations; he had sworn that he would fix -the people of Packingtown so that they would never again call a strike -on him, and so he had sent his agents into every city and village in -Europe to spread the tale of the chances of work and high wages at the -stockyards. The people had come in hordes; and old Durham had squeezed -them tighter and tighter, speeding them up and grinding them to pieces -and sending for new ones. The Poles, who had come by tens of thousands, -had been driven to the wall by the Lithuanians, and now the Lithuanians -were giving way to the Slovaks. Who there was poorer and more miserable -than the Slovaks, Grandmother Majauszkiene had no idea, but the packers -would find them, never fear. It was easy to bring them, for wages were -really much higher, and it was only when it was too late that the poor -people found out that everything else was higher too. They were like -rats in a trap, that was the truth; and more of them were piling in -every day. By and by they would have their revenge, though, for the -thing was getting beyond human endurance, and the people would rise and -murder the packers. Grandmother Majauszkiene was a socialist, or some -such strange thing; another son of hers was working in the mines of -Siberia, and the old lady herself had made speeches in her time--which -made her seem all the more terrible to her present auditors. - -They called her back to the story of the house. The German family had -been a good sort. To be sure there had been a great many of them, which -was a common failing in Packingtown; but they had worked hard, and the -father had been a steady man, and they had a good deal more than half -paid for the house. But he had been killed in an elevator accident in -Durham's. - -Then there had come the Irish, and there had been lots of them, too; -the husband drank and beat the children--the neighbors could hear them -shrieking any night. They were behind with their rent all the time, -but the company was good to them; there was some politics back of that, -Grandmother Majauszkiene could not say just what, but the Laffertys had -belonged to the "War Whoop League," which was a sort of political club -of all the thugs and rowdies in the district; and if you belonged to -that, you could never be arrested for anything. Once upon a time old -Lafferty had been caught with a gang that had stolen cows from several -of the poor people of the neighborhood and butchered them in an old -shanty back of the yards and sold them. He had been in jail only three -days for it, and had come out laughing, and had not even lost his place -in the packing house. He had gone all to ruin with the drink, however, -and lost his power; one of his sons, who was a good man, had kept him -and the family up for a year or two, but then he had got sick with -consumption. - -That was another thing, Grandmother Majauszkiene interrupted -herself--this house was unlucky. Every family that lived in it, some one -was sure to get consumption. Nobody could tell why that was; there must -be something about the house, or the way it was built--some folks said -it was because the building had been begun in the dark of the moon. -There were dozens of houses that way in Packingtown. Sometimes there -would be a particular room that you could point out--if anybody slept in -that room he was just as good as dead. With this house it had been the -Irish first; and then a Bohemian family had lost a child of it--though, -to be sure, that was uncertain, since it was hard to tell what was the -matter with children who worked in the yards. In those days there had -been no law about the age of children--the packers had worked all but -the babies. At this remark the family looked puzzled, and Grandmother -Majauszkiene again had to make an explanation--that it was against the -law for children to work before they were sixteen. What was the sense of -that? they asked. They had been thinking of letting little Stanislovas -go to work. Well, there was no need to worry, Grandmother Majauszkiene -said--the law made no difference except that it forced people to lie -about the ages of their children. One would like to know what the -lawmakers expected them to do; there were families that had no possible -means of support except the children, and the law provided them no -other way of getting a living. Very often a man could get no work in -Packingtown for months, while a child could go and get a place easily; -there was always some new machine, by which the packers could get as -much work out of a child as they had been able to get out of a man, and -for a third of the pay. - -To come back to the house again, it was the woman of the next family -that had died. That was after they had been there nearly four years, and -this woman had had twins regularly every year--and there had been more -than you could count when they moved in. After she died the man would -go to work all day and leave them to shift for themselves--the neighbors -would help them now and then, for they would almost freeze to death. At -the end there were three days that they were alone, before it was found -out that the father was dead. He was a "floorsman" at Jones's, and a -wounded steer had broken loose and mashed him against a pillar. Then the -children had been taken away, and the company had sold the house that -very same week to a party of emigrants. - -So this grim old women went on with her tale of horrors. How much of it -was exaggeration--who could tell? It was only too plausible. There -was that about consumption, for instance. They knew nothing about -consumption whatever, except that it made people cough; and for two -weeks they had been worrying about a coughing-spell of Antanas. It -seemed to shake him all over, and it never stopped; you could see a red -stain wherever he had spit upon the floor. - -And yet all these things were as nothing to what came a little later. -They had begun to question the old lady as to why one family had been -unable to pay, trying to show her by figures that it ought to have been -possible; and Grandmother Majauszkiene had disputed their figures--"You -say twelve dollars a month; but that does not include the interest." - -Then they stared at her. "Interest!" they cried. - -"Interest on the money you still owe," she answered. - -"But we don't have to pay any interest!" they exclaimed, three or four -at once. "We only have to pay twelve dollars each month." - -And for this she laughed at them. "You are like all the rest," she said; -"they trick you and eat you alive. They never sell the houses without -interest. Get your deed, and see." - -Then, with a horrible sinking of the heart, Teta Elzbieta unlocked her -bureau and brought out the paper that had already caused them so many -agonies. Now they sat round, scarcely breathing, while the old lady, who -could read English, ran over it. "Yes," she said, finally, "here it is, -of course: 'With interest thereon monthly, at the rate of seven per cent -per annum.'" - -And there followed a dead silence. "What does that mean?" asked Jurgis -finally, almost in a whisper. - -"That means," replied the other, "that you have to pay them seven -dollars next month, as well as the twelve dollars." - -Then again there was not a sound. It was sickening, like a nightmare, -in which suddenly something gives way beneath you, and you feel yourself -sinking, sinking, down into bottomless abysses. As if in a flash of -lightning they saw themselves--victims of a relentless fate, cornered, -trapped, in the grip of destruction. All the fair structure of their -hopes came crashing about their ears.--And all the time the old woman -was going on talking. They wished that she would be still; her voice -sounded like the croaking of some dismal raven. Jurgis sat with his -hands clenched and beads of perspiration on his forehead, and there was -a great lump in Ona's throat, choking her. Then suddenly Teta Elzbieta -broke the silence with a wail, and Marija began to wring her hands and -sob, "Ai! Ai! Beda man!" - -All their outcry did them no good, of course. There sat Grandmother -Majauszkiene, unrelenting, typifying fate. No, of course it was not -fair, but then fairness had nothing to do with it. And of course they -had not known it. They had not been intended to know it. But it was in -the deed, and that was all that was necessary, as they would find when -the time came. - -Somehow or other they got rid of their guest, and then they passed a -night of lamentation. The children woke up and found out that something -was wrong, and they wailed and would not be comforted. In the morning, -of course, most of them had to go to work, the packing houses would not -stop for their sorrows; but by seven o'clock Ona and her stepmother were -standing at the door of the office of the agent. Yes, he told them, when -he came, it was quite true that they would have to pay interest. And -then Teta Elzbieta broke forth into protestations and reproaches, so -that the people outside stopped and peered in at the window. The agent -was as bland as ever. He was deeply pained, he said. He had not told -them, simply because he had supposed they would understand that they had -to pay interest upon their debt, as a matter of course. - -So they came away, and Ona went down to the yards, and at noontime saw -Jurgis and told him. Jurgis took it stolidly--he had made up his mind to -it by this time. It was part of fate; they would manage it somehow--he -made his usual answer, "I will work harder." It would upset their plans -for a time; and it would perhaps be necessary for Ona to get work -after all. Then Ona added that Teta Elzbieta had decided that little -Stanislovas would have to work too. It was not fair to let Jurgis and -her support the family--the family would have to help as it could. -Previously Jurgis had scouted this idea, but now knit his brows and -nodded his head slowly--yes, perhaps it would be best; they would all -have to make some sacrifices now. - -So Ona set out that day to hunt for work; and at night Marija came home -saying that she had met a girl named Jasaityte who had a friend that -worked in one of the wrapping rooms in Brown's, and might get a place -for Ona there; only the forelady was the kind that takes presents--it -was no use for any one to ask her for a place unless at the same time -they slipped a ten-dollar bill into her hand. Jurgis was not in the -least surprised at this now--he merely asked what the wages of the place -would be. So negotiations were opened, and after an interview Ona came -home and reported that the forelady seemed to like her, and had said -that, while she was not sure, she thought she might be able to put her -at work sewing covers on hams, a job at which she would earn as much as -eight or ten dollars a week. That was a bid, so Marija reported, after -consulting her friend; and then there was an anxious conference at home. -The work was done in one of the cellars, and Jurgis did not want Ona to -work in such a place; but then it was easy work, and one could not have -everything. So in the end Ona, with a ten-dollar bill burning a hole in -her palm, had another interview with the forelady. - -Meantime Teta Elzbieta had taken Stanislovas to the priest and gotten a -certificate to the effect that he was two years older than he was; and -with it the little boy now sallied forth to make his fortune in the -world. It chanced that Durham had just put in a wonderful new lard -machine, and when the special policeman in front of the time station -saw Stanislovas and his document, he smiled to himself and told him to -go--"Czia! Czia!" pointing. And so Stanislovas went down a long stone -corridor, and up a flight of stairs, which took him into a room lighted -by electricity, with the new machines for filling lard cans at work -in it. The lard was finished on the floor above, and it came in little -jets, like beautiful, wriggling, snow-white snakes of unpleasant odor. -There were several kinds and sizes of jets, and after a certain precise -quantity had come out, each stopped automatically, and the wonderful -machine made a turn, and took the can under another jet, and so on, -until it was filled neatly to the brim, and pressed tightly, and -smoothed off. To attend to all this and fill several hundred cans of -lard per hour, there were necessary two human creatures, one of whom -knew how to place an empty lard can on a certain spot every few seconds, -and the other of whom knew how to take a full lard can off a certain -spot every few seconds and set it upon a tray. - -And so, after little Stanislovas had stood gazing timidly about him for -a few minutes, a man approached him, and asked what he wanted, to which -Stanislovas said, "Job." Then the man said "How old?" and Stanislovas -answered, "Sixtin." Once or twice every year a state inspector would -come wandering through the packing plants, asking a child here and there -how old he was; and so the packers were very careful to comply with the -law, which cost them as much trouble as was now involved in the boss's -taking the document from the little boy, and glancing at it, and then -sending it to the office to be filed away. Then he set some one else at -a different job, and showed the lad how to place a lard can every time -the empty arm of the remorseless machine came to him; and so was decided -the place in the universe of little Stanislovas, and his destiny till -the end of his days. Hour after hour, day after day, year after year, it -was fated that he should stand upon a certain square foot of floor from -seven in the morning until noon, and again from half-past twelve till -half-past five, making never a motion and thinking never a thought, -save for the setting of lard cans. In summer the stench of the warm lard -would be nauseating, and in winter the cans would all but freeze to his -naked little fingers in the unheated cellar. Half the year it would be -dark as night when he went in to work, and dark as night again when -he came out, and so he would never know what the sun looked like on -weekdays. And for this, at the end of the week, he would carry home -three dollars to his family, being his pay at the rate of five cents per -hour--just about his proper share of the total earnings of the million -and three-quarters of children who are now engaged in earning their -livings in the United States. - -And meantime, because they were young, and hope is not to be stifled -before its time, Jurgis and Ona were again calculating; for they had -discovered that the wages of Stanislovas would a little more than pay -the interest, which left them just about as they had been before! It -would be but fair to them to say that the little boy was delighted with -his work, and at the idea of earning a lot of money; and also that the -two were very much in love with each other. - - - -Chapter 7 - - -All summer long the family toiled, and in the fall they had money -enough for Jurgis and Ona to be married according to home traditions of -decency. In the latter part of November they hired a hall, and invited -all their new acquaintances, who came and left them over a hundred -dollars in debt. - -It was a bitter and cruel experience, and it plunged them into an agony -of despair. Such a time, of all times, for them to have it, when their -hearts were made tender! Such a pitiful beginning it was for their -married life; they loved each other so, and they could not have the -briefest respite! It was a time when everything cried out to them that -they ought to be happy; when wonder burned in their hearts, and leaped -into flame at the slightest breath. They were shaken to the depths of -them, with the awe of love realized--and was it so very weak of them -that they cried out for a little peace? They had opened their hearts, -like flowers to the springtime, and the merciless winter had fallen upon -them. They wondered if ever any love that had blossomed in the world had -been so crushed and trampled! - -Over them, relentless and savage, there cracked the lash of want; the -morning after the wedding it sought them as they slept, and drove -them out before daybreak to work. Ona was scarcely able to stand with -exhaustion; but if she were to lose her place they would be ruined, and -she would surely lose it if she were not on time that day. They all -had to go, even little Stanislovas, who was ill from overindulgence in -sausages and sarsaparilla. All that day he stood at his lard machine, -rocking unsteadily, his eyes closing in spite of him; and he all but -lost his place even so, for the foreman booted him twice to waken him. - -It was fully a week before they were all normal again, and meantime, -with whining children and cross adults, the house was not a pleasant -place to live in. Jurgis lost his temper very little, however, all -things considered. It was because of Ona; the least glance at her was -always enough to make him control himself. She was so sensitive--she was -not fitted for such a life as this; and a hundred times a day, when he -thought of her, he would clench his hands and fling himself again at the -task before him. She was too good for him, he told himself, and he was -afraid, because she was his. So long he had hungered to possess her, -but now that the time had come he knew that he had not earned the right; -that she trusted him so was all her own simple goodness, and no virtue -of his. But he was resolved that she should never find this out, and so -was always on the watch to see that he did not betray any of his ugly -self; he would take care even in little matters, such as his manners, -and his habit of swearing when things went wrong. The tears came so -easily into Ona's eyes, and she would look at him so appealingly--it -kept Jurgis quite busy making resolutions, in addition to all the other -things he had on his mind. It was true that more things were going on at -this time in the mind of Jurgis than ever had in all his life before. - -He had to protect her, to do battle for her against the horror he saw -about them. He was all that she had to look to, and if he failed she -would be lost; he would wrap his arms about her, and try to hide her -from the world. He had learned the ways of things about him now. It was -a war of each against all, and the devil take the hindmost. You did not -give feasts to other people, you waited for them to give feasts to -you. You went about with your soul full of suspicion and hatred; you -understood that you were environed by hostile powers that were trying to -get your money, and who used all the virtues to bait their traps with. -The store-keepers plastered up their windows with all sorts of lies to -entice you; the very fences by the wayside, the lampposts and telegraph -poles, were pasted over with lies. The great corporation which employed -you lied to you, and lied to the whole country--from top to bottom it -was nothing but one gigantic lie. - -So Jurgis said that he understood it; and yet it was really pitiful, for -the struggle was so unfair--some had so much the advantage! Here he was, -for instance, vowing upon his knees that he would save Ona from harm, -and only a week later she was suffering atrociously, and from the blow -of an enemy that he could not possibly have thwarted. There came a day -when the rain fell in torrents; and it being December, to be wet with it -and have to sit all day long in one of the cold cellars of Brown's was -no laughing matter. Ona was a working girl, and did not own waterproofs -and such things, and so Jurgis took her and put her on the streetcar. -Now it chanced that this car line was owned by gentlemen who were trying -to make money. And the city having passed an ordinance requiring them to -give transfers, they had fallen into a rage; and first they had made a -rule that transfers could be had only when the fare was paid; and later, -growing still uglier, they had made another--that the passenger must ask -for the transfer, the conductor was not allowed to offer it. Now Ona -had been told that she was to get a transfer; but it was not her way to -speak up, and so she merely waited, following the conductor about with -her eyes, wondering when he would think of her. When at last the time -came for her to get out, she asked for the transfer, and was refused. -Not knowing what to make of this, she began to argue with the conductor, -in a language of which he did not understand a word. After warning her -several times, he pulled the bell and the car went on--at which Ona -burst into tears. At the next corner she got out, of course; and as she -had no more money, she had to walk the rest of the way to the yards in -the pouring rain. And so all day long she sat shivering, and came home -at night with her teeth chattering and pains in her head and back. For -two weeks afterward she suffered cruelly--and yet every day she had to -drag herself to her work. The forewoman was especially severe with Ona, -because she believed that she was obstinate on account of having been -refused a holiday the day after her wedding. Ona had an idea that her -"forelady" did not like to have her girls marry--perhaps because she was -old and ugly and unmarried herself. - -There were many such dangers, in which the odds were all against them. -Their children were not as well as they had been at home; but how could -they know that there was no sewer to their house, and that the drainage -of fifteen years was in a cesspool under it? How could they know that -the pale-blue milk that they bought around the corner was watered, and -doctored with formaldehyde besides? When the children were not well -at home, Teta Elzbieta would gather herbs and cure them; now she was -obliged to go to the drugstore and buy extracts--and how was she to know -that they were all adulterated? How could they find out that their tea -and coffee, their sugar and flour, had been doctored; that their canned -peas had been colored with copper salts, and their fruit jams with -aniline dyes? And even if they had known it, what good would it have -done them, since there was no place within miles of them where any other -sort was to be had? The bitter winter was coming, and they had to save -money to get more clothing and bedding; but it would not matter in the -least how much they saved, they could not get anything to keep them -warm. All the clothing that was to be had in the stores was made of -cotton and shoddy, which is made by tearing old clothes to pieces and -weaving the fiber again. If they paid higher prices, they might get -frills and fanciness, or be cheated; but genuine quality they could not -obtain for love nor money. A young friend of Szedvilas', recently come -from abroad, had become a clerk in a store on Ashland Avenue, and he -narrated with glee a trick that had been played upon an unsuspecting -countryman by his boss. The customer had desired to purchase an alarm -clock, and the boss had shown him two exactly similar, telling him that -the price of one was a dollar and of the other a dollar seventy-five. -Upon being asked what the difference was, the man had wound up the first -halfway and the second all the way, and showed the customer how the -latter made twice as much noise; upon which the customer remarked that -he was a sound sleeper, and had better take the more expensive clock! - -There is a poet who sings that - - "Deeper their heart grows and nobler their bearing, - Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died." - -But it was not likely that he had reference to the kind of anguish that -comes with destitution, that is so endlessly bitter and cruel, and -yet so sordid and petty, so ugly, so humiliating--unredeemed by the -slightest touch of dignity or even of pathos. It is a kind of anguish -that poets have not commonly dealt with; its very words are not admitted -into the vocabulary of poets--the details of it cannot be told in -polite society at all. How, for instance, could any one expect to excite -sympathy among lovers of good literature by telling how a family found -their home alive with vermin, and of all the suffering and inconvenience -and humiliation they were put to, and the hard-earned money they spent, -in efforts to get rid of them? After long hesitation and uncertainty -they paid twenty-five cents for a big package of insect powder--a patent -preparation which chanced to be ninety-five per cent gypsum, a harmless -earth which had cost about two cents to prepare. Of course it had not -the least effect, except upon a few roaches which had the misfortune to -drink water after eating it, and so got their inwards set in a coating -of plaster of Paris. The family, having no idea of this, and no more -money to throw away, had nothing to do but give up and submit to one -more misery for the rest of their days. - -Then there was old Antanas. The winter came, and the place where he -worked was a dark, unheated cellar, where you could see your breath all -day, and where your fingers sometimes tried to freeze. So the old man's -cough grew every day worse, until there came a time when it hardly ever -stopped, and he had become a nuisance about the place. Then, too, a -still more dreadful thing happened to him; he worked in a place where -his feet were soaked in chemicals, and it was not long before they had -eaten through his new boots. Then sores began to break out on his feet, -and grow worse and worse. Whether it was that his blood was bad, or -there had been a cut, he could not say; but he asked the men about it, -and learned that it was a regular thing--it was the saltpeter. Every one -felt it, sooner or later, and then it was all up with him, at least for -that sort of work. The sores would never heal--in the end his toes would -drop off, if he did not quit. Yet old Antanas would not quit; he saw the -suffering of his family, and he remembered what it had cost him to get -a job. So he tied up his feet, and went on limping about and coughing, -until at last he fell to pieces, all at once and in a heap, like the -One-Horse Shay. They carried him to a dry place and laid him on the -floor, and that night two of the men helped him home. The poor old man -was put to bed, and though he tried it every morning until the end, he -never could get up again. He would lie there and cough and cough, day -and night, wasting away to a mere skeleton. There came a time when there -was so little flesh on him that the bones began to poke through--which -was a horrible thing to see or even to think of. And one night he had -a choking fit, and a little river of blood came out of his mouth. The -family, wild with terror, sent for a doctor, and paid half a dollar to -be told that there was nothing to be done. Mercifully the doctor did not -say this so that the old man could hear, for he was still clinging to -the faith that tomorrow or next day he would be better, and could go -back to his job. The company had sent word to him that they would keep -it for him--or rather Jurgis had bribed one of the men to come one -Sunday afternoon and say they had. Dede Antanas continued to believe -it, while three more hemorrhages came; and then at last one morning they -found him stiff and cold. Things were not going well with them then, -and though it nearly broke Teta Elzbieta's heart, they were forced to -dispense with nearly all the decencies of a funeral; they had only a -hearse, and one hack for the women and children; and Jurgis, who was -learning things fast, spent all Sunday making a bargain for these, and -he made it in the presence of witnesses, so that when the man tried to -charge him for all sorts of incidentals, he did not have to pay. For -twenty-five years old Antanas Rudkus and his son had dwelt in the forest -together, and it was hard to part in this way; perhaps it was just as -well that Jurgis had to give all his attention to the task of having -a funeral without being bankrupted, and so had no time to indulge in -memories and grief. - - -Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forests, all summer -long, the branches of the trees do battle for light, and some of them -lose and die; and then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow -and hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches. Just so it -was in Packingtown; the whole district braced itself for the struggle -that was an agony, and those whose time was come died off in hordes. -All the year round they had been serving as cogs in the great packing -machine; and now was the time for the renovating of it, and the -replacing of damaged parts. There came pneumonia and grippe, stalking -among them, seeking for weakened constitutions; there was the annual -harvest of those whom tuberculosis had been dragging down. There came -cruel, cold, and biting winds, and blizzards of snow, all testing -relentlessly for failing muscles and impoverished blood. Sooner or later -came the day when the unfit one did not report for work; and then, with -no time lost in waiting, and no inquiries or regrets, there was a chance -for a new hand. - -The new hands were here by the thousands. All day long the gates of the -packing houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, -literally, by the thousands every single morning, fighting with each -other for a chance for life. Blizzards and cold made no difference to -them, they were always on hand; they were on hand two hours before the -sun rose, an hour before the work began. Sometimes their faces -froze, sometimes their feet and their hands; sometimes they froze all -together--but still they came, for they had no other place to go. One -day Durham advertised in the paper for two hundred men to cut ice; and -all that day the homeless and starving of the city came trudging through -the snow from all over its two hundred square miles. That night -forty score of them crowded into the station house of the stockyards -district--they filled the rooms, sleeping in each other's laps, toboggan -fashion, and they piled on top of each other in the corridors, till the -police shut the doors and left some to freeze outside. On the morrow, -before daybreak, there were three thousand at Durham's, and the police -reserves had to be sent for to quell the riot. Then Durham's bosses -picked out twenty of the biggest; the "two hundred" proved to have been -a printer's error. - -Four or five miles to the eastward lay the lake, and over this the -bitter winds came raging. Sometimes the thermometer would fall to ten or -twenty degrees below zero at night, and in the morning the streets would -be piled with snowdrifts up to the first-floor windows. The streets -through which our friends had to go to their work were all unpaved and -full of deep holes and gullies; in summer, when it rained hard, a man -might have to wade to his waist to get to his house; and now in winter -it was no joke getting through these places, before light in the morning -and after dark at night. They would wrap up in all they owned, but they -could not wrap up against exhaustion; and many a man gave out in these -battles with the snowdrifts, and lay down and fell asleep. - -And if it was bad for the men, one may imagine how the women and -children fared. Some would ride in the cars, if the cars were running; -but when you are making only five cents an hour, as was little -Stanislovas, you do not like to spend that much to ride two miles. The -children would come to the yards with great shawls about their ears, -and so tied up that you could hardly find them--and still there would be -accidents. One bitter morning in February the little boy who worked at -the lard machine with Stanislovas came about an hour late, and screaming -with pain. They unwrapped him, and a man began vigorously rubbing his -ears; and as they were frozen stiff, it took only two or three rubs to -break them short off. As a result of this, little Stanislovas conceived -a terror of the cold that was almost a mania. Every morning, when it -came time to start for the yards, he would begin to cry and protest. -Nobody knew quite how to manage him, for threats did no good--it seemed -to be something that he could not control, and they feared sometimes -that he would go into convulsions. In the end it had to be arranged that -he always went with Jurgis, and came home with him again; and often, -when the snow was deep, the man would carry him the whole way on his -shoulders. Sometimes Jurgis would be working until late at night, and -then it was pitiful, for there was no place for the little fellow to -wait, save in the doorways or in a corner of the killing beds, and he -would all but fall asleep there, and freeze to death. - -There was no heat upon the killing beds; the men might exactly as well -have worked out of doors all winter. For that matter, there was very -little heat anywhere in the building, except in the cooking rooms and -such places--and it was the men who worked in these who ran the most -risk of all, because whenever they had to pass to another room they had -to go through ice-cold corridors, and sometimes with nothing on above -the waist except a sleeveless undershirt. On the killing beds you were -apt to be covered with blood, and it would freeze solid; if you leaned -against a pillar, you would freeze to that, and if you put your hand -upon the blade of your knife, you would run a chance of leaving your -skin on it. The men would tie up their feet in newspapers and old sacks, -and these would be soaked in blood and frozen, and then soaked again, -and so on, until by nighttime a man would be walking on great lumps the -size of the feet of an elephant. Now and then, when the bosses were -not looking, you would see them plunging their feet and ankles into the -steaming hot carcass of the steer, or darting across the room to -the hot-water jets. The cruelest thing of all was that nearly all of -them--all of those who used knives--were unable to wear gloves, and -their arms would be white with frost and their hands would grow numb, -and then of course there would be accidents. Also the air would be full -of steam, from the hot water and the hot blood, so that you could not -see five feet before you; and then, with men rushing about at the speed -they kept up on the killing beds, and all with butcher knives, like -razors, in their hands--well, it was to be counted as a wonder that -there were not more men slaughtered than cattle. - -And yet all this inconvenience they might have put up with, if only it -had not been for one thing--if only there had been some place where they -might eat. Jurgis had either to eat his dinner amid the stench in which -he had worked, or else to rush, as did all his companions, to any one of -the hundreds of liquor stores which stretched out their arms to him. To -the west of the yards ran Ashland Avenue, and here was an unbroken -line of saloons--"Whiskey Row," they called it; to the north was -Forty-seventh Street, where there were half a dozen to the block, and at -the angle of the two was "Whiskey Point," a space of fifteen or twenty -acres, and containing one glue factory and about two hundred saloons. - -One might walk among these and take his choice: "Hot pea-soup and boiled -cabbage today." "Sauerkraut and hot frankfurters. Walk in." "Bean soup -and stewed lamb. Welcome." All of these things were printed in many -languages, as were also the names of the resorts, which were infinite -in their variety and appeal. There was the "Home Circle" and the -"Cosey Corner"; there were "Firesides" and "Hearthstones" and "Pleasure -Palaces" and "Wonderlands" and "Dream Castles" and "Love's Delights." -Whatever else they were called, they were sure to be called "Union -Headquarters," and to hold out a welcome to workingmen; and there was -always a warm stove, and a chair near it, and some friends to laugh and -talk with. There was only one condition attached,--you must drink. If -you went in not intending to drink, you would be put out in no time, and -if you were slow about going, like as not you would get your head split -open with a beer bottle in the bargain. But all of the men understood -the convention and drank; they believed that by it they were getting -something for nothing--for they did not need to take more than one -drink, and upon the strength of it they might fill themselves up with a -good hot dinner. This did not always work out in practice, however, for -there was pretty sure to be a friend who would treat you, and then you -would have to treat him. Then some one else would come in--and, anyhow, -a few drinks were good for a man who worked hard. As he went back he did -not shiver so, he had more courage for his task; the deadly brutalizing -monotony of it did not afflict him so,--he had ideas while he worked, -and took a more cheerful view of his circumstances. On the way home, -however, the shivering was apt to come on him again; and so he would -have to stop once or twice to warm up against the cruel cold. As there -were hot things to eat in this saloon too, he might get home late to his -supper, or he might not get home at all. And then his wife might set out -to look for him, and she too would feel the cold; and perhaps she would -have some of the children with her--and so a whole family would drift -into drinking, as the current of a river drifts downstream. As if to -complete the chain, the packers all paid their men in checks, refusing -all requests to pay in coin; and where in Packingtown could a man go to -have his check cashed but to a saloon, where he could pay for the favor -by spending a part of the money? - -From all of these things Jurgis was saved because of Ona. He never would -take but the one drink at noontime; and so he got the reputation of -being a surly fellow, and was not quite welcome at the saloons, and had -to drift about from one to another. Then at night he would go straight -home, helping Ona and Stanislovas, or often putting the former on a car. -And when he got home perhaps he would have to trudge several blocks, and -come staggering back through the snowdrifts with a bag of coal upon -his shoulder. Home was not a very attractive place--at least not this -winter. They had only been able to buy one stove, and this was a small -one, and proved not big enough to warm even the kitchen in the bitterest -weather. This made it hard for Teta Elzbieta all day, and for the -children when they could not get to school. At night they would sit -huddled round this stove, while they ate their supper off their laps; -and then Jurgis and Jonas would smoke a pipe, after which they would all -crawl into their beds to get warm, after putting out the fire to save -the coal. Then they would have some frightful experiences with the cold. -They would sleep with all their clothes on, including their overcoats, -and put over them all the bedding and spare clothing they owned; the -children would sleep all crowded into one bed, and yet even so they -could not keep warm. The outside ones would be shivering and sobbing, -crawling over the others and trying to get down into the center, and -causing a fight. This old house with the leaky weatherboards was a -very different thing from their cabins at home, with great thick walls -plastered inside and outside with mud; and the cold which came upon them -was a living thing, a demon-presence in the room. They would waken in -the midnight hours, when everything was black; perhaps they would hear -it yelling outside, or perhaps there would be deathlike stillness--and -that would be worse yet. They could feel the cold as it crept in through -the cracks, reaching out for them with its icy, death-dealing fingers; -and they would crouch and cower, and try to hide from it, all in vain. -It would come, and it would come; a grisly thing, a specter born in -the black caverns of terror; a power primeval, cosmic, shadowing the -tortures of the lost souls flung out to chaos and destruction. It was -cruel iron-hard; and hour after hour they would cringe in its grasp, -alone, alone. There would be no one to hear them if they cried out; -there would be no help, no mercy. And so on until morning--when they -would go out to another day of toil, a little weaker, a little nearer to -the time when it would be their turn to be shaken from the tree. - - - -Chapter 8 - - -Yet even by this deadly winter the germ of hope was not to be kept -from sprouting in their hearts. It was just at this time that the great -adventure befell Marija. - -The victim was Tamoszius Kuszleika, who played the violin. Everybody -laughed at them, for Tamoszius was petite and frail, and Marija could -have picked him up and carried him off under one arm. But perhaps that -was why she fascinated him; the sheer volume of Marija's energy was -overwhelming. That first night at the wedding Tamoszius had hardly taken -his eyes off her; and later on, when he came to find that she had really -the heart of a baby, her voice and her violence ceased to terrify him, -and he got the habit of coming to pay her visits on Sunday afternoons. -There was no place to entertain company except in the kitchen, in the -midst of the family, and Tamoszius would sit there with his hat between -his knees, never saying more than half a dozen words at a time, and -turning red in the face before he managed to say those; until finally -Jurgis would clap him upon the back, in his hearty way, crying, "Come -now, brother, give us a tune." And then Tamoszius' face would light up -and he would get out his fiddle, tuck it under his chin, and play. And -forthwith the soul of him would flame up and become eloquent--it was -almost an impropriety, for all the while his gaze would be fixed upon -Marija's face, until she would begin to turn red and lower her eyes. -There was no resisting the music of Tamoszius, however; even the -children would sit awed and wondering, and the tears would run down Teta -Elzbieta's cheeks. A wonderful privilege it was to be thus admitted into -the soul of a man of genius, to be allowed to share the ecstasies and -the agonies of his inmost life. - -Then there were other benefits accruing to Marija from this -friendship--benefits of a more substantial nature. People paid Tamoszius -big money to come and make music on state occasions; and also they -would invite him to parties and festivals, knowing well that he was too -good-natured to come without his fiddle, and that having brought it, -he could be made to play while others danced. Once he made bold to ask -Marija to accompany him to such a party, and Marija accepted, to his -great delight--after which he never went anywhere without her, while if -the celebration were given by friends of his, he would invite the rest -of the family also. In any case Marija would bring back a huge pocketful -of cakes and sandwiches for the children, and stories of all the good -things she herself had managed to consume. She was compelled, at these -parties, to spend most of her time at the refreshment table, for she -could not dance with anybody except other women and very old men; -Tamoszius was of an excitable temperament, and afflicted with a frantic -jealousy, and any unmarried man who ventured to put his arm about the -ample waist of Marija would be certain to throw the orchestra out of -tune. - -It was a great help to a person who had to toil all the week to be able -to look forward to some such relaxation as this on Saturday nights. The -family was too poor and too hardworked to make many acquaintances; -in Packingtown, as a rule, people know only their near neighbors and -shopmates, and so the place is like a myriad of little country villages. -But now there was a member of the family who was permitted to travel and -widen her horizon; and so each week there would be new personalities to -talk about,--how so-and-so was dressed, and where she worked, and what -she got, and whom she was in love with; and how this man had jilted his -girl, and how she had quarreled with the other girl, and what had passed -between them; and how another man beat his wife, and spent all her -earnings upon drink, and pawned her very clothes. Some people would have -scorned this talk as gossip; but then one has to talk about what one -knows. - -It was one Saturday night, as they were coming home from a wedding, that -Tamoszius found courage, and set down his violin case in the street and -spoke his heart; and then Marija clasped him in her arms. She told them -all about it the next day, and fairly cried with happiness, for she said -that Tamoszius was a lovely man. After that he no longer made love -to her with his fiddle, but they would sit for hours in the kitchen, -blissfully happy in each other's arms; it was the tacit convention of -the family to know nothing of what was going on in that corner. - -They were planning to be married in the spring, and have the garret -of the house fixed up, and live there. Tamoszius made good wages; and -little by little the family were paying back their debt to Marija, -so she ought soon to have enough to start life upon--only, with her -preposterous softheartedness, she would insist upon spending a good part -of her money every week for things which she saw they needed. Marija -was really the capitalist of the party, for she had become an expert can -painter by this time--she was getting fourteen cents for every hundred -and ten cans, and she could paint more than two cans every minute. -Marija felt, so to speak, that she had her hand on the throttle, and the -neighborhood was vocal with her rejoicings. - -Yet her friends would shake their heads and tell her to go slow; one -could not count upon such good fortune forever--there were accidents -that always happened. But Marija was not to be prevailed upon, and went -on planning and dreaming of all the treasures she was going to have for -her home; and so, when the crash did come, her grief was painful to see. - -For her canning factory shut down! Marija would about as soon have -expected to see the sun shut down--the huge establishment had been to -her a thing akin to the planets and the seasons. But now it was shut! -And they had not given her any explanation, they had not even given her -a day's warning; they had simply posted a notice one Saturday that all -hands would be paid off that afternoon, and would not resume work for at -least a month! And that was all that there was to it--her job was gone! - -It was the holiday rush that was over, the girls said in answer to -Marija's inquiries; after that there was always a slack. Sometimes the -factory would start up on half time after a while, but there was no -telling--it had been known to stay closed until way into the summer. The -prospects were bad at present, for truckmen who worked in the storerooms -said that these were piled up to the ceilings, so that the firm could -not have found room for another week's output of cans. And they had -turned off three-quarters of these men, which was a still worse sign, -since it meant that there were no orders to be filled. It was all a -swindle, can-painting, said the girls--you were crazy with delight -because you were making twelve or fourteen dollars a week, and saving -half of it; but you had to spend it all keeping alive while you were -out, and so your pay was really only half what you thought. - - -Marija came home, and because she was a person who could not rest -without danger of explosion, they first had a great house cleaning, and -then she set out to search Packingtown for a job to fill up the gap. As -nearly all the canning establishments were shut down, and all the girls -hunting work, it will be readily understood that Marija did not find -any. Then she took to trying the stores and saloons, and when this -failed she even traveled over into the far-distant regions near the lake -front, where lived the rich people in great palaces, and begged there -for some sort of work that could be done by a person who did not know -English. - -The men upon the killing beds felt also the effects of the slump which -had turned Marija out; but they felt it in a different way, and a way -which made Jurgis understand at last all their bitterness. The big -packers did not turn their hands off and close down, like the canning -factories; but they began to run for shorter and shorter hours. They had -always required the men to be on the killing beds and ready for work at -seven o'clock, although there was almost never any work to be done till -the buyers out in the yards had gotten to work, and some cattle had come -over the chutes. That would often be ten or eleven o'clock, which was -bad enough, in all conscience; but now, in the slack season, they would -perhaps not have a thing for their men to do till late in the afternoon. -And so they would have to loaf around, in a place where the thermometer -might be twenty degrees below zero! At first one would see them running -about, or skylarking with each other, trying to keep warm; but before -the day was over they would become quite chilled through and exhausted, -and, when the cattle finally came, so near frozen that to move was an -agony. And then suddenly the place would spring into activity, and the -merciless "speeding-up" would begin! - -There were weeks at a time when Jurgis went home after such a day as -this with not more than two hours' work to his credit--which meant about -thirty-five cents. There were many days when the total was less than -half an hour, and others when there was none at all. The general average -was six hours a day, which meant for Jurgis about six dollars a week; -and this six hours of work would be done after standing on the killing -bed till one o'clock, or perhaps even three or four o'clock, in the -afternoon. Like as not there would come a rush of cattle at the very -end of the day, which the men would have to dispose of before they went -home, often working by electric light till nine or ten, or even twelve -or one o'clock, and without a single instant for a bite of supper. The -men were at the mercy of the cattle. Perhaps the buyers would be holding -off for better prices--if they could scare the shippers into thinking -that they meant to buy nothing that day, they could get their own terms. -For some reason the cost of fodder for cattle in the yards was much -above the market price--and you were not allowed to bring your own -fodder! Then, too, a number of cars were apt to arrive late in the day, -now that the roads were blocked with snow, and the packers would buy -their cattle that night, to get them cheaper, and then would come into -play their ironclad rule, that all cattle must be killed the same day -they were bought. There was no use kicking about this--there had been -one delegation after another to see the packers about it, only to be -told that it was the rule, and that there was not the slightest chance -of its ever being altered. And so on Christmas Eve Jurgis worked till -nearly one o'clock in the morning, and on Christmas Day he was on the -killing bed at seven o'clock. - -All this was bad; and yet it was not the worst. For after all the hard -work a man did, he was paid for only part of it. Jurgis had once been -among those who scoffed at the idea of these huge concerns cheating; -and so now he could appreciate the bitter irony of the fact that it was -precisely their size which enabled them to do it with impunity. One of -the rules on the killing beds was that a man who was one minute late -was docked an hour; and this was economical, for he was made to work the -balance of the hour--he was not allowed to stand round and wait. And on -the other hand if he came ahead of time he got no pay for that--though -often the bosses would start up the gang ten or fifteen minutes before -the whistle. And this same custom they carried over to the end of the -day; they did not pay for any fraction of an hour--for "broken time." A -man might work full fifty minutes, but if there was no work to fill out -the hour, there was no pay for him. Thus the end of every day was a -sort of lottery--a struggle, all but breaking into open war between -the bosses and the men, the former trying to rush a job through and -the latter trying to stretch it out. Jurgis blamed the bosses for this, -though the truth to be told it was not always their fault; for the -packers kept them frightened for their lives--and when one was in danger -of falling behind the standard, what was easier than to catch up -by making the gang work awhile "for the church"? This was a savage -witticism the men had, which Jurgis had to have explained to him. Old -man Jones was great on missions and such things, and so whenever they -were doing some particularly disreputable job, the men would wink at -each other and say, "Now we're working for the church!" - -One of the consequences of all these things was that Jurgis was no -longer perplexed when he heard men talk of fighting for their rights. -He felt like fighting now himself; and when the Irish delegate of the -butcher-helpers' union came to him a second time, he received him in a -far different spirit. A wonderful idea it now seemed to Jurgis, this -of the men--that by combining they might be able to make a stand and -conquer the packers! Jurgis wondered who had first thought of it; and -when he was told that it was a common thing for men to do in America, he -got the first inkling of a meaning in the phrase "a free country." The -delegate explained to him how it depended upon their being able to get -every man to join and stand by the organization, and so Jurgis signified -that he was willing to do his share. Before another month was by, all -the working members of his family had union cards, and wore their union -buttons conspicuously and with pride. For fully a week they were quite -blissfully happy, thinking that belonging to a union meant an end to all -their troubles. - -But only ten days after she had joined, Marija's canning factory closed -down, and that blow quite staggered them. They could not understand why -the union had not prevented it, and the very first time she attended -a meeting Marija got up and made a speech about it. It was a business -meeting, and was transacted in English, but that made no difference to -Marija; she said what was in her, and all the pounding of the chairman's -gavel and all the uproar and confusion in the room could not prevail. -Quite apart from her own troubles she was boiling over with a general -sense of the injustice of it, and she told what she thought of the -packers, and what she thought of a world where such things were allowed -to happen; and then, while the echoes of the hall rang with the shock -of her terrible voice, she sat down again and fanned herself, and the -meeting gathered itself together and proceeded to discuss the election -of a recording secretary. - -Jurgis too had an adventure the first time he attended a union meeting, -but it was not of his own seeking. Jurgis had gone with the desire -to get into an inconspicuous corner and see what was done; but this -attitude of silent and open-eyed attention had marked him out for a -victim. Tommy Finnegan was a little Irishman, with big staring eyes and -a wild aspect, a "hoister" by trade, and badly cracked. Somewhere back -in the far-distant past Tommy Finnegan had had a strange experience, -and the burden of it rested upon him. All the balance of his life he had -done nothing but try to make it understood. When he talked he caught -his victim by the buttonhole, and his face kept coming closer and -closer--which was trying, because his teeth were so bad. Jurgis did not -mind that, only he was frightened. The method of operation of the higher -intelligences was Tom Finnegan's theme, and he desired to find out if -Jurgis had ever considered that the representation of things in their -present similarity might be altogether unintelligible upon a more -elevated plane. There were assuredly wonderful mysteries about the -developing of these things; and then, becoming confidential, Mr. -Finnegan proceeded to tell of some discoveries of his own. "If ye have -iver had onything to do wid shperrits," said he, and looked inquiringly -at Jurgis, who kept shaking his head. "Niver mind, niver mind," -continued the other, "but their influences may be operatin' upon ye; -it's shure as I'm tellin' ye, it's them that has the reference to the -immejit surroundin's that has the most of power. It was vouchsafed to -me in me youthful days to be acquainted with shperrits" and so -Tommy Finnegan went on, expounding a system of philosophy, while the -perspiration came out on Jurgis' forehead, so great was his agitation -and embarrassment. In the end one of the men, seeing his plight, came -over and rescued him; but it was some time before he was able to find -any one to explain things to him, and meanwhile his fear lest the -strange little Irishman should get him cornered again was enough to keep -him dodging about the room the whole evening. - -He never missed a meeting, however. He had picked up a few words of -English by this time, and friends would help him to understand. They -were often very turbulent meetings, with half a dozen men declaiming -at once, in as many dialects of English; but the speakers were all -desperately in earnest, and Jurgis was in earnest too, for he understood -that a fight was on, and that it was his fight. Since the time of his -disillusionment, Jurgis had sworn to trust no man, except in his own -family; but here he discovered that he had brothers in affliction, and -allies. Their one chance for life was in union, and so the struggle -became a kind of crusade. Jurgis had always been a member of the church, -because it was the right thing to be, but the church had never -touched him, he left all that for the women. Here, however, was a new -religion--one that did touch him, that took hold of every fiber of him; -and with all the zeal and fury of a convert he went out as a missionary. -There were many nonunion men among the Lithuanians, and with these -he would labor and wrestle in prayer, trying to show them the right. -Sometimes they would be obstinate and refuse to see it, and Jurgis, -alas, was not always patient! He forgot how he himself had been blind, -a short time ago--after the fashion of all crusaders since the original -ones, who set out to spread the gospel of Brotherhood by force of arms. - - - -Chapter 9 - - -One of the first consequences of the discovery of the union was that -Jurgis became desirous of learning English. He wanted to know what was -going on at the meetings, and to be able to take part in them, and so he -began to look about him, and to try to pick up words. The children, who -were at school, and learning fast, would teach him a few; and a friend -loaned him a little book that had some in it, and Ona would read them to -him. Then Jurgis became sorry that he could not read himself; and later -on in the winter, when some one told him that there was a night school -that was free, he went and enrolled. After that, every evening that he -got home from the yards in time, he would go to the school; he would go -even if he were in time for only half an hour. They were teaching him -both to read and to speak English--and they would have taught him other -things, if only he had had a little time. - -Also the union made another great difference with him--it made him begin -to pay attention to the country. It was the beginning of democracy with -him. It was a little state, the union, a miniature republic; its affairs -were every man's affairs, and every man had a real say about them. In -other words, in the union Jurgis learned to talk politics. In the place -where he had come from there had not been any politics--in Russia one -thought of the government as an affliction like the lightning and the -hail. "Duck, little brother, duck," the wise old peasants would whisper; -"everything passes away." And when Jurgis had first come to America he -had supposed that it was the same. He had heard people say that it was -a free country--but what did that mean? He found that here, precisely -as in Russia, there were rich men who owned everything; and if one could -not find any work, was not the hunger he began to feel the same sort of -hunger? - -When Jurgis had been working about three weeks at Brown's, there had -come to him one noontime a man who was employed as a night watchman, and -who asked him if he would not like to take out naturalization papers -and become a citizen. Jurgis did not know what that meant, but the man -explained the advantages. In the first place, it would not cost him -anything, and it would get him half a day off, with his pay just the -same; and then when election time came he would be able to vote--and -there was something in that. Jurgis was naturally glad to accept, and so -the night watchman said a few words to the boss, and he was excused for -the rest of the day. When, later on, he wanted a holiday to get married -he could not get it; and as for a holiday with pay just the same--what -power had wrought that miracle heaven only knew! However, he went with -the man, who picked up several other newly landed immigrants, Poles, -Lithuanians, and Slovaks, and took them all outside, where stood a great -four-horse tallyho coach, with fifteen or twenty men already in it. It -was a fine chance to see the sights of the city, and the party had a -merry time, with plenty of beer handed up from inside. So they drove -downtown and stopped before an imposing granite building, in which they -interviewed an official, who had the papers all ready, with only the -names to be filled in. So each man in turn took an oath of which he did -not understand a word, and then was presented with a handsome ornamented -document with a big red seal and the shield of the United States upon -it, and was told that he had become a citizen of the Republic and the -equal of the President himself. - -A month or two later Jurgis had another interview with this same man, -who told him where to go to "register." And then finally, when election -day came, the packing houses posted a notice that men who desired to -vote might remain away until nine that morning, and the same night -watchman took Jurgis and the rest of his flock into the back room of a -saloon, and showed each of them where and how to mark a ballot, and then -gave each two dollars, and took them to the polling place, where there -was a policeman on duty especially to see that they got through all -right. Jurgis felt quite proud of this good luck till he got home and -met Jonas, who had taken the leader aside and whispered to him, offering -to vote three times for four dollars, which offer had been accepted. - -And now in the union Jurgis met men who explained all this mystery -to him; and he learned that America differed from Russia in that its -government existed under the form of a democracy. The officials who -ruled it, and got all the graft, had to be elected first; and so there -were two rival sets of grafters, known as political parties, and the one -got the office which bought the most votes. Now and then, the election -was very close, and that was the time the poor man came in. In the -stockyards this was only in national and state elections, for in local -elections the Democratic Party always carried everything. The ruler of -the district was therefore the Democratic boss, a little Irishman named -Mike Scully. Scully held an important party office in the state, and -bossed even the mayor of the city, it was said; it was his boast that he -carried the stockyards in his pocket. He was an enormously rich man--he -had a hand in all the big graft in the neighborhood. It was Scully, for -instance, who owned that dump which Jurgis and Ona had seen the first -day of their arrival. Not only did he own the dump, but he owned the -brick factory as well, and first he took out the clay and made it into -bricks, and then he had the city bring garbage to fill up the hole, so -that he could build houses to sell to the people. Then, too, he sold the -bricks to the city, at his own price, and the city came and got them -in its own wagons. And also he owned the other hole near by, where the -stagnant water was; and it was he who cut the ice and sold it; and what -was more, if the men told truth, he had not had to pay any taxes for the -water, and he had built the ice-house out of city lumber, and had not had -to pay anything for that. The newspapers had got hold of that story, and -there had been a scandal; but Scully had hired somebody to confess and -take all the blame, and then skip the country. It was said, too, that he -had built his brick-kiln in the same way, and that the workmen were on -the city payroll while they did it; however, one had to press closely to -get these things out of the men, for it was not their business, and Mike -Scully was a good man to stand in with. A note signed by him was equal -to a job any time at the packing houses; and also he employed a good -many men himself, and worked them only eight hours a day, and paid them -the highest wages. This gave him many friends--all of whom he had gotten -together into the "War Whoop League," whose clubhouse you might see -just outside of the yards. It was the biggest clubhouse, and the biggest -club, in all Chicago; and they had prizefights every now and then, -and cockfights and even dogfights. The policemen in the district all -belonged to the league, and instead of suppressing the fights, they sold -tickets for them. The man that had taken Jurgis to be naturalized was -one of these "Indians," as they were called; and on election day there -would be hundreds of them out, and all with big wads of money in their -pockets and free drinks at every saloon in the district. That was -another thing, the men said--all the saloon-keepers had to be "Indians," -and to put up on demand, otherwise they could not do business on -Sundays, nor have any gambling at all. In the same way Scully had all -the jobs in the fire department at his disposal, and all the rest of the -city graft in the stockyards district; he was building a block of flats -somewhere up on Ashland Avenue, and the man who was overseeing it for -him was drawing pay as a city inspector of sewers. The city inspector of -water pipes had been dead and buried for over a year, but somebody was -still drawing his pay. The city inspector of sidewalks was a barkeeper -at the War Whoop Cafe--and maybe he could make it uncomfortable for any -tradesman who did not stand in with Scully! - -Even the packers were in awe of him, so the men said. It gave them -pleasure to believe this, for Scully stood as the people's man, and -boasted of it boldly when election day came. The packers had wanted a -bridge at Ashland Avenue, but they had not been able to get it till they -had seen Scully; and it was the same with "Bubbly Creek," which the city -had threatened to make the packers cover over, till Scully had come to -their aid. "Bubbly Creek" is an arm of the Chicago River, and forms the -southern boundary of the yards: all the drainage of the square mile of -packing houses empties into it, so that it is really a great open sewer -a hundred or two feet wide. One long arm of it is blind, and the filth -stays there forever and a day. The grease and chemicals that are poured -into it undergo all sorts of strange transformations, which are the -cause of its name; it is constantly in motion, as if huge fish were -feeding in it, or great leviathans disporting themselves in its depths. -Bubbles of carbonic acid gas will rise to the surface and burst, and -make rings two or three feet wide. Here and there the grease and filth -have caked solid, and the creek looks like a bed of lava; chickens walk -about on it, feeding, and many times an unwary stranger has started to -stroll across, and vanished temporarily. The packers used to leave the -creek that way, till every now and then the surface would catch on fire -and burn furiously, and the fire department would have to come and put -it out. Once, however, an ingenious stranger came and started to gather -this filth in scows, to make lard out of; then the packers took the -cue, and got out an injunction to stop him, and afterward gathered it -themselves. The banks of "Bubbly Creek" are plastered thick with hairs, -and this also the packers gather and clean. - -And there were things even stranger than this, according to the gossip -of the men. The packers had secret mains, through which they stole -billions of gallons of the city's water. The newspapers had been full of -this scandal--once there had even been an investigation, and an actual -uncovering of the pipes; but nobody had been punished, and the thing -went right on. And then there was the condemned meat industry, with its -endless horrors. The people of Chicago saw the government inspectors -in Packingtown, and they all took that to mean that they were protected -from diseased meat; they did not understand that these hundred and -sixty-three inspectors had been appointed at the request of the packers, -and that they were paid by the United States government to certify -that all the diseased meat was kept in the state. They had no authority -beyond that; for the inspection of meat to be sold in the city and state -the whole force in Packingtown consisted of three henchmen of the local -political machine!* - - (*Rules and Regulations for the Inspection of Livestock and - Their Products. United States Department of Agriculture, - Bureau of Animal Industries, Order No. 125:-- - - Section 1. Proprietors of slaughterhouses, canning, salting, - packing, or rendering establishments engaged in the - slaughtering of cattle, sheep, or swine, or the packing of - any of their products, the carcasses or products of which - are to become subjects of interstate or foreign commerce, - shall make application to the Secretary of Agriculture for - inspection of said animals and their products.... - - Section 15. Such rejected or condemned animals shall at once - be removed by the owners from the pens containing animals - which have been inspected and found to be free from disease - and fit for human food, and shall be disposed of in - accordance with the laws, ordinances, and regulations of the - state and municipality in which said rejected or condemned - animals are located.... - - Section 25. A microscopic examination for trichinae shall be - made of all swine products exported to countries requiring - such examination. No microscopic examination will be made of - hogs slaughtered for interstate trade, but this examination - shall be confined to those intended for the export trade.) - -And shortly afterward one of these, a physician, made the discovery that -the carcasses of steers which had been condemned as tubercular by the -government inspectors, and which therefore contained ptomaines, which -are deadly poisons, were left upon an open platform and carted away to -be sold in the city; and so he insisted that these carcasses be treated -with an injection of kerosene--and was ordered to resign the same week! -So indignant were the packers that they went farther, and compelled -the mayor to abolish the whole bureau of inspection; so that since then -there has not been even a pretense of any interference with the graft. -There was said to be two thousand dollars a week hush money from the -tubercular steers alone; and as much again from the hogs which had died -of cholera on the trains, and which you might see any day being loaded -into boxcars and hauled away to a place called Globe, in Indiana, where -they made a fancy grade of lard. - -Jurgis heard of these things little by little, in the gossip of those -who were obliged to perpetrate them. It seemed as if every time you -met a person from a new department, you heard of new swindles and new -crimes. There was, for instance, a Lithuanian who was a cattle butcher -for the plant where Marija had worked, which killed meat for canning -only; and to hear this man describe the animals which came to his place -would have been worthwhile for a Dante or a Zola. It seemed that they -must have agencies all over the country, to hunt out old and crippled -and diseased cattle to be canned. There were cattle which had been fed -on "whisky-malt," the refuse of the breweries, and had become what the -men called "steerly"--which means covered with boils. It was a nasty -job killing these, for when you plunged your knife into them they would -burst and splash foul-smelling stuff into your face; and when a man's -sleeves were smeared with blood, and his hands steeped in it, how was he -ever to wipe his face, or to clear his eyes so that he could see? It was -stuff such as this that made the "embalmed beef" that had killed -several times as many United States soldiers as all the bullets of the -Spaniards; only the army beef, besides, was not fresh canned, it was old -stuff that had been lying for years in the cellars. - -Then one Sunday evening, Jurgis sat puffing his pipe by the kitchen -stove, and talking with an old fellow whom Jonas had introduced, and -who worked in the canning rooms at Durham's; and so Jurgis learned a few -things about the great and only Durham canned goods, which had become -a national institution. They were regular alchemists at Durham's; they -advertised a mushroom-catsup, and the men who made it did not know what -a mushroom looked like. They advertised "potted chicken,"--and it was -like the boardinghouse soup of the comic papers, through which a chicken -had walked with rubbers on. Perhaps they had a secret process for making -chickens chemically--who knows? said Jurgis' friend; the things that -went into the mixture were tripe, and the fat of pork, and beef suet, -and hearts of beef, and finally the waste ends of veal, when they had -any. They put these up in several grades, and sold them at several -prices; but the contents of the cans all came out of the same hopper. -And then there was "potted game" and "potted grouse," "potted ham," and -"deviled ham"--de-vyled, as the men called it. "De-vyled" ham was made -out of the waste ends of smoked beef that were too small to be sliced by -the machines; and also tripe, dyed with chemicals so that it would not -show white; and trimmings of hams and corned beef; and potatoes, skins -and all; and finally the hard cartilaginous gullets of beef, after the -tongues had been cut out. All this ingenious mixture was ground up and -flavored with spices to make it taste like something. Anybody who could -invent a new imitation had been sure of a fortune from old Durham, said -Jurgis' informant; but it was hard to think of anything new in a -place where so many sharp wits had been at work for so long; where men -welcomed tuberculosis in the cattle they were feeding, because it made -them fatten more quickly; and where they bought up all the old rancid -butter left over in the grocery stores of a continent, and "oxidized" it -by a forced-air process, to take away the odor, rechurned it with skim -milk, and sold it in bricks in the cities! Up to a year or two ago -it had been the custom to kill horses in the yards--ostensibly for -fertilizer; but after long agitation the newspapers had been able to -make the public realize that the horses were being canned. Now it was -against the law to kill horses in Packingtown, and the law was really -complied with--for the present, at any rate. Any day, however, one might -see sharp-horned and shaggy-haired creatures running with the sheep and -yet what a job you would have to get the public to believe that a good -part of what it buys for lamb and mutton is really goat's flesh! - -There was another interesting set of statistics that a person might -have gathered in Packingtown--those of the various afflictions of -the workers. When Jurgis had first inspected the packing plants with -Szedvilas, he had marveled while he listened to the tale of all the -things that were made out of the carcasses of animals, and of all the -lesser industries that were maintained there; now he found that each one -of these lesser industries was a separate little inferno, in its way as -horrible as the killing beds, the source and fountain of them all. -The workers in each of them had their own peculiar diseases. And the -wandering visitor might be skeptical about all the swindles, but he -could not be skeptical about these, for the worker bore the evidence -of them about on his own person--generally he had only to hold out his -hand. - -There were the men in the pickle rooms, for instance, where old Antanas -had gotten his death; scarce a one of these that had not some spot of -horror on his person. Let a man so much as scrape his finger pushing a -truck in the pickle rooms, and he might have a sore that would put him -out of the world; all the joints in his fingers might be eaten by the -acid, one by one. Of the butchers and floorsmen, the beef-boners and -trimmers, and all those who used knives, you could scarcely find a -person who had the use of his thumb; time and time again the base of it -had been slashed, till it was a mere lump of flesh against which the -man pressed the knife to hold it. The hands of these men would be -criss-crossed with cuts, until you could no longer pretend to count -them or to trace them. They would have no nails,--they had worn them off -pulling hides; their knuckles were swollen so that their fingers spread -out like a fan. There were men who worked in the cooking rooms, in the -midst of steam and sickening odors, by artificial light; in these rooms -the germs of tuberculosis might live for two years, but the supply -was renewed every hour. There were the beef-luggers, who carried -two-hundred-pound quarters into the refrigerator-cars; a fearful kind of -work, that began at four o'clock in the morning, and that wore out the -most powerful men in a few years. There were those who worked in the -chilling rooms, and whose special disease was rheumatism; the time limit -that a man could work in the chilling rooms was said to be five years. -There were the wool-pluckers, whose hands went to pieces even sooner -than the hands of the pickle men; for the pelts of the sheep had to be -painted with acid to loosen the wool, and then the pluckers had to -pull out this wool with their bare hands, till the acid had eaten their -fingers off. There were those who made the tins for the canned meat; and -their hands, too, were a maze of cuts, and each cut represented a chance -for blood poisoning. Some worked at the stamping machines, and it was -very seldom that one could work long there at the pace that was set, and -not give out and forget himself and have a part of his hand chopped off. -There were the "hoisters," as they were called, whose task it was to -press the lever which lifted the dead cattle off the floor. They ran -along upon a rafter, peering down through the damp and the steam; and -as old Durham's architects had not built the killing room for the -convenience of the hoisters, at every few feet they would have to stoop -under a beam, say four feet above the one they ran on; which got them -into the habit of stooping, so that in a few years they would be walking -like chimpanzees. Worst of any, however, were the fertilizer men, and -those who served in the cooking rooms. These people could not be shown -to the visitor,--for the odor of a fertilizer man would scare any -ordinary visitor at a hundred yards, and as for the other men, who -worked in tank rooms full of steam, and in some of which there were open -vats near the level of the floor, their peculiar trouble was that they -fell into the vats; and when they were fished out, there was never -enough of them left to be worth exhibiting,--sometimes they would be -overlooked for days, till all but the bones of them had gone out to the -world as Durham's Pure Leaf Lard! - - - -Chapter 10 - - -During the early part of the winter the family had had money enough to -live and a little over to pay their debts with; but when the earnings of -Jurgis fell from nine or ten dollars a week to five or six, there was -no longer anything to spare. The winter went, and the spring came, and -found them still living thus from hand to mouth, hanging on day by day, -with literally not a month's wages between them and starvation. Marija -was in despair, for there was still no word about the reopening of the -canning factory, and her savings were almost entirely gone. She had had -to give up all idea of marrying then; the family could not get along -without her--though for that matter she was likely soon to become a -burden even upon them, for when her money was all gone, they would have -to pay back what they owed her in board. So Jurgis and Ona and Teta -Elzbieta would hold anxious conferences until late at night, trying to -figure how they could manage this too without starving. - -Such were the cruel terms upon which their life was possible, that they -might never have nor expect a single instant's respite from worry, a -single instant in which they were not haunted by the thought of money. -They would no sooner escape, as by a miracle, from one difficulty, -than a new one would come into view. In addition to all their physical -hardships, there was thus a constant strain upon their minds; they were -harried all day and nearly all night by worry and fear. This was in -truth not living; it was scarcely even existing, and they felt that it -was too little for the price they paid. They were willing to work all -the time; and when people did their best, ought they not to be able to -keep alive? - -There seemed never to be an end to the things they had to buy and to the -unforeseen contingencies. Once their water pipes froze and burst; and -when, in their ignorance, they thawed them out, they had a terrifying -flood in their house. It happened while the men were away, and poor -Elzbieta rushed out into the street screaming for help, for she did -not even know whether the flood could be stopped, or whether they were -ruined for life. It was nearly as bad as the latter, they found in -the end, for the plumber charged them seventy-five cents an hour, and -seventy-five cents for another man who had stood and watched him, and -included all the time the two had been going and coming, and also a -charge for all sorts of material and extras. And then again, when -they went to pay their January's installment on the house, the agent -terrified them by asking them if they had had the insurance attended -to yet. In answer to their inquiry he showed them a clause in the deed -which provided that they were to keep the house insured for one thousand -dollars, as soon as the present policy ran out, which would happen in -a few days. Poor Elzbieta, upon whom again fell the blow, demanded how -much it would cost them. Seven dollars, the man said; and that night -came Jurgis, grim and determined, requesting that the agent would be -good enough to inform him, once for all, as to all the expenses they -were liable for. The deed was signed now, he said, with sarcasm proper -to the new way of life he had learned--the deed was signed, and so the -agent had no longer anything to gain by keeping quiet. And Jurgis looked -the fellow squarely in the eye, and so the fellow wasted no time in -conventional protests, but read him the deed. They would have to renew -the insurance every year; they would have to pay the taxes, about ten -dollars a year; they would have to pay the water tax, about six dollars -a year--(Jurgis silently resolved to shut off the hydrant). This, -besides the interest and the monthly installments, would be all--unless -by chance the city should happen to decide to put in a sewer or to lay -a sidewalk. Yes, said the agent, they would have to have these, whether -they wanted them or not, if the city said so. The sewer would cost them -about twenty-two dollars, and the sidewalk fifteen if it were wood, -twenty-five if it were cement. - -So Jurgis went home again; it was a relief to know the worst, at any -rate, so that he could no more be surprised by fresh demands. He saw -now how they had been plundered; but they were in for it, there was -no turning back. They could only go on and make the fight and win--for -defeat was a thing that could not even be thought of. - -When the springtime came, they were delivered from the dreadful cold, -and that was a great deal; but in addition they had counted on the money -they would not have to pay for coal--and it was just at this time that -Marija's board began to fail. Then, too, the warm weather brought trials -of its own; each season had its trials, as they found. In the spring -there were cold rains, that turned the streets into canals and bogs; the -mud would be so deep that wagons would sink up to the hubs, so that half -a dozen horses could not move them. Then, of course, it was impossible -for any one to get to work with dry feet; and this was bad for men that -were poorly clad and shod, and still worse for women and children. Later -came midsummer, with the stifling heat, when the dingy killing beds of -Durham's became a very purgatory; one time, in a single day, three men -fell dead from sunstroke. All day long the rivers of hot blood poured -forth, until, with the sun beating down, and the air motionless, -the stench was enough to knock a man over; all the old smells of a -generation would be drawn out by this heat--for there was never any -washing of the walls and rafters and pillars, and they were caked with -the filth of a lifetime. The men who worked on the killing beds would -come to reek with foulness, so that you could smell one of them fifty -feet away; there was simply no such thing as keeping decent, the most -careful man gave it up in the end, and wallowed in uncleanness. There -was not even a place where a man could wash his hands, and the men ate -as much raw blood as food at dinnertime. When they were at work they -could not even wipe off their faces--they were as helpless as newly born -babes in that respect; and it may seem like a small matter, but when the -sweat began to run down their necks and tickle them, or a fly to bother -them, it was a torture like being burned alive. Whether it was the -slaughterhouses or the dumps that were responsible, one could not say, -but with the hot weather there descended upon Packingtown a veritable -Egyptian plague of flies; there could be no describing this--the houses -would be black with them. There was no escaping; you might provide all -your doors and windows with screens, but their buzzing outside would be -like the swarming of bees, and whenever you opened the door they would -rush in as if a storm of wind were driving them. - -Perhaps the summertime suggests to you thoughts of the country, visions -of green fields and mountains and sparkling lakes. It had no such -suggestion for the people in the yards. The great packing machine ground -on remorselessly, without thinking of green fields; and the men and -women and children who were part of it never saw any green thing, not -even a flower. Four or five miles to the east of them lay the blue -waters of Lake Michigan; but for all the good it did them it might have -been as far away as the Pacific Ocean. They had only Sundays, and -then they were too tired to walk. They were tied to the great packing -machine, and tied to it for life. The managers and superintendents and -clerks of Packingtown were all recruited from another class, and never -from the workers; they scorned the workers, the very meanest of them. A -poor devil of a bookkeeper who had been working in Durham's for twenty -years at a salary of six dollars a week, and might work there for twenty -more and do no better, would yet consider himself a gentleman, as far -removed as the poles from the most skilled worker on the killing beds; -he would dress differently, and live in another part of the town, and -come to work at a different hour of the day, and in every way make sure -that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man. Perhaps this was due to -the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people who worked with -their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it. - -In the late spring the canning factory started up again, and so once -more Marija was heard to sing, and the love-music of Tamoszius took on -a less melancholy tone. It was not for long, however; for a month or two -later a dreadful calamity fell upon Marija. Just one year and three days -after she had begun work as a can-painter, she lost her job. - -It was a long story. Marija insisted that it was because of her activity -in the union. The packers, of course, had spies in all the unions, and -in addition they made a practice of buying up a certain number of the -union officials, as many as they thought they needed. So every week they -received reports as to what was going on, and often they knew things -before the members of the union knew them. Any one who was considered -to be dangerous by them would find that he was not a favorite with -his boss; and Marija had been a great hand for going after the foreign -people and preaching to them. However that might be, the known facts -were that a few weeks before the factory closed, Marija had been cheated -out of her pay for three hundred cans. The girls worked at a long table, -and behind them walked a woman with pencil and notebook, keeping count -of the number they finished. This woman was, of course, only human, and -sometimes made mistakes; when this happened, there was no redress--if -on Saturday you got less money than you had earned, you had to make the -best of it. But Marija did not understand this, and made a disturbance. -Marija's disturbances did not mean anything, and while she had known -only Lithuanian and Polish, they had done no harm, for people only -laughed at her and made her cry. But now Marija was able to call names -in English, and so she got the woman who made the mistake to disliking -her. Probably, as Marija claimed, she made mistakes on purpose after -that; at any rate, she made them, and the third time it happened Marija -went on the warpath and took the matter first to the forelady, and -when she got no satisfaction there, to the superintendent. This was -unheard-of presumption, but the superintendent said he would see about -it, which Marija took to mean that she was going to get her money; after -waiting three days, she went to see the superintendent again. This time -the man frowned, and said that he had not had time to attend to it; and -when Marija, against the advice and warning of every one, tried it once -more, he ordered her back to her work in a passion. Just how things -happened after that Marija was not sure, but that afternoon the forelady -told her that her services would not be any longer required. Poor Marija -could not have been more dumfounded had the woman knocked her over the -head; at first she could not believe what she heard, and then she grew -furious and swore that she would come anyway, that her place belonged -to her. In the end she sat down in the middle of the floor and wept and -wailed. - -It was a cruel lesson; but then Marija was headstrong--she should have -listened to those who had had experience. The next time she would know -her place, as the forelady expressed it; and so Marija went out, and the -family faced the problem of an existence again. - -It was especially hard this time, for Ona was to be confined before -long, and Jurgis was trying hard to save up money for this. He had -heard dreadful stories of the midwives, who grow as thick as fleas -in Packingtown; and he had made up his mind that Ona must have a -man-doctor. Jurgis could be very obstinate when he wanted to, and he -was in this case, much to the dismay of the women, who felt that a -man-doctor was an impropriety, and that the matter really belonged to -them. The cheapest doctor they could find would charge them fifteen -dollars, and perhaps more when the bill came in; and here was Jurgis, -declaring that he would pay it, even if he had to stop eating in the -meantime! - -Marija had only about twenty-five dollars left. Day after day she -wandered about the yards begging a job, but this time without hope of -finding it. Marija could do the work of an able-bodied man, when she -was cheerful, but discouragement wore her out easily, and she would come -home at night a pitiable object. She learned her lesson this time, poor -creature; she learned it ten times over. All the family learned it along -with her--that when you have once got a job in Packingtown, you hang on -to it, come what will. - -Four weeks Marija hunted, and half of a fifth week. Of course she -stopped paying her dues to the union. She lost all interest in the -union, and cursed herself for a fool that she had ever been dragged -into one. She had about made up her mind that she was a lost soul, -when somebody told her of an opening, and she went and got a place as -a "beef-trimmer." She got this because the boss saw that she had the -muscles of a man, and so he discharged a man and put Marija to do his -work, paying her a little more than half what he had been paying before. - -When she first came to Packingtown, Marija would have scorned such work -as this. She was in another canning factory, and her work was to trim -the meat of those diseased cattle that Jurgis had been told about not -long before. She was shut up in one of the rooms where the people seldom -saw the daylight; beneath her were the chilling rooms, where the meat -was frozen, and above her were the cooking rooms; and so she stood on an -ice-cold floor, while her head was often so hot that she could scarcely -breathe. Trimming beef off the bones by the hundred-weight, while -standing up from early morning till late at night, with heavy boots on -and the floor always damp and full of puddles, liable to be thrown out -of work indefinitely because of a slackening in the trade, liable again -to be kept overtime in rush seasons, and be worked till she trembled -in every nerve and lost her grip on her slimy knife, and gave herself -a poisoned wound--that was the new life that unfolded itself before -Marija. But because Marija was a human horse she merely laughed and went -at it; it would enable her to pay her board again, and keep the family -going. And as for Tamoszius--well, they had waited a long time, and they -could wait a little longer. They could not possibly get along upon his -wages alone, and the family could not live without hers. He could come -and visit her, and sit in the kitchen and hold her hand, and he must -manage to be content with that. But day by day the music of Tamoszius' -violin became more passionate and heartbreaking; and Marija would sit -with her hands clasped and her cheeks wet and all her body a-tremble, -hearing in the wailing melodies the voices of the unborn generations -which cried out in her for life. - - -Marija's lesson came just in time to save Ona from a similar fate. -Ona, too, was dissatisfied with her place, and had far more reason than -Marija. She did not tell half of her story at home, because she saw it -was a torment to Jurgis, and she was afraid of what he might do. For -a long time Ona had seen that Miss Henderson, the forelady in her -department, did not like her. At first she thought it was the old-time -mistake she had made in asking for a holiday to get married. Then she -concluded it must be because she did not give the forelady a present -occasionally--she was the kind that took presents from the girls, Ona -learned, and made all sorts of discriminations in favor of those who -gave them. In the end, however, Ona discovered that it was even worse -than that. Miss Henderson was a newcomer, and it was some time before -rumor made her out; but finally it transpired that she was a kept woman, -the former mistress of the superintendent of a department in the same -building. He had put her there to keep her quiet, it seemed--and that -not altogether with success, for once or twice they had been heard -quarreling. She had the temper of a hyena, and soon the place she ran -was a witch's caldron. There were some of the girls who were of her own -sort, who were willing to toady to her and flatter her; and these would -carry tales about the rest, and so the furies were unchained in the -place. Worse than this, the woman lived in a bawdy-house downtown, with -a coarse, red-faced Irishman named Connor, who was the boss of the -loading-gang outside, and would make free with the girls as they went -to and from their work. In the slack seasons some of them would go with -Miss Henderson to this house downtown--in fact, it would not be too much -to say that she managed her department at Brown's in conjunction with -it. Sometimes women from the house would be given places alongside of -decent girls, and after other decent girls had been turned off to make -room for them. When you worked in this woman's department the house -downtown was never out of your thoughts all day--there were always -whiffs of it to be caught, like the odor of the Packingtown rendering -plants at night, when the wind shifted suddenly. There would be stories -about it going the rounds; the girls opposite you would be telling them -and winking at you. In such a place Ona would not have stayed a day, but -for starvation; and, as it was, she was never sure that she could -stay the next day. She understood now that the real reason that Miss -Henderson hated her was that she was a decent married girl; and she knew -that the talebearers and the toadies hated her for the same reason, and -were doing their best to make her life miserable. - -But there was no place a girl could go in Packingtown, if she was -particular about things of this sort; there was no place in it where -a prostitute could not get along better than a decent girl. Here was a -population, low-class and mostly foreign, hanging always on the verge of -starvation, and dependent for its opportunities of life upon the whim of -men every bit as brutal and unscrupulous as the old-time slave drivers; -under such circumstances immorality was exactly as inevitable, and as -prevalent, as it was under the system of chattel slavery. Things that -were quite unspeakable went on there in the packing houses all the time, -and were taken for granted by everybody; only they did not show, as in -the old slavery times, because there was no difference in color between -master and slave. - - -One morning Ona stayed home, and Jurgis had the man-doctor, according -to his whim, and she was safely delivered of a fine baby. It was an -enormous big boy, and Ona was such a tiny creature herself, that it -seemed quite incredible. Jurgis would stand and gaze at the stranger by -the hour, unable to believe that it had really happened. - -The coming of this boy was a decisive event with Jurgis. It made him -irrevocably a family man; it killed the last lingering impulse that he -might have had to go out in the evenings and sit and talk with the men -in the saloons. There was nothing he cared for now so much as to sit -and look at the baby. This was very curious, for Jurgis had never been -interested in babies before. But then, this was a very unusual sort of a -baby. He had the brightest little black eyes, and little black ringlets -all over his head; he was the living image of his father, everybody -said--and Jurgis found this a fascinating circumstance. It was -sufficiently perplexing that this tiny mite of life should have come -into the world at all in the manner that it had; that it should have -come with a comical imitation of its father's nose was simply uncanny. - -Perhaps, Jurgis thought, this was intended to signify that it was his -baby; that it was his and Ona's, to care for all its life. Jurgis had -never possessed anything nearly so interesting--a baby was, when you -came to think about it, assuredly a marvelous possession. It would grow -up to be a man, a human soul, with a personality all its own, a will of -its own! Such thoughts would keep haunting Jurgis, filling him with -all sorts of strange and almost painful excitements. He was wonderfully -proud of little Antanas; he was curious about all the details of -him--the washing and the dressing and the eating and the sleeping of -him, and asked all sorts of absurd questions. It took him quite a -while to get over his alarm at the incredible shortness of the little -creature's legs. - -Jurgis had, alas, very little time to see his baby; he never felt the -chains about him more than just then. When he came home at night, the -baby would be asleep, and it would be the merest chance if he awoke -before Jurgis had to go to sleep himself. Then in the morning there was -no time to look at him, so really the only chance the father had was on -Sundays. This was more cruel yet for Ona, who ought to have stayed -home and nursed him, the doctor said, for her own health as well as the -baby's; but Ona had to go to work, and leave him for Teta Elzbieta -to feed upon the pale blue poison that was called milk at the corner -grocery. Ona's confinement lost her only a week's wages--she would go to -the factory the second Monday, and the best that Jurgis could persuade -her was to ride in the car, and let him run along behind and help her to -Brown's when she alighted. After that it would be all right, said Ona, -it was no strain sitting still sewing hams all day; and if she waited -longer she might find that her dreadful forelady had put some one -else in her place. That would be a greater calamity than ever now, Ona -continued, on account of the baby. They would all have to work harder -now on his account. It was such a responsibility--they must not have the -baby grow up to suffer as they had. And this indeed had been the first -thing that Jurgis had thought of himself--he had clenched his hands and -braced himself anew for the struggle, for the sake of that tiny mite of -human possibility. - -And so Ona went back to Brown's and saved her place and a week's wages; -and so she gave herself some one of the thousand ailments that women -group under the title of "womb trouble," and was never again a well -person as long as she lived. It is difficult to convey in words all that -this meant to Ona; it seemed such a slight offense, and the punishment -was so out of all proportion, that neither she nor any one else ever -connected the two. "Womb trouble" to Ona did not mean a specialist's -diagnosis, and a course of treatment, and perhaps an operation or two; -it meant simply headaches and pains in the back, and depression and -heartsickness, and neuralgia when she had to go to work in the rain. The -great majority of the women who worked in Packingtown suffered in the -same way, and from the same cause, so it was not deemed a thing to see -the doctor about; instead Ona would try patent medicines, one after -another, as her friends told her about them. As these all contained -alcohol, or some other stimulant, she found that they all did her good -while she took them; and so she was always chasing the phantom of good -health, and losing it because she was too poor to continue. - - - -Chapter 11 - - -During the summer the packing houses were in full activity again, and -Jurgis made more money. He did not make so much, however, as he had the -previous summer, for the packers took on more hands. There were new men -every week, it seemed--it was a regular system; and this number they -would keep over to the next slack season, so that every one would have -less than ever. Sooner or later, by this plan, they would have all the -floating labor of Chicago trained to do their work. And how very cunning -a trick was that! The men were to teach new hands, who would some day -come and break their strike; and meantime they were kept so poor that -they could not prepare for the trial! - -But let no one suppose that this superfluity of employees meant easier -work for any one! On the contrary, the speeding-up seemed to be growing -more savage all the time; they were continually inventing new devices to -crowd the work on--it was for all the world like the thumbscrew of the -medieval torture chamber. They would get new pacemakers and pay them -more; they would drive the men on with new machinery--it was said -that in the hog-killing rooms the speed at which the hogs moved was -determined by clockwork, and that it was increased a little every day. -In piecework they would reduce the time, requiring the same work in a -shorter time, and paying the same wages; and then, after the workers had -accustomed themselves to this new speed, they would reduce the rate of -payment to correspond with the reduction in time! They had done this -so often in the canning establishments that the girls were fairly -desperate; their wages had gone down by a full third in the past two -years, and a storm of discontent was brewing that was likely to break -any day. Only a month after Marija had become a beef-trimmer the canning -factory that she had left posted a cut that would divide the girls' -earnings almost squarely in half; and so great was the indignation at -this that they marched out without even a parley, and organized in the -street outside. One of the girls had read somewhere that a red flag was -the proper symbol for oppressed workers, and so they mounted one, and -paraded all about the yards, yelling with rage. A new union was the -result of this outburst, but the impromptu strike went to pieces in -three days, owing to the rush of new labor. At the end of it the girl -who had carried the red flag went downtown and got a position in a great -department store, at a salary of two dollars and a half a week. - -Jurgis and Ona heard these stories with dismay, for there was no telling -when their own time might come. Once or twice there had been rumors -that one of the big houses was going to cut its unskilled men to fifteen -cents an hour, and Jurgis knew that if this was done, his turn would -come soon. He had learned by this time that Packingtown was really not -a number of firms at all, but one great firm, the Beef Trust. And every -week the managers of it got together and compared notes, and there -was one scale for all the workers in the yards and one standard of -efficiency. Jurgis was told that they also fixed the price they would -pay for beef on the hoof and the price of all dressed meat in the -country; but that was something he did not understand or care about. - -The only one who was not afraid of a cut was Marija, who congratulated -herself, somewhat naively, that there had been one in her place only -a short time before she came. Marija was getting to be a skilled -beef-trimmer, and was mounting to the heights again. During the summer -and fall Jurgis and Ona managed to pay her back the last penny they -owed her, and so she began to have a bank account. Tamoszius had a bank -account also, and they ran a race, and began to figure upon household -expenses once more. - -The possession of vast wealth entails cares and responsibilities, -however, as poor Marija found out. She had taken the advice of a friend -and invested her savings in a bank on Ashland Avenue. Of course she knew -nothing about it, except that it was big and imposing--what possible -chance has a poor foreign working girl to understand the banking -business, as it is conducted in this land of frenzied finance? So Marija -lived in a continual dread lest something should happen to her bank, and -would go out of her way mornings to make sure that it was still there. -Her principal thought was of fire, for she had deposited her money in -bills, and was afraid that if they were burned up the bank would not -give her any others. Jurgis made fun of her for this, for he was a man -and was proud of his superior knowledge, telling her that the bank had -fireproof vaults, and all its millions of dollars hidden safely away in -them. - -However, one morning Marija took her usual detour, and, to her horror -and dismay, saw a crowd of people in front of the bank, filling the -avenue solid for half a block. All the blood went out of her face for -terror. She broke into a run, shouting to the people to ask what was the -matter, but not stopping to hear what they answered, till she had come -to where the throng was so dense that she could no longer advance. There -was a "run on the bank," they told her then, but she did not know what -that was, and turned from one person to another, trying in an agony -of fear to make out what they meant. Had something gone wrong with the -bank? Nobody was sure, but they thought so. Couldn't she get her money? -There was no telling; the people were afraid not, and they were all -trying to get it. It was too early yet to tell anything--the bank would -not open for nearly three hours. So in a frenzy of despair Marija began -to claw her way toward the doors of this building, through a throng of -men, women, and children, all as excited as herself. It was a scene of -wild confusion, women shrieking and wringing their hands and fainting, -and men fighting and trampling down everything in their way. In -the midst of the melee Marija recollected that she did not have her -bankbook, and could not get her money anyway, so she fought her way out -and started on a run for home. This was fortunate for her, for a few -minutes later the police reserves arrived. - -In half an hour Marija was back, Teta Elzbieta with her, both of them -breathless with running and sick with fear. The crowd was now formed -in a line, extending for several blocks, with half a hundred policemen -keeping guard, and so there was nothing for them to do but to take their -places at the end of it. At nine o'clock the bank opened and began to -pay the waiting throng; but then, what good did that do Marija, who saw -three thousand people before her--enough to take out the last penny of a -dozen banks? - -To make matters worse a drizzling rain came up, and soaked them to the -skin; yet all the morning they stood there, creeping slowly toward the -goal--all the afternoon they stood there, heartsick, seeing that the -hour of closing was coming, and that they were going to be left out. -Marija made up her mind that, come what might, she would stay there and -keep her place; but as nearly all did the same, all through the long, -cold night, she got very little closer to the bank for that. Toward -evening Jurgis came; he had heard the story from the children, and he -brought some food and dry wraps, which made it a little easier. - -The next morning, before daybreak, came a bigger crowd than ever, and -more policemen from downtown. Marija held on like grim death, and toward -afternoon she got into the bank and got her money--all in big silver -dollars, a handkerchief full. When she had once got her hands on them -her fear vanished, and she wanted to put them back again; but the man -at the window was savage, and said that the bank would receive no more -deposits from those who had taken part in the run. So Marija was forced -to take her dollars home with her, watching to right and left, expecting -every instant that some one would try to rob her; and when she got home -she was not much better off. Until she could find another bank there was -nothing to do but sew them up in her clothes, and so Marija went about -for a week or more, loaded down with bullion, and afraid to cross the -street in front of the house, because Jurgis told her she would sink out -of sight in the mud. Weighted this way she made her way to the -yards, again in fear, this time to see if she had lost her place; but -fortunately about ten per cent of the working people of Packingtown had -been depositors in that bank, and it was not convenient to discharge -that many at once. The cause of the panic had been the attempt of a -policeman to arrest a drunken man in a saloon next door, which had drawn -a crowd at the hour the people were on their way to work, and so started -the "run." - -About this time Jurgis and Ona also began a bank account. Besides having -paid Jonas and Marija, they had almost paid for their furniture, and -could have that little sum to count on. So long as each of them could -bring home nine or ten dollars a week, they were able to get along -finely. Also election day came round again, and Jurgis made half a -week's wages out of that, all net profit. It was a very close election -that year, and the echoes of the battle reached even to Packingtown. The -two rival sets of grafters hired halls and set off fireworks and made -speeches, to try to get the people interested in the matter. Although -Jurgis did not understand it all, he knew enough by this time to realize -that it was not supposed to be right to sell your vote. However, as -every one did it, and his refusal to join would not have made the -slightest difference in the results, the idea of refusing would have -seemed absurd, had it ever come into his head. - - -Now chill winds and shortening days began to warn them that the winter -was coming again. It seemed as if the respite had been too short--they -had not had time enough to get ready for it; but still it came, -inexorably, and the hunted look began to come back into the eyes of -little Stanislovas. The prospect struck fear to the heart of Jurgis -also, for he knew that Ona was not fit to face the cold and the -snowdrifts this year. And suppose that some day when a blizzard struck -them and the cars were not running, Ona should have to give up, and -should come the next day to find that her place had been given to some -one who lived nearer and could be depended on? - -It was the week before Christmas that the first storm came, and then the -soul of Jurgis rose up within him like a sleeping lion. There were four -days that the Ashland Avenue cars were stalled, and in those days, -for the first time in his life, Jurgis knew what it was to be really -opposed. He had faced difficulties before, but they had been child's -play; now there was a death struggle, and all the furies were unchained -within him. The first morning they set out two hours before dawn, Ona -wrapped all in blankets and tossed upon his shoulder like a sack of -meal, and the little boy, bundled nearly out of sight, hanging by -his coat-tails. There was a raging blast beating in his face, and the -thermometer stood below zero; the snow was never short of his knees, and -in some of the drifts it was nearly up to his armpits. It would catch -his feet and try to trip him; it would build itself into a wall before -him to beat him back; and he would fling himself into it, plunging like -a wounded buffalo, puffing and snorting in rage. So foot by foot he -drove his way, and when at last he came to Durham's he was staggering -and almost blind, and leaned against a pillar, gasping, and thanking God -that the cattle came late to the killing beds that day. In the evening -the same thing had to be done again; and because Jurgis could not tell -what hour of the night he would get off, he got a saloon-keeper to let -Ona sit and wait for him in a corner. Once it was eleven o'clock at -night, and black as the pit, but still they got home. - -That blizzard knocked many a man out, for the crowd outside begging for -work was never greater, and the packers would not wait long for any -one. When it was over, the soul of Jurgis was a song, for he had met -the enemy and conquered, and felt himself the master of his fate.--So it -might be with some monarch of the forest that has vanquished his foes in -fair fight, and then falls into some cowardly trap in the night-time. - -A time of peril on the killing beds was when a steer broke loose. -Sometimes, in the haste of speeding-up, they would dump one of the -animals out on the floor before it was fully stunned, and it would get -upon its feet and run amuck. Then there would be a yell of warning--the -men would drop everything and dash for the nearest pillar, slipping -here and there on the floor, and tumbling over each other. This was bad -enough in the summer, when a man could see; in wintertime it was enough -to make your hair stand up, for the room would be so full of steam that -you could not make anything out five feet in front of you. To be sure, -the steer was generally blind and frantic, and not especially bent on -hurting any one; but think of the chances of running upon a knife, while -nearly every man had one in his hand! And then, to cap the climax, the -floor boss would come rushing up with a rifle and begin blazing away! - -It was in one of these melees that Jurgis fell into his trap. That is -the only word to describe it; it was so cruel, and so utterly not to -be foreseen. At first he hardly noticed it, it was such a slight -accident--simply that in leaping out of the way he turned his ankle. -There was a twinge of pain, but Jurgis was used to pain, and did not -coddle himself. When he came to walk home, however, he realized that it -was hurting him a great deal; and in the morning his ankle was swollen -out nearly double its size, and he could not get his foot into his shoe. -Still, even then, he did nothing more than swear a little, and wrapped -his foot in old rags, and hobbled out to take the car. It chanced to be -a rush day at Durham's, and all the long morning he limped about with -his aching foot; by noontime the pain was so great that it made him -faint, and after a couple of hours in the afternoon he was fairly -beaten, and had to tell the boss. They sent for the company doctor, and -he examined the foot and told Jurgis to go home to bed, adding that he -had probably laid himself up for months by his folly. The injury was not -one that Durham and Company could be held responsible for, and so that -was all there was to it, so far as the doctor was concerned. - -Jurgis got home somehow, scarcely able to see for the pain, and with an -awful terror in his soul, Elzbieta helped him into bed and bandaged -his injured foot with cold water and tried hard not to let him see her -dismay; when the rest came home at night she met them outside and told -them, and they, too, put on a cheerful face, saying it would only be for -a week or two, and that they would pull him through. - -When they had gotten him to sleep, however, they sat by the kitchen fire -and talked it over in frightened whispers. They were in for a siege, -that was plainly to be seen. Jurgis had only about sixty dollars in the -bank, and the slack season was upon them. Both Jonas and Marija might -soon be earning no more than enough to pay their board, and besides that -there were only the wages of Ona and the pittance of the little boy. -There was the rent to pay, and still some on the furniture; there was -the insurance just due, and every month there was sack after sack -of coal. It was January, midwinter, an awful time to have to face -privation. Deep snows would come again, and who would carry Ona to her -work now? She might lose her place--she was almost certain to lose it. -And then little Stanislovas began to whimper--who would take care of -him? - -It was dreadful that an accident of this sort, that no man can help, -should have meant such suffering. The bitterness of it was the daily -food and drink of Jurgis. It was of no use for them to try to deceive -him; he knew as much about the situation as they did, and he knew that -the family might literally starve to death. The worry of it fairly ate -him up--he began to look haggard the first two or three days of it. In -truth, it was almost maddening for a strong man like him, a fighter, to -have to lie there helpless on his back. It was for all the world the -old story of Prometheus bound. As Jurgis lay on his bed, hour after hour -there came to him emotions that he had never known before. Before this -he had met life with a welcome--it had its trials, but none that a man -could not face. But now, in the nighttime, when he lay tossing about, -there would come stalking into his chamber a grisly phantom, the sight -of which made his flesh curl and his hair to bristle up. It was like -seeing the world fall away from underneath his feet; like plunging down -into a bottomless abyss into yawning caverns of despair. It might be -true, then, after all, what others had told him about life, that the -best powers of a man might not be equal to it! It might be true that, -strive as he would, toil as he would, he might fail, and go down and be -destroyed! The thought of this was like an icy hand at his heart; the -thought that here, in this ghastly home of all horror, he and all those -who were dear to him might lie and perish of starvation and cold, and -there would be no ear to hear their cry, no hand to help them! It was -true, it was true,--that here in this huge city, with its stores of -heaped-up wealth, human creatures might be hunted down and destroyed by -the wild-beast powers of nature, just as truly as ever they were in the -days of the cave men! - -Ona was now making about thirty dollars a month, and Stanislovas about -thirteen. To add to this there was the board of Jonas and Marija, -about forty-five dollars. Deducting from this the rent, interest, -and installments on the furniture, they had left sixty dollars, and -deducting the coal, they had fifty. They did without everything that -human beings could do without; they went in old and ragged clothing, -that left them at the mercy of the cold, and when the children's shoes -wore out, they tied them up with string. Half invalid as she was, Ona -would do herself harm by walking in the rain and cold when she ought -to have ridden; they bought literally nothing but food--and still they -could not keep alive on fifty dollars a month. They might have done it, -if only they could have gotten pure food, and at fair prices; or if only -they had known what to get--if they had not been so pitifully ignorant! -But they had come to a new country, where everything was different, -including the food. They had always been accustomed to eat a great deal -of smoked sausage, and how could they know that what they bought in -America was not the same--that its color was made by chemicals, and its -smoky flavor by more chemicals, and that it was full of "potato flour" -besides? Potato flour is the waste of potato after the starch and -alcohol have been extracted; it has no more food value than so much -wood, and as its use as a food adulterant is a penal offense in Europe, -thousands of tons of it are shipped to America every year. It was -amazing what quantities of food such as this were needed every day, by -eleven hungry persons. A dollar sixty-five a day was simply not enough -to feed them, and there was no use trying; and so each week they made an -inroad upon the pitiful little bank account that Ona had begun. Because -the account was in her name, it was possible for her to keep this a -secret from her husband, and to keep the heartsickness of it for her -own. - -It would have been better if Jurgis had been really ill; if he had not -been able to think. For he had no resources such as most invalids have; -all he could do was to lie there and toss about from side to side. Now -and then he would break into cursing, regardless of everything; and now -and then his impatience would get the better of him, and he would try to -get up, and poor Teta Elzbieta would have to plead with him in a frenzy. -Elzbieta was all alone with him the greater part of the time. She would -sit and smooth his forehead by the hour, and talk to him and try to make -him forget. Sometimes it would be too cold for the children to go to -school, and they would have to play in the kitchen, where Jurgis was, -because it was the only room that was half warm. These were dreadful -times, for Jurgis would get as cross as any bear; he was scarcely to -be blamed, for he had enough to worry him, and it was hard when he was -trying to take a nap to be kept awake by noisy and peevish children. - -Elzbieta's only resource in those times was little Antanas; indeed, it -would be hard to say how they could have gotten along at all if it had -not been for little Antanas. It was the one consolation of Jurgis' long -imprisonment that now he had time to look at his baby. Teta Elzbieta -would put the clothes-basket in which the baby slept alongside of his -mattress, and Jurgis would lie upon one elbow and watch him by the -hour, imagining things. Then little Antanas would open his eyes--he was -beginning to take notice of things now; and he would smile--how he would -smile! So Jurgis would begin to forget and be happy because he was in -a world where there was a thing so beautiful as the smile of little -Antanas, and because such a world could not but be good at the heart of -it. He looked more like his father every hour, Elzbieta would say, and -said it many times a day, because she saw that it pleased Jurgis; the -poor little terror-stricken woman was planning all day and all night -to soothe the prisoned giant who was intrusted to her care. Jurgis, who -knew nothing about the age-long and everlasting hypocrisy of woman, would -take the bait and grin with delight; and then he would hold his finger -in front of little Antanas' eyes, and move it this way and that, and -laugh with glee to see the baby follow it. There is no pet quite so -fascinating as a baby; he would look into Jurgis' face with such uncanny -seriousness, and Jurgis would start and cry: "Palauk! Look, Muma, he -knows his papa! He does, he does! Tu mano szirdele, the little rascal!" - - - -Chapter 12 - - -For three weeks after his injury Jurgis never got up from bed. It was -a very obstinate sprain; the swelling would not go down, and the pain -still continued. At the end of that time, however, he could contain -himself no longer, and began trying to walk a little every day, laboring -to persuade himself that he was better. No arguments could stop him, and -three or four days later he declared that he was going back to work. He -limped to the cars and got to Brown's, where he found that the boss had -kept his place--that is, was willing to turn out into the snow the poor -devil he had hired in the meantime. Every now and then the pain would -force Jurgis to stop work, but he stuck it out till nearly an hour -before closing. Then he was forced to acknowledge that he could not go -on without fainting; it almost broke his heart to do it, and he stood -leaning against a pillar and weeping like a child. Two of the men had to -help him to the car, and when he got out he had to sit down and wait in -the snow till some one came along. - -So they put him to bed again, and sent for the doctor, as they ought to -have done in the beginning. It transpired that he had twisted a tendon -out of place, and could never have gotten well without attention. Then -he gripped the sides of the bed, and shut his teeth together, and turned -white with agony, while the doctor pulled and wrenched away at his -swollen ankle. When finally the doctor left, he told him that he would -have to lie quiet for two months, and that if he went to work before -that time he might lame himself for life. - -Three days later there came another heavy snowstorm, and Jonas and -Marija and Ona and little Stanislovas all set out together, an hour -before daybreak, to try to get to the yards. About noon the last two -came back, the boy screaming with pain. His fingers were all frosted, -it seemed. They had had to give up trying to get to the yards, and had -nearly perished in a drift. All that they knew how to do was to hold the -frozen fingers near the fire, and so little Stanislovas spent most of -the day dancing about in horrible agony, till Jurgis flew into a passion -of nervous rage and swore like a madman, declaring that he would -kill him if he did not stop. All that day and night the family was -half-crazed with fear that Ona and the boy had lost their places; and in -the morning they set out earlier than ever, after the little fellow had -been beaten with a stick by Jurgis. There could be no trifling in a case -like this, it was a matter of life and death; little Stanislovas could -not be expected to realize that he might a great deal better freeze -in the snowdrift than lose his job at the lard machine. Ona was quite -certain that she would find her place gone, and was all unnerved when -she finally got to Brown's, and found that the forelady herself had -failed to come, and was therefore compelled to be lenient. - -One of the consequences of this episode was that the first joints of -three of the little boy's fingers were permanently disabled, and another -that thereafter he always had to be beaten before he set out to work, -whenever there was fresh snow on the ground. Jurgis was called upon to -do the beating, and as it hurt his foot he did it with a vengeance; but -it did not tend to add to the sweetness of his temper. They say that the -best dog will turn cross if he be kept chained all the time, and it -was the same with the man; he had not a thing to do all day but lie and -curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to curse everything. - -This was never for very long, however, for when Ona began to cry, Jurgis -could not stay angry. The poor fellow looked like a homeless ghost, with -his cheeks sunken in and his long black hair straggling into his eyes; -he was too discouraged to cut it, or to think about his appearance. His -muscles were wasting away, and what were left were soft and flabby. He -had no appetite, and they could not afford to tempt him with delicacies. -It was better, he said, that he should not eat, it was a saving. About -the end of March he had got hold of Ona's bankbook, and learned that -there was only three dollars left to them in the world. - -But perhaps the worst of the consequences of this long siege was that -they lost another member of their family; Brother Jonas disappeared. One -Saturday night he did not come home, and thereafter all their efforts to -get trace of him were futile. It was said by the boss at Durham's that -he had gotten his week's money and left there. That might not be true, -of course, for sometimes they would say that when a man had been killed; -it was the easiest way out of it for all concerned. When, for instance, -a man had fallen into one of the rendering tanks and had been made into -pure leaf lard and peerless fertilizer, there was no use letting the -fact out and making his family unhappy. More probable, however, was -the theory that Jonas had deserted them, and gone on the road, seeking -happiness. He had been discontented for a long time, and not without -some cause. He paid good board, and was yet obliged to live in a family -where nobody had enough to eat. And Marija would keep giving them all -her money, and of course he could not but feel that he was called upon -to do the same. Then there were crying brats, and all sorts of misery; -a man would have had to be a good deal of a hero to stand it all without -grumbling, and Jonas was not in the least a hero--he was simply a -weatherbeaten old fellow who liked to have a good supper and sit in the -corner by the fire and smoke his pipe in peace before he went to bed. -Here there was not room by the fire, and through the winter the kitchen -had seldom been warm enough for comfort. So, with the springtime, what -was more likely than that the wild idea of escaping had come to him? -Two years he had been yoked like a horse to a half-ton truck in Durham's -dark cellars, with never a rest, save on Sundays and four holidays in -the year, and with never a word of thanks--only kicks and blows and -curses, such as no decent dog would have stood. And now the winter was -over, and the spring winds were blowing--and with a day's walk a man -might put the smoke of Packingtown behind him forever, and be where the -grass was green and the flowers all the colors of the rainbow! - -But now the income of the family was cut down more than one-third, and -the food demand was cut only one-eleventh, so that they were worse off -than ever. Also they were borrowing money from Marija, and eating up -her bank account, and spoiling once again her hopes of marriage and -happiness. And they were even going into debt to Tamoszius Kuszleika -and letting him impoverish himself. Poor Tamoszius was a man without -any relatives, and with a wonderful talent besides, and he ought to -have made money and prospered; but he had fallen in love, and so given -hostages to fortune, and was doomed to be dragged down too. - -So it was finally decided that two more of the children would have to -leave school. Next to Stanislovas, who was now fifteen, there was a -girl, little Kotrina, who was two years younger, and then two boys, -Vilimas, who was eleven, and Nikalojus, who was ten. Both of these last -were bright boys, and there was no reason why their family should starve -when tens of thousands of children no older were earning their own -livings. So one morning they were given a quarter apiece and a roll with -a sausage in it, and, with their minds top-heavy with good advice, were -sent out to make their way to the city and learn to sell newspapers. -They came back late at night in tears, having walked for the five or -six miles to report that a man had offered to take them to a place where -they sold newspapers, and had taken their money and gone into a store to -get them, and nevermore been seen. So they both received a whipping, and -the next morning set out again. This time they found the newspaper -place, and procured their stock; and after wandering about till nearly -noontime, saying "Paper?" to every one they saw, they had all their -stock taken away and received a thrashing besides from a big newsman -upon whose territory they had trespassed. Fortunately, however, they -had already sold some papers, and came back with nearly as much as they -started with. - -After a week of mishaps such as these, the two little fellows began to -learn the ways of the trade--the names of the different papers, and how -many of each to get, and what sort of people to offer them to, and where -to go and where to stay away from. After this, leaving home at four -o'clock in the morning, and running about the streets, first with -morning papers and then with evening, they might come home late at night -with twenty or thirty cents apiece--possibly as much as forty cents. -From this they had to deduct their carfare, since the distance was so -great; but after a while they made friends, and learned still more, and -then they would save their carfare. They would get on a car when the -conductor was not looking, and hide in the crowd; and three times out -of four he would not ask for their fares, either not seeing them, -or thinking they had already paid; or if he did ask, they would hunt -through their pockets, and then begin to cry, and either have their -fares paid by some kind old lady, or else try the trick again on a new -car. All this was fair play, they felt. Whose fault was it that at the -hours when workingmen were going to their work and back, the cars were -so crowded that the conductors could not collect all the fares? And -besides, the companies were thieves, people said--had stolen all their -franchises with the help of scoundrelly politicians! - -Now that the winter was by, and there was no more danger of snow, and no -more coal to buy, and another room warm enough to put the children into -when they cried, and enough money to get along from week to week -with, Jurgis was less terrible than he had been. A man can get used -to anything in the course of time, and Jurgis had gotten used to lying -about the house. Ona saw this, and was very careful not to destroy his -peace of mind, by letting him know how very much pain she was suffering. -It was now the time of the spring rains, and Ona had often to ride to -her work, in spite of the expense; she was getting paler every day, and -sometimes, in spite of her good resolutions, it pained her that Jurgis -did not notice it. She wondered if he cared for her as much as ever, if -all this misery was not wearing out his love. She had to be away from -him all the time, and bear her own troubles while he was bearing his; -and then, when she came home, she was so worn out; and whenever they -talked they had only their worries to talk of--truly it was hard, in -such a life, to keep any sentiment alive. The woe of this would flame up -in Ona sometimes--at night she would suddenly clasp her big husband -in her arms and break into passionate weeping, demanding to know if -he really loved her. Poor Jurgis, who had in truth grown more -matter-of-fact, under the endless pressure of penury, would not know -what to make of these things, and could only try to recollect when -he had last been cross; and so Ona would have to forgive him and sob -herself to sleep. - -The latter part of April Jurgis went to see the doctor, and was given a -bandage to lace about his ankle, and told that he might go back to work. -It needed more than the permission of the doctor, however, for when he -showed up on the killing floor of Brown's, he was told by the foreman -that it had not been possible to keep his job for him. Jurgis knew that -this meant simply that the foreman had found some one else to do the -work as well and did not want to bother to make a change. He stood in -the doorway, looking mournfully on, seeing his friends and companions at -work, and feeling like an outcast. Then he went out and took his place -with the mob of the unemployed. - -This time, however, Jurgis did not have the same fine confidence, nor -the same reason for it. He was no longer the finest-looking man in the -throng, and the bosses no longer made for him; he was thin and haggard, -and his clothes were seedy, and he looked miserable. And there were -hundreds who looked and felt just like him, and who had been wandering -about Packingtown for months begging for work. This was a critical time -in Jurgis' life, and if he had been a weaker man he would have gone -the way the rest did. Those out-of-work wretches would stand about the -packing houses every morning till the police drove them away, and then -they would scatter among the saloons. Very few of them had the nerve -to face the rebuffs that they would encounter by trying to get into the -buildings to interview the bosses; if they did not get a chance in the -morning, there would be nothing to do but hang about the saloons the -rest of the day and night. Jurgis was saved from all this--partly, to -be sure, because it was pleasant weather, and there was no need to -be indoors; but mainly because he carried with him always the pitiful -little face of his wife. He must get work, he told himself, fighting -the battle with despair every hour of the day. He must get work! He must -have a place again and some money saved up, before the next winter came. - -But there was no work for him. He sought out all the members of his -union--Jurgis had stuck to the union through all this--and begged them -to speak a word for him. He went to every one he knew, asking for a -chance, there or anywhere. He wandered all day through the buildings; -and in a week or two, when he had been all over the yards, and into -every room to which he had access, and learned that there was not a job -anywhere, he persuaded himself that there might have been a change in -the places he had first visited, and began the round all over; till -finally the watchmen and the "spotters" of the companies came to know -him by sight and to order him out with threats. Then there was nothing -more for him to do but go with the crowd in the morning, and keep in -the front row and look eager, and when he failed, go back home, and play -with little Kotrina and the baby. - -The peculiar bitterness of all this was that Jurgis saw so plainly the -meaning of it. In the beginning he had been fresh and strong, and he -had gotten a job the first day; but now he was second-hand, a damaged -article, so to speak, and they did not want him. They had got the -best of him--they had worn him out, with their speeding-up and their -carelessness, and now they had thrown him away! And Jurgis would make -the acquaintance of others of these unemployed men and find that they -had all had the same experience. There were some, of course, who had -wandered in from other places, who had been ground up in other mills; -there were others who were out from their own fault--some, for instance, -who had not been able to stand the awful grind without drink. The vast -majority, however, were simply the worn-out parts of the great merciless -packing machine; they had toiled there, and kept up with the pace, some -of them for ten or twenty years, until finally the time had come when -they could not keep up with it any more. Some had been frankly told -that they were too old, that a sprier man was needed; others had given -occasion, by some act of carelessness or incompetence; with most, -however, the occasion had been the same as with Jurgis. They had been -overworked and underfed so long, and finally some disease had laid them -on their backs; or they had cut themselves, and had blood poisoning, or -met with some other accident. When a man came back after that, he would -get his place back only by the courtesy of the boss. To this there was -no exception, save when the accident was one for which the firm was -liable; in that case they would send a slippery lawyer to see him, first -to try to get him to sign away his claims, but if he was too smart for -that, to promise him that he and his should always be provided with -work. This promise they would keep, strictly and to the letter--for two -years. Two years was the "statute of limitations," and after that the -victim could not sue. - -What happened to a man after any of these things, all depended upon -the circumstances. If he were of the highly skilled workers, he would -probably have enough saved up to tide him over. The best paid men, -the "splitters," made fifty cents an hour, which would be five or six -dollars a day in the rush seasons, and one or two in the dullest. A -man could live and save on that; but then there were only half a dozen -splitters in each place, and one of them that Jurgis knew had a family -of twenty-two children, all hoping to grow up to be splitters like their -father. For an unskilled man, who made ten dollars a week in the rush -seasons and five in the dull, it all depended upon his age and the -number he had dependent upon him. An unmarried man could save, if he did -not drink, and if he was absolutely selfish--that is, if he paid no -heed to the demands of his old parents, or of his little brothers and -sisters, or of any other relatives he might have, as well as of the -members of his union, and his chums, and the people who might be -starving to death next door. - - - -Chapter 13 - - -During this time that Jurgis was looking for work occurred the death -of little Kristoforas, one of the children of Teta Elzbieta. Both -Kristoforas and his brother, Juozapas, were cripples, the latter having -lost one leg by having it run over, and Kristoforas having congenital -dislocation of the hip, which made it impossible for him ever to walk. -He was the last of Teta Elzbieta's children, and perhaps he had been -intended by nature to let her know that she had had enough. At any rate -he was wretchedly sick and undersized; he had the rickets, and though -he was over three years old, he was no bigger than an ordinary child -of one. All day long he would crawl around the floor in a filthy little -dress, whining and fretting; because the floor was full of drafts he was -always catching cold, and snuffling because his nose ran. This made -him a nuisance, and a source of endless trouble in the family. For his -mother, with unnatural perversity, loved him best of all her children, -and made a perpetual fuss over him--would let him do anything -undisturbed, and would burst into tears when his fretting drove Jurgis -wild. - -And now he died. Perhaps it was the smoked sausage he had eaten that -morning--which may have been made out of some of the tubercular pork -that was condemned as unfit for export. At any rate, an hour after -eating it, the child had begun to cry with pain, and in another hour he -was rolling about on the floor in convulsions. Little Kotrina, who was -all alone with him, ran out screaming for help, and after a while a -doctor came, but not until Kristoforas had howled his last howl. No one -was really sorry about this except poor Elzbieta, who was inconsolable. -Jurgis announced that so far as he was concerned the child would have -to be buried by the city, since they had no money for a funeral; and at -this the poor woman almost went out of her senses, wringing her hands -and screaming with grief and despair. Her child to be buried in a -pauper's grave! And her stepdaughter to stand by and hear it said -without protesting! It was enough to make Ona's father rise up out of -his grave to rebuke her! If it had come to this, they might as well give -up at once, and be buried all of them together! . . . In the end Marija -said that she would help with ten dollars; and Jurgis being still -obdurate, Elzbieta went in tears and begged the money from the -neighbors, and so little Kristoforas had a mass and a hearse with white -plumes on it, and a tiny plot in a graveyard with a wooden cross to mark -the place. The poor mother was not the same for months after that; the -mere sight of the floor where little Kristoforas had crawled about would -make her weep. He had never had a fair chance, poor little fellow, she -would say. He had been handicapped from his birth. If only she had heard -about it in time, so that she might have had that great doctor to cure -him of his lameness! . . . Some time ago, Elzbieta was told, a Chicago -billionaire had paid a fortune to bring a great European surgeon over to -cure his little daughter of the same disease from which Kristoforas had -suffered. And because this surgeon had to have bodies to demonstrate -upon, he announced that he would treat the children of the poor, a piece -of magnanimity over which the papers became quite eloquent. Elzbieta, -alas, did not read the papers, and no one had told her; but perhaps it -was as well, for just then they would not have had the carfare to spare -to go every day to wait upon the surgeon, nor for that matter anybody -with the time to take the child. - - -All this while that he was seeking for work, there was a dark shadow -hanging over Jurgis; as if a savage beast were lurking somewhere in the -pathway of his life, and he knew it, and yet could not help approaching -the place. There are all stages of being out of work in Packingtown, and -he faced in dread the prospect of reaching the lowest. There is a place -that waits for the lowest man--the fertilizer plant! - -The men would talk about it in awe-stricken whispers. Not more than one -in ten had ever really tried it; the other nine had contented themselves -with hearsay evidence and a peep through the door. There were some -things worse than even starving to death. They would ask Jurgis if he -had worked there yet, and if he meant to; and Jurgis would debate the -matter with himself. As poor as they were, and making all the sacrifices -that they were, would he dare to refuse any sort of work that was -offered to him, be it as horrible as ever it could? Would he dare to go -home and eat bread that had been earned by Ona, weak and complaining as -she was, knowing that he had been given a chance, and had not had the -nerve to take it?--And yet he might argue that way with himself all -day, and one glimpse into the fertilizer works would send him away again -shuddering. He was a man, and he would do his duty; he went and made -application--but surely he was not also required to hope for success! - -The fertilizer works of Durham's lay away from the rest of the plant. -Few visitors ever saw them, and the few who did would come out looking -like Dante, of whom the peasants declared that he had been into hell. To -this part of the yards came all the "tankage" and the waste products of -all sorts; here they dried out the bones,--and in suffocating cellars -where the daylight never came you might see men and women and children -bending over whirling machines and sawing bits of bone into all sorts of -shapes, breathing their lungs full of the fine dust, and doomed to die, -every one of them, within a certain definite time. Here they made the -blood into albumen, and made other foul-smelling things into things -still more foul-smelling. In the corridors and caverns where it was done -you might lose yourself as in the great caves of Kentucky. In the dust -and the steam the electric lights would shine like far-off twinkling -stars--red and blue-green and purple stars, according to the color of -the mist and the brew from which it came. For the odors of these ghastly -charnel houses there may be words in Lithuanian, but there are none in -English. The person entering would have to summon his courage as for a -cold-water plunge. He would go in like a man swimming under water; he -would put his handkerchief over his face, and begin to cough and choke; -and then, if he were still obstinate, he would find his head beginning -to ring, and the veins in his forehead to throb, until finally he would -be assailed by an overpowering blast of ammonia fumes, and would turn -and run for his life, and come out half-dazed. - -On top of this were the rooms where they dried the "tankage," the mass -of brown stringy stuff that was left after the waste portions of the -carcasses had had the lard and tallow dried out of them. This dried -material they would then grind to a fine powder, and after they had -mixed it up well with a mysterious but inoffensive brown rock which they -brought in and ground up by the hundreds of carloads for that purpose, -the substance was ready to be put into bags and sent out to the world -as any one of a hundred different brands of standard bone phosphate. And -then the farmer in Maine or California or Texas would buy this, at say -twenty-five dollars a ton, and plant it with his corn; and for several -days after the operation the fields would have a strong odor, and the -farmer and his wagon and the very horses that had hauled it would all -have it too. In Packingtown the fertilizer is pure, instead of being a -flavoring, and instead of a ton or so spread out on several acres under -the open sky, there are hundreds and thousands of tons of it in one -building, heaped here and there in haystack piles, covering the floor -several inches deep, and filling the air with a choking dust that -becomes a blinding sandstorm when the wind stirs. - -It was to this building that Jurgis came daily, as if dragged by an -unseen hand. The month of May was an exceptionally cool one, and -his secret prayers were granted; but early in June there came a -record-breaking hot spell, and after that there were men wanted in the -fertilizer mill. - -The boss of the grinding room had come to know Jurgis by this time, and -had marked him for a likely man; and so when he came to the door about -two o'clock this breathless hot day, he felt a sudden spasm of pain -shoot through him--the boss beckoned to him! In ten minutes more Jurgis -had pulled off his coat and overshirt, and set his teeth together and -gone to work. Here was one more difficulty for him to meet and conquer! - -His labor took him about one minute to learn. Before him was one of -the vents of the mill in which the fertilizer was being ground--rushing -forth in a great brown river, with a spray of the finest dust flung -forth in clouds. Jurgis was given a shovel, and along with half a dozen -others it was his task to shovel this fertilizer into carts. That others -were at work he knew by the sound, and by the fact that he sometimes -collided with them; otherwise they might as well not have been there, -for in the blinding dust storm a man could not see six feet in front of -his face. When he had filled one cart he had to grope around him until -another came, and if there was none on hand he continued to grope till -one arrived. In five minutes he was, of course, a mass of fertilizer -from head to feet; they gave him a sponge to tie over his mouth, so that -he could breathe, but the sponge did not prevent his lips and eyelids -from caking up with it and his ears from filling solid. He looked like -a brown ghost at twilight--from hair to shoes he became the color of the -building and of everything in it, and for that matter a hundred yards -outside it. The building had to be left open, and when the wind blew -Durham and Company lost a great deal of fertilizer. - -Working in his shirt sleeves, and with the thermometer at over a -hundred, the phosphates soaked in through every pore of Jurgis' skin, -and in five minutes he had a headache, and in fifteen was almost dazed. -The blood was pounding in his brain like an engine's throbbing; there -was a frightful pain in the top of his skull, and he could hardly -control his hands. Still, with the memory of his four months' siege -behind him, he fought on, in a frenzy of determination; and half an hour -later he began to vomit--he vomited until it seemed as if his inwards -must be torn into shreds. A man could get used to the fertilizer mill, -the boss had said, if he would make up his mind to it; but Jurgis now -began to see that it was a question of making up his stomach. - -At the end of that day of horror, he could scarcely stand. He had to -catch himself now and then, and lean against a building and get his -bearings. Most of the men, when they came out, made straight for a -saloon--they seemed to place fertilizer and rattlesnake poison in one -class. But Jurgis was too ill to think of drinking--he could only make -his way to the street and stagger on to a car. He had a sense of humor, -and later on, when he became an old hand, he used to think it fun to -board a streetcar and see what happened. Now, however, he was too ill to -notice it--how the people in the car began to gasp and sputter, to -put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and transfix him with furious -glances. Jurgis only knew that a man in front of him immediately got up -and gave him a seat; and that half a minute later the two people on each -side of him got up; and that in a full minute the crowded car was nearly -empty--those passengers who could not get room on the platform having -gotten out to walk. - -Of course Jurgis had made his home a miniature fertilizer mill a minute -after entering. The stuff was half an inch deep in his skin--his whole -system was full of it, and it would have taken a week not merely of -scrubbing, but of vigorous exercise, to get it out of him. As it was, he -could be compared with nothing known to men, save that newest discovery -of the savants, a substance which emits energy for an unlimited time, -without being itself in the least diminished in power. He smelled so -that he made all the food at the table taste, and set the whole family -to vomiting; for himself it was three days before he could keep anything -upon his stomach--he might wash his hands, and use a knife and fork, but -were not his mouth and throat filled with the poison? - -And still Jurgis stuck it out! In spite of splitting headaches he would -stagger down to the plant and take up his stand once more, and begin to -shovel in the blinding clouds of dust. And so at the end of the week he -was a fertilizer man for life--he was able to eat again, and though -his head never stopped aching, it ceased to be so bad that he could not -work. - - -So there passed another summer. It was a summer of prosperity, all over -the country, and the country ate generously of packing house products, -and there was plenty of work for all the family, in spite of the -packers' efforts to keep a superfluity of labor. They were again able to -pay their debts and to begin to save a little sum; but there were one or -two sacrifices they considered too heavy to be made for long--it was -too bad that the boys should have to sell papers at their age. It was -utterly useless to caution them and plead with them; quite without -knowing it, they were taking on the tone of their new environment. They -were learning to swear in voluble English; they were learning to pick up -cigar stumps and smoke them, to pass hours of their time gambling with -pennies and dice and cigarette cards; they were learning the location -of all the houses of prostitution on the "Levee," and the names of -the "madames" who kept them, and the days when they gave their state -banquets, which the police captains and the big politicians all -attended. If a visiting "country customer" were to ask them, they could -show him which was "Hinkydink's" famous saloon, and could even point out -to him by name the different gamblers and thugs and "hold-up men" who -made the place their headquarters. And worse yet, the boys were getting -out of the habit of coming home at night. What was the use, they would -ask, of wasting time and energy and a possible carfare riding out to -the stockyards every night when the weather was pleasant and they could -crawl under a truck or into an empty doorway and sleep exactly as well? -So long as they brought home a half dollar for each day, what mattered -it when they brought it? But Jurgis declared that from this to ceasing -to come at all would not be a very long step, and so it was decided -that Vilimas and Nikalojus should return to school in the fall, and -that instead Elzbieta should go out and get some work, her place at home -being taken by her younger daughter. - -Little Kotrina was like most children of the poor, prematurely made old; -she had to take care of her little brother, who was a cripple, and also -of the baby; she had to cook the meals and wash the dishes and clean -house, and have supper ready when the workers came home in the evening. -She was only thirteen, and small for her age, but she did all this -without a murmur; and her mother went out, and after trudging a couple -of days about the yards, settled down as a servant of a "sausage -machine." - -Elzbieta was used to working, but she found this change a hard one, for -the reason that she had to stand motionless upon her feet from seven -o'clock in the morning till half-past twelve, and again from one till -half-past five. For the first few days it seemed to her that she -could not stand it--she suffered almost as much as Jurgis had from the -fertilizer, and would come out at sundown with her head fairly reeling. -Besides this, she was working in one of the dark holes, by electric -light, and the dampness, too, was deadly--there were always puddles of -water on the floor, and a sickening odor of moist flesh in the room. The -people who worked here followed the ancient custom of nature, whereby -the ptarmigan is the color of dead leaves in the fall and of snow in the -winter, and the chameleon, who is black when he lies upon a stump and -turns green when he moves to a leaf. The men and women who worked in -this department were precisely the color of the "fresh country sausage" -they made. - -The sausage-room was an interesting place to visit, for two or three -minutes, and provided that you did not look at the people; the machines -were perhaps the most wonderful things in the entire plant. Presumably -sausages were once chopped and stuffed by hand, and if so it would -be interesting to know how many workers had been displaced by these -inventions. On one side of the room were the hoppers, into which men -shoveled loads of meat and wheelbarrows full of spices; in these great -bowls were whirling knives that made two thousand revolutions a minute, -and when the meat was ground fine and adulterated with potato flour, -and well mixed with water, it was forced to the stuffing machines on -the other side of the room. The latter were tended by women; there was -a sort of spout, like the nozzle of a hose, and one of the women would -take a long string of "casing" and put the end over the nozzle and then -work the whole thing on, as one works on the finger of a tight glove. -This string would be twenty or thirty feet long, but the woman would -have it all on in a jiffy; and when she had several on, she would press -a lever, and a stream of sausage meat would be shot out, taking -the casing with it as it came. Thus one might stand and see appear, -miraculously born from the machine, a wriggling snake of sausage of -incredible length. In front was a big pan which caught these creatures, -and two more women who seized them as fast as they appeared and twisted -them into links. This was for the uninitiated the most perplexing work -of all; for all that the woman had to give was a single turn of the -wrist; and in some way she contrived to give it so that instead of an -endless chain of sausages, one after another, there grew under her hands -a bunch of strings, all dangling from a single center. It was quite like -the feat of a prestidigitator--for the woman worked so fast that the eye -could literally not follow her, and there was only a mist of motion, -and tangle after tangle of sausages appearing. In the midst of the mist, -however, the visitor would suddenly notice the tense set face, with -the two wrinkles graven in the forehead, and the ghastly pallor of the -cheeks; and then he would suddenly recollect that it was time he was -going on. The woman did not go on; she stayed right there--hour after -hour, day after day, year after year, twisting sausage links and racing -with death. It was piecework, and she was apt to have a family to keep -alive; and stern and ruthless economic laws had arranged it that she -could only do this by working just as she did, with all her soul upon -her work, and with never an instant for a glance at the well-dressed -ladies and gentlemen who came to stare at her, as at some wild beast in -a menagerie. - - - -Chapter 14 - - -With one member trimming beef in a cannery, and another working in a -sausage factory, the family had a first-hand knowledge of the great -majority of Packingtown swindles. For it was the custom, as they found, -whenever meat was so spoiled that it could not be used for anything -else, either to can it or else to chop it up into sausage. With what had -been told them by Jonas, who had worked in the pickle rooms, they could -now study the whole of the spoiled-meat industry on the inside, and read -a new and grim meaning into that old Packingtown jest--that they use -everything of the pig except the squeal. - -Jonas had told them how the meat that was taken out of pickle would -often be found sour, and how they would rub it up with soda to take away -the smell, and sell it to be eaten on free-lunch counters; also of all -the miracles of chemistry which they performed, giving to any sort of -meat, fresh or salted, whole or chopped, any color and any flavor and -any odor they chose. In the pickling of hams they had an ingenious -apparatus, by which they saved time and increased the capacity of the -plant--a machine consisting of a hollow needle attached to a pump; by -plunging this needle into the meat and working with his foot, a man -could fill a ham with pickle in a few seconds. And yet, in spite of -this, there would be hams found spoiled, some of them with an odor so -bad that a man could hardly bear to be in the room with them. To pump -into these the packers had a second and much stronger pickle which -destroyed the odor--a process known to the workers as "giving them -thirty per cent." Also, after the hams had been smoked, there would be -found some that had gone to the bad. Formerly these had been sold as -"Number Three Grade," but later on some ingenious person had hit upon -a new device, and now they would extract the bone, about which the bad -part generally lay, and insert in the hole a white-hot iron. After this -invention there was no longer Number One, Two, and Three Grade--there -was only Number One Grade. The packers were always originating such -schemes--they had what they called "boneless hams," which were all the -odds and ends of pork stuffed into casings; and "California hams," which -were the shoulders, with big knuckle joints, and nearly all the meat cut -out; and fancy "skinned hams," which were made of the oldest hogs, whose -skins were so heavy and coarse that no one would buy them--that is, -until they had been cooked and chopped fine and labeled "head cheese!" - -It was only when the whole ham was spoiled that it came into the -department of Elzbieta. Cut up by the two-thousand-revolutions-a-minute -flyers, and mixed with half a ton of other meat, no odor that ever was -in a ham could make any difference. There was never the least attention -paid to what was cut up for sausage; there would come all the way back -from Europe old sausage that had been rejected, and that was moldy and -white--it would be dosed with borax and glycerine, and dumped into the -hoppers, and made over again for home consumption. There would be meat -that had tumbled out on the floor, in the dirt and sawdust, where the -workers had tramped and spit uncounted billions of consumption germs. -There would be meat stored in great piles in rooms; and the water from -leaky roofs would drip over it, and thousands of rats would race about -on it. It was too dark in these storage places to see well, but a man -could run his hand over these piles of meat and sweep off handfuls of -the dried dung of rats. These rats were nuisances, and the packers would -put poisoned bread out for them; they would die, and then rats, bread, -and meat would go into the hoppers together. This is no fairy story and -no joke; the meat would be shoveled into carts, and the man who did -the shoveling would not trouble to lift out a rat even when he saw -one--there were things that went into the sausage in comparison with -which a poisoned rat was a tidbit. There was no place for the men -to wash their hands before they ate their dinner, and so they made a -practice of washing them in the water that was to be ladled into the -sausage. There were the butt-ends of smoked meat, and the scraps of -corned beef, and all the odds and ends of the waste of the plants, that -would be dumped into old barrels in the cellar and left there. Under the -system of rigid economy which the packers enforced, there were some jobs -that it only paid to do once in a long time, and among these was the -cleaning out of the waste barrels. Every spring they did it; and in -the barrels would be dirt and rust and old nails and stale water--and -cartload after cartload of it would be taken up and dumped into the -hoppers with fresh meat, and sent out to the public's breakfast. Some of -it they would make into "smoked" sausage--but as the smoking took -time, and was therefore expensive, they would call upon their chemistry -department, and preserve it with borax and color it with gelatine to -make it brown. All of their sausage came out of the same bowl, but when -they came to wrap it they would stamp some of it "special," and for this -they would charge two cents more a pound. - - -Such were the new surroundings in which Elzbieta was placed, and such -was the work she was compelled to do. It was stupefying, brutalizing -work; it left her no time to think, no strength for anything. She was -part of the machine she tended, and every faculty that was not needed -for the machine was doomed to be crushed out of existence. There was -only one mercy about the cruel grind--that it gave her the gift of -insensibility. Little by little she sank into a torpor--she fell silent. -She would meet Jurgis and Ona in the evening, and the three would walk -home together, often without saying a word. Ona, too, was falling into a -habit of silence--Ona, who had once gone about singing like a bird. She -was sick and miserable, and often she would barely have strength enough -to drag herself home. And there they would eat what they had to eat, and -afterward, because there was only their misery to talk of, they would -crawl into bed and fall into a stupor and never stir until it was time -to get up again, and dress by candlelight, and go back to the machines. -They were so numbed that they did not even suffer much from hunger, now; -only the children continued to fret when the food ran short. - -Yet the soul of Ona was not dead--the souls of none of them were dead, -but only sleeping; and now and then they would waken, and these were -cruel times. The gates of memory would roll open--old joys would stretch -out their arms to them, old hopes and dreams would call to them, and -they would stir beneath the burden that lay upon them, and feel its -forever immeasurable weight. They could not even cry out beneath it; but -anguish would seize them, more dreadful than the agony of death. It was -a thing scarcely to be spoken--a thing never spoken by all the world, -that will not know its own defeat. - -They were beaten; they had lost the game, they were swept aside. It -was not less tragic because it was so sordid, because it had to do with -wages and grocery bills and rents. They had dreamed of freedom; of a -chance to look about them and learn something; to be decent and clean, -to see their child grow up to be strong. And now it was all gone--it -would never be! They had played the game and they had lost. Six years -more of toil they had to face before they could expect the least -respite, the cessation of the payments upon the house; and how cruelly -certain it was that they could never stand six years of such a life as -they were living! They were lost, they were going down--and there was -no deliverance for them, no hope; for all the help it gave them the vast -city in which they lived might have been an ocean waste, a wilderness, a -desert, a tomb. So often this mood would come to Ona, in the nighttime, -when something wakened her; she would lie, afraid of the beating of her -own heart, fronting the blood-red eyes of the old primeval terror of -life. Once she cried aloud, and woke Jurgis, who was tired and cross. -After that she learned to weep silently--their moods so seldom came -together now! It was as if their hopes were buried in separate graves. - -Jurgis, being a man, had troubles of his own. There was another specter -following him. He had never spoken of it, nor would he allow any one -else to speak of it--he had never acknowledged its existence to himself. -Yet the battle with it took all the manhood that he had--and once or -twice, alas, a little more. Jurgis had discovered drink. - -He was working in the steaming pit of hell; day after day, week after -week--until now, there was not an organ of his body that did its work -without pain, until the sound of ocean breakers echoed in his head day -and night, and the buildings swayed and danced before him as he went -down the street. And from all the unending horror of this there was a -respite, a deliverance--he could drink! He could forget the pain, he -could slip off the burden; he would see clearly again, he would be -master of his brain, of his thoughts, of his will. His dead self would -stir in him, and he would find himself laughing and cracking jokes with -his companions--he would be a man again, and master of his life. - -It was not an easy thing for Jurgis to take more than two or three -drinks. With the first drink he could eat a meal, and he could persuade -himself that that was economy; with the second he could eat another -meal--but there would come a time when he could eat no more, and then -to pay for a drink was an unthinkable extravagance, a defiance of the -age-long instincts of his hunger-haunted class. One day, however, he took -the plunge, and drank up all that he had in his pockets, and went home -half "piped," as the men phrase it. He was happier than he had been in a -year; and yet, because he knew that the happiness would not last, he was -savage, too with those who would wreck it, and with the world, and with -his life; and then again, beneath this, he was sick with the shame of -himself. Afterward, when he saw the despair of his family, and reckoned -up the money he had spent, the tears came into his eyes, and he began -the long battle with the specter. - -It was a battle that had no end, that never could have one. But Jurgis -did not realize that very clearly; he was not given much time for -reflection. He simply knew that he was always fighting. Steeped in -misery and despair as he was, merely to walk down the street was to be -put upon the rack. There was surely a saloon on the corner--perhaps on -all four corners, and some in the middle of the block as well; and each -one stretched out a hand to him each one had a personality of its own, -allurements unlike any other. Going and coming--before sunrise and -after dark--there was warmth and a glow of light, and the steam of hot -food, and perhaps music, or a friendly face, and a word of good cheer. -Jurgis developed a fondness for having Ona on his arm whenever he went -out on the street, and he would hold her tightly, and walk fast. It was -pitiful to have Ona know of this--it drove him wild to think of it; the -thing was not fair, for Ona had never tasted drink, and so could not -understand. Sometimes, in desperate hours, he would find himself wishing -that she might learn what it was, so that he need not be ashamed in her -presence. They might drink together, and escape from the horror--escape -for a while, come what would. - -So there came a time when nearly all the conscious life of Jurgis -consisted of a struggle with the craving for liquor. He would have ugly -moods, when he hated Ona and the whole family, because they stood in his -way. He was a fool to have married; he had tied himself down, had made -himself a slave. It was all because he was a married man that he was -compelled to stay in the yards; if it had not been for that he might -have gone off like Jonas, and to hell with the packers. There were few -single men in the fertilizer mill--and those few were working only for a -chance to escape. Meantime, too, they had something to think about while -they worked,--they had the memory of the last time they had been drunk, -and the hope of the time when they would be drunk again. As for Jurgis, -he was expected to bring home every penny; he could not even go with -the men at noontime--he was supposed to sit down and eat his dinner on a -pile of fertilizer dust. - -This was not always his mood, of course; he still loved his family. But -just now was a time of trial. Poor little Antanas, for instance--who -had never failed to win him with a smile--little Antanas was not smiling -just now, being a mass of fiery red pimples. He had had all the diseases -that babies are heir to, in quick succession, scarlet fever, mumps, and -whooping cough in the first year, and now he was down with the measles. -There was no one to attend him but Kotrina; there was no doctor to -help him, because they were too poor, and children did not die of the -measles--at least not often. Now and then Kotrina would find time to sob -over his woes, but for the greater part of the time he had to be left -alone, barricaded upon the bed. The floor was full of drafts, and if he -caught cold he would die. At night he was tied down, lest he should kick -the covers off him, while the family lay in their stupor of exhaustion. -He would lie and scream for hours, almost in convulsions; and then, when -he was worn out, he would lie whimpering and wailing in his torment. -He was burning up with fever, and his eyes were running sores; in -the daytime he was a thing uncanny and impish to behold, a plaster of -pimples and sweat, a great purple lump of misery. - -Yet all this was not really as cruel as it sounds, for, sick as he was, -little Antanas was the least unfortunate member of that family. He -was quite able to bear his sufferings--it was as if he had all these -complaints to show what a prodigy of health he was. He was the child of -his parents' youth and joy; he grew up like the conjurer's rosebush, and -all the world was his oyster. In general, he toddled around the kitchen -all day with a lean and hungry look--the portion of the family's -allowance that fell to him was not enough, and he was unrestrainable in -his demand for more. Antanas was but little over a year old, and already -no one but his father could manage him. - -It seemed as if he had taken all of his mother's strength--had left -nothing for those that might come after him. Ona was with child again -now, and it was a dreadful thing to contemplate; even Jurgis, dumb and -despairing as he was, could not but understand that yet other agonies -were on the way, and shudder at the thought of them. - -For Ona was visibly going to pieces. In the first place she was -developing a cough, like the one that had killed old Dede Antanas. She -had had a trace of it ever since that fatal morning when the greedy -streetcar corporation had turned her out into the rain; but now it was -beginning to grow serious, and to wake her up at night. Even worse than -that was the fearful nervousness from which she suffered; she would have -frightful headaches and fits of aimless weeping; and sometimes she would -come home at night shuddering and moaning, and would fling herself down -upon the bed and burst into tears. Several times she was quite beside -herself and hysterical; and then Jurgis would go half-mad with fright. -Elzbieta would explain to him that it could not be helped, that a woman -was subject to such things when she was pregnant; but he was hardly to -be persuaded, and would beg and plead to know what had happened. She -had never been like this before, he would argue--it was monstrous and -unthinkable. It was the life she had to live, the accursed work she had -to do, that was killing her by inches. She was not fitted for it--no -woman was fitted for it, no woman ought to be allowed to do such work; -if the world could not keep them alive any other way it ought to kill -them at once and be done with it. They ought not to marry, to have -children; no workingman ought to marry--if he, Jurgis, had known what a -woman was like, he would have had his eyes torn out first. So he would -carry on, becoming half hysterical himself, which was an unbearable -thing to see in a big man; Ona would pull herself together and fling -herself into his arms, begging him to stop, to be still, that she would -be better, it would be all right. So she would lie and sob out her -grief upon his shoulder, while he gazed at her, as helpless as a wounded -animal, the target of unseen enemies. - - - -Chapter 15 - - -The beginning of these perplexing things was in the summer; and each -time Ona would promise him with terror in her voice that it would not -happen again--but in vain. Each crisis would leave Jurgis more and more -frightened, more disposed to distrust Elzbieta's consolations, and to -believe that there was some terrible thing about all this that he was -not allowed to know. Once or twice in these outbreaks he caught Ona's -eye, and it seemed to him like the eye of a hunted animal; there were -broken phrases of anguish and despair now and then, amid her frantic -weeping. It was only because he was so numb and beaten himself that -Jurgis did not worry more about this. But he never thought of it, except -when he was dragged to it--he lived like a dumb beast of burden, knowing -only the moment in which he was. - -The winter was coming on again, more menacing and cruel than ever. It -was October, and the holiday rush had begun. It was necessary for the -packing machines to grind till late at night to provide food that would -be eaten at Christmas breakfasts; and Marija and Elzbieta and Ona, as -part of the machine, began working fifteen or sixteen hours a day. There -was no choice about this--whatever work there was to be done they had to -do, if they wished to keep their places; besides that, it added another -pittance to their incomes. So they staggered on with the awful load. -They would start work every morning at seven, and eat their dinners -at noon, and then work until ten or eleven at night without another -mouthful of food. Jurgis wanted to wait for them, to help them home at -night, but they would not think of this; the fertilizer mill was not -running overtime, and there was no place for him to wait save in a -saloon. Each would stagger out into the darkness, and make her way to -the corner, where they met; or if the others had already gone, would get -into a car, and begin a painful struggle to keep awake. When they got -home they were always too tired either to eat or to undress; they would -crawl into bed with their shoes on, and lie like logs. If they should -fail, they would certainly be lost; if they held out, they might have -enough coal for the winter. - -A day or two before Thanksgiving Day there came a snowstorm. It began -in the afternoon, and by evening two inches had fallen. Jurgis tried -to wait for the women, but went into a saloon to get warm, and took two -drinks, and came out and ran home to escape from the demon; there he -lay down to wait for them, and instantly fell asleep. When he opened -his eyes again he was in the midst of a nightmare, and found Elzbieta -shaking him and crying out. At first he could not realize what she -was saying--Ona had not come home. What time was it, he asked. It was -morning--time to be up. Ona had not been home that night! And it was -bitter cold, and a foot of snow on the ground. - -Jurgis sat up with a start. Marija was crying with fright and the -children were wailing in sympathy--little Stanislovas in addition, -because the terror of the snow was upon him. Jurgis had nothing to put -on but his shoes and his coat, and in half a minute he was out of the -door. Then, however, he realized that there was no need of haste, that -he had no idea where to go. It was still dark as midnight, and the thick -snowflakes were sifting down--everything was so silent that he could -hear the rustle of them as they fell. In the few seconds that he stood -there hesitating he was covered white. - -He set off at a run for the yards, stopping by the way to inquire in the -saloons that were open. Ona might have been overcome on the way; or else -she might have met with an accident in the machines. When he got to the -place where she worked he inquired of one of the watchmen--there had -not been any accident, so far as the man had heard. At the time office, -which he found already open, the clerk told him that Ona's check had -been turned in the night before, showing that she had left her work. - -After that there was nothing for him to do but wait, pacing back and -forth in the snow, meantime, to keep from freezing. Already the yards -were full of activity; cattle were being unloaded from the cars in the -distance, and across the way the "beef-luggers" were toiling in the -darkness, carrying two-hundred-pound quarters of bullocks into the -refrigerator cars. Before the first streaks of daylight there came the -crowding throngs of workingmen, shivering, and swinging their dinner -pails as they hurried by. Jurgis took up his stand by the time-office -window, where alone there was light enough for him to see; the snow fell -so quick that it was only by peering closely that he could make sure -that Ona did not pass him. - -Seven o'clock came, the hour when the great packing machine began to -move. Jurgis ought to have been at his place in the fertilizer mill; -but instead he was waiting, in an agony of fear, for Ona. It was fifteen -minutes after the hour when he saw a form emerge from the snow mist, -and sprang toward it with a cry. It was she, running swiftly; as she saw -him, she staggered forward, and half fell into his outstretched arms. - -"What has been the matter?" he cried, anxiously. "Where have you been?" - -It was several seconds before she could get breath to answer him. "I -couldn't get home," she exclaimed. "The snow--the cars had stopped." - -"But where were you then?" he demanded. - -"I had to go home with a friend," she panted--"with Jadvyga." - -Jurgis drew a deep breath; but then he noticed that she was sobbing and -trembling--as if in one of those nervous crises that he dreaded so. "But -what's the matter?" he cried. "What has happened?" - -"Oh, Jurgis, I was so frightened!" she said, clinging to him wildly. "I -have been so worried!" - -They were near the time station window, and people were staring at them. -Jurgis led her away. "How do you mean?" he asked, in perplexity. - -"I was afraid--I was just afraid!" sobbed Ona. "I knew you wouldn't know -where I was, and I didn't know what you might do. I tried to get home, -but I was so tired. Oh, Jurgis, Jurgis!" - -He was so glad to get her back that he could not think clearly about -anything else. It did not seem strange to him that she should be so very -much upset; all her fright and incoherent protestations did not matter -since he had her back. He let her cry away her tears; and then, because -it was nearly eight o'clock, and they would lose another hour if they -delayed, he left her at the packing house door, with her ghastly white -face and her haunted eyes of terror. - -There was another brief interval. Christmas was almost come; and because -the snow still held, and the searching cold, morning after morning -Jurgis half carried his wife to her post, staggering with her through -the darkness; until at last, one night, came the end. - -It lacked but three days of the holidays. About midnight Marija and -Elzbieta came home, exclaiming in alarm when they found that Ona had not -come. The two had agreed to meet her; and, after waiting, had gone to -the room where she worked; only to find that the ham-wrapping girls had -quit work an hour before, and left. There was no snow that night, nor -was it especially cold; and still Ona had not come! Something more -serious must be wrong this time. - -They aroused Jurgis, and he sat up and listened crossly to the story. -She must have gone home again with Jadvyga, he said; Jadvyga lived only -two blocks from the yards, and perhaps she had been tired. Nothing could -have happened to her--and even if there had, there was nothing could -be done about it until morning. Jurgis turned over in his bed, and was -snoring again before the two had closed the door. - -In the morning, however, he was up and out nearly an hour before the -usual time. Jadvyga Marcinkus lived on the other side of the yards, -beyond Halsted Street, with her mother and sisters, in a single basement -room--for Mikolas had recently lost one hand from blood poisoning, and -their marriage had been put off forever. The door of the room was in the -rear, reached by a narrow court, and Jurgis saw a light in the window -and heard something frying as he passed; he knocked, half expecting that -Ona would answer. - -Instead there was one of Jadvyga's little sisters, who gazed at him -through a crack in the door. "Where's Ona?" he demanded; and the child -looked at him in perplexity. "Ona?" she said. - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "isn't she here?" - -"No," said the child, and Jurgis gave a start. A moment later came -Jadvyga, peering over the child's head. When she saw who it was, she -slid around out of sight, for she was not quite dressed. Jurgis must -excuse her, she began, her mother was very ill-- - -"Ona isn't here?" Jurgis demanded, too alarmed to wait for her to -finish. - -"Why, no," said Jadvyga. "What made you think she would be here? Had she -said she was coming?" - -"No," he answered. "But she hasn't come home--and I thought she would be -here the same as before." - -"As before?" echoed Jadvyga, in perplexity. - -"The time she spent the night here," said Jurgis. - -"There must be some mistake," she answered, quickly. "Ona has never -spent the night here." - -He was only half able to realize the words. "Why--why--" he exclaimed. -"Two weeks ago. Jadvyga! She told me so the night it snowed, and she -could not get home." - -"There must be some mistake," declared the girl, again; "she didn't come -here." - -He steadied himself by the door-sill; and Jadvyga in her anxiety--for -she was fond of Ona--opened the door wide, holding her jacket across -her throat. "Are you sure you didn't misunderstand her?" she cried. "She -must have meant somewhere else. She--" - -"She said here," insisted Jurgis. "She told me all about you, and how -you were, and what you said. Are you sure? You haven't forgotten? You -weren't away?" - -"No, no!" she exclaimed--and then came a peevish voice--"Jadvyga, you -are giving the baby a cold. Shut the door!" Jurgis stood for half a -minute more, stammering his perplexity through an eighth of an inch of -crack; and then, as there was really nothing more to be said, he excused -himself and went away. - -He walked on half dazed, without knowing where he went. Ona had deceived -him! She had lied to him! And what could it mean--where had she been? -Where was she now? He could hardly grasp the thing--much less try to -solve it; but a hundred wild surmises came to him, a sense of impending -calamity overwhelmed him. - -Because there was nothing else to do, he went back to the time office to -watch again. He waited until nearly an hour after seven, and then went -to the room where Ona worked to make inquiries of Ona's "forelady." The -"forelady," he found, had not yet come; all the lines of cars that -came from downtown were stalled--there had been an accident in the -powerhouse, and no cars had been running since last night. Meantime, -however, the ham-wrappers were working away, with some one else in -charge of them. The girl who answered Jurgis was busy, and as she -talked she looked to see if she were being watched. Then a man came -up, wheeling a truck; he knew Jurgis for Ona's husband, and was curious -about the mystery. - -"Maybe the cars had something to do with it," he suggested--"maybe she -had gone down-town." - -"No," said Jurgis, "she never went down-town." - -"Perhaps not," said the man. Jurgis thought he saw him exchange a swift -glance with the girl as he spoke, and he demanded quickly. "What do you -know about it?" - -But the man had seen that the boss was watching him; he started on -again, pushing his truck. "I don't know anything about it," he said, -over his shoulder. "How should I know where your wife goes?" - -Then Jurgis went out again and paced up and down before the building. -All the morning he stayed there, with no thought of his work. About -noon he went to the police station to make inquiries, and then came -back again for another anxious vigil. Finally, toward the middle of the -afternoon, he set out for home once more. - -He was walking out Ashland Avenue. The streetcars had begun running -again, and several passed him, packed to the steps with people. The -sight of them set Jurgis to thinking again of the man's sarcastic -remark; and half involuntarily he found himself watching the cars--with -the result that he gave a sudden startled exclamation, and stopped short -in his tracks. - -Then he broke into a run. For a whole block he tore after the car, only -a little ways behind. That rusty black hat with the drooping red flower, -it might not be Ona's, but there was very little likelihood of it. -He would know for certain very soon, for she would get out two blocks -ahead. He slowed down, and let the car go on. - -She got out: and as soon as she was out of sight on the side street -Jurgis broke into a run. Suspicion was rife in him now, and he was not -ashamed to shadow her: he saw her turn the corner near their home, and -then he ran again, and saw her as she went up the porch steps of the -house. After that he turned back, and for five minutes paced up and -down, his hands clenched tightly and his lips set, his mind in a -turmoil. Then he went home and entered. - -As he opened the door, he saw Elzbieta, who had also been looking for -Ona, and had come home again. She was now on tiptoe, and had a finger on -her lips. Jurgis waited until she was close to him. - -"Don't make any noise," she whispered, hurriedly. - -"What's the matter'?" he asked. "Ona is asleep," she panted. "She's been -very ill. I'm afraid her mind's been wandering, Jurgis. She was lost -on the street all night, and I've only just succeeded in getting her -quiet." - -"When did she come in?" he asked. - -"Soon after you left this morning," said Elzbieta. - -"And has she been out since?" - -"No, of course not. She's so weak, Jurgis, she--" - -And he set his teeth hard together. "You are lying to me," he said. - -Elzbieta started, and turned pale. "Why!" she gasped. "What do you -mean?" - -But Jurgis did not answer. He pushed her aside, and strode to the -bedroom door and opened it. - -Ona was sitting on the bed. She turned a startled look upon him as he -entered. He closed the door in Elzbieta's face, and went toward his -wife. "Where have you been?" he demanded. - -She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he saw that her face -was as white as paper, and drawn with pain. She gasped once or twice -as she tried to answer him, and then began, speaking low, and swiftly. -"Jurgis, I--I think I have been out of my mind. I started to come last -night, and I could not find the way. I walked--I walked all night, I -think, and--and I only got home--this morning." - -"You needed a rest," he said, in a hard tone. "Why did you go out -again?" - -He was looking her fairly in the face, and he could read the sudden fear -and wild uncertainty that leaped into her eyes. "I--I had to go to--to -the store," she gasped, almost in a whisper, "I had to go--" - -"You are lying to me," said Jurgis. Then he clenched his hands and took -a step toward her. "Why do you lie to me?" he cried, fiercely. "What are -you doing that you have to lie to me?" - -"Jurgis!" she exclaimed, starting up in fright. "Oh, Jurgis, how can -you?" - -"You have lied to me, I say!" he cried. "You told me you had been to -Jadvyga's house that other night, and you hadn't. You had been where -you were last night--somewheres downtown, for I saw you get off the car. -Where were you?" - -It was as if he had struck a knife into her. She seemed to go all to -pieces. For half a second she stood, reeling and swaying, staring at -him with horror in her eyes; then, with a cry of anguish, she tottered -forward, stretching out her arms to him. But he stepped aside, -deliberately, and let her fall. She caught herself at the side of the -bed, and then sank down, burying her face in her hands and bursting into -frantic weeping. - -There came one of those hysterical crises that had so often dismayed -him. Ona sobbed and wept, her fear and anguish building themselves up -into long climaxes. Furious gusts of emotion would come sweeping over -her, shaking her as the tempest shakes the trees upon the hills; all her -frame would quiver and throb with them--it was as if some dreadful thing -rose up within her and took possession of her, torturing her, tearing -her. This thing had been wont to set Jurgis quite beside himself; but -now he stood with his lips set tightly and his hands clenched--she might -weep till she killed herself, but she should not move him this time--not -an inch, not an inch. Because the sounds she made set his blood to -running cold and his lips to quivering in spite of himself, he was glad -of the diversion when Teta Elzbieta, pale with fright, opened the door -and rushed in; yet he turned upon her with an oath. "Go out!" he cried, -"go out!" And then, as she stood hesitating, about to speak, he seized -her by the arm, and half flung her from the room, slamming the door -and barring it with a table. Then he turned again and faced Ona, -crying--"Now, answer me!" - -Yet she did not hear him--she was still in the grip of the fiend. Jurgis -could see her outstretched hands, shaking and twitching, roaming -here and there over the bed at will, like living things; he could see -convulsive shudderings start in her body and run through her limbs. She -was sobbing and choking--it was as if there were too many sounds for one -throat, they came chasing each other, like waves upon the sea. Then her -voice would begin to rise into screams, louder and louder until it broke -in wild, horrible peals of laughter. Jurgis bore it until he could bear -it no longer, and then he sprang at her, seizing her by the shoulders -and shaking her, shouting into her ear: "Stop it, I say! Stop it!" - -She looked up at him, out of her agony; then she fell forward at his -feet. She caught them in her hands, in spite of his efforts to step -aside, and with her face upon the floor lay writhing. It made a choking -in Jurgis' throat to hear her, and he cried again, more savagely than -before: "Stop it, I say!" - -This time she heeded him, and caught her breath and lay silent, save for -the gasping sobs that wrenched all her frame. For a long minute she -lay there, perfectly motionless, until a cold fear seized her husband, -thinking that she was dying. Suddenly, however, he heard her voice, -faintly: "Jurgis! Jurgis!" - -"What is it?" he said. - -He had to bend down to her, she was so weak. She was pleading with him, -in broken phrases, painfully uttered: "Have faith in me! Believe me!" - -"Believe what?" he cried. - -"Believe that I--that I know best--that I love you! And do not ask -me--what you did. Oh, Jurgis, please, please! It is for the best--it -is--" - -He started to speak again, but she rushed on frantically, heading him -off. "If you will only do it! If you will only--only believe me! -It wasn't my fault--I couldn't help it--it will be all right--it is -nothing--it is no harm. Oh, Jurgis--please, please!" - -She had hold of him, and was trying to raise herself to look at him; he -could feel the palsied shaking of her hands and the heaving of the -bosom she pressed against him. She managed to catch one of his hands and -gripped it convulsively, drawing it to her face, and bathing it in her -tears. "Oh, believe me, believe me!" she wailed again; and he shouted in -fury, "I will not!" - -But still she clung to him, wailing aloud in her despair: "Oh, Jurgis, -think what you are doing! It will ruin us--it will ruin us! Oh, no, -you must not do it! No, don't, don't do it. You must not do it! It -will drive me mad--it will kill me--no, no, Jurgis, I am crazy--it is -nothing. You do not really need to know. We can be happy--we can love -each other just the same. Oh, please, please, believe me!" - -Her words fairly drove him wild. He tore his hands loose, and flung her -off. "Answer me," he cried. "God damn it, I say--answer me!" - -She sank down upon the floor, beginning to cry again. It was like -listening to the moan of a damned soul, and Jurgis could not stand it. -He smote his fist upon the table by his side, and shouted again at her, -"Answer me!" - -She began to scream aloud, her voice like the voice of some wild beast: -"Ah! Ah! I can't! I can't do it!" - -"Why can't you do it?" he shouted. - -"I don't know how!" - -He sprang and caught her by the arm, lifting her up, and glaring into -her face. "Tell me where you were last night!" he panted. "Quick, out -with it!" - -Then she began to whisper, one word at a time: "I--was in--a -house--downtown--" - -"What house? What do you mean?" - -She tried to hide her eyes away, but he held her. "Miss Henderson's -house," she gasped. He did not understand at first. "Miss Henderson's -house," he echoed. And then suddenly, as in an explosion, the horrible -truth burst over him, and he reeled and staggered back with a scream. -He caught himself against the wall, and put his hand to his forehead, -staring about him, and whispering, "Jesus! Jesus!" - -An instant later he leaped at her, as she lay groveling at his feet. -He seized her by the throat. "Tell me!" he gasped, hoarsely. "Quick! -Who took you to that place?" - -She tried to get away, making him furious; he thought it was fear, of -the pain of his clutch--he did not understand that it was the agony of -her shame. Still she answered him, "Connor." - -"Connor," he gasped. "Who is Connor?" - -"The boss," she answered. "The man--" - -He tightened his grip, in his frenzy, and only when he saw her eyes -closing did he realize that he was choking her. Then he relaxed his -fingers, and crouched, waiting, until she opened her lids again. His -breath beat hot into her face. - -"Tell me," he whispered, at last, "tell me about it." - -She lay perfectly motionless, and he had to hold his breath to catch her -words. "I did not want--to do it," she said; "I tried--I tried not to do -it. I only did it--to save us. It was our only chance." - -Again, for a space, there was no sound but his panting. Ona's eyes -closed and when she spoke again she did not open them. "He told me--he -would have me turned off. He told me he would--we would all of us lose -our places. We could never get anything to do--here--again. He--he meant -it--he would have ruined us." - -Jurgis' arms were shaking so that he could scarcely hold himself up, -and lurched forward now and then as he listened. "When--when did this -begin?" he gasped. - -"At the very first," she said. She spoke as if in a trance. "It was -all--it was their plot--Miss Henderson's plot. She hated me. And he--he -wanted me. He used to speak to me--out on the platform. Then he began -to--to make love to me. He offered me money. He begged me--he said he -loved me. Then he threatened me. He knew all about us, he knew we would -starve. He knew your boss--he knew Marija's. He would hound us to death, -he said--then he said if I would--if I--we would all of us be sure -of work--always. Then one day he caught hold of me--he would not let -go--he--he--" - -"Where was this?" - -"In the hallway--at night--after every one had gone. I could not help -it. I thought of you--of the baby--of mother and the children. I was -afraid of him--afraid to cry out." - -A moment ago her face had been ashen gray, now it was scarlet. She was -beginning to breathe hard again. Jurgis made not a sound. - -"That was two months ago. Then he wanted me to come--to that house. He -wanted me to stay there. He said all of us--that we would not have to -work. He made me come there--in the evenings. I told you--you thought I -was at the factory. Then--one night it snowed, and I couldn't get back. -And last night--the cars were stopped. It was such a little thing--to -ruin us all. I tried to walk, but I couldn't. I didn't want you to know. -It would have--it would have been all right. We could have gone on--just -the same--you need never have known about it. He was getting tired of -me--he would have let me alone soon. I am going to have a baby--I am -getting ugly. He told me that--twice, he told me, last night. He kicked -me--last night--too. And now you will kill him--you--you will kill -him--and we shall die." - -All this she had said without a quiver; she lay still as death, not an -eyelid moving. And Jurgis, too, said not a word. He lifted himself by -the bed, and stood up. He did not stop for another glance at her, but -went to the door and opened it. He did not see Elzbieta, crouching -terrified in the corner. He went out, hatless, leaving the street door -open behind him. The instant his feet were on the sidewalk he broke into -a run. - - -He ran like one possessed, blindly, furiously, looking neither to the -right nor left. He was on Ashland Avenue before exhaustion compelled him -to slow down, and then, noticing a car, he made a dart for it and drew -himself aboard. His eyes were wild and his hair flying, and he was -breathing hoarsely, like a wounded bull; but the people on the car did -not notice this particularly--perhaps it seemed natural to them that -a man who smelled as Jurgis smelled should exhibit an aspect to -correspond. They began to give way before him as usual. The conductor -took his nickel gingerly, with the tips of his fingers, and then left -him with the platform to himself. Jurgis did not even notice it--his -thoughts were far away. Within his soul it was like a roaring furnace; -he stood waiting, waiting, crouching as if for a spring. - -He had some of his breath back when the car came to the entrance of the -yards, and so he leaped off and started again, racing at full speed. -People turned and stared at him, but he saw no one--there was the -factory, and he bounded through the doorway and down the corridor. He -knew the room where Ona worked, and he knew Connor, the boss of the -loading-gang outside. He looked for the man as he sprang into the room. - -The truckmen were hard at work, loading the freshly packed boxes and -barrels upon the cars. Jurgis shot one swift glance up and down the -platform--the man was not on it. But then suddenly he heard a voice in -the corridor, and started for it with a bound. In an instant more he -fronted the boss. - -He was a big, red-faced Irishman, coarse-featured, and smelling of -liquor. He saw Jurgis as he crossed the threshold, and turned white. -He hesitated one second, as if meaning to run; and in the next his -assailant was upon him. He put up his hands to protect his face, but -Jurgis, lunging with all the power of his arm and body, struck him -fairly between the eyes and knocked him backward. The next moment he was -on top of him, burying his fingers in his throat. - -To Jurgis this man's whole presence reeked of the crime he had -committed; the touch of his body was madness to him--it set every nerve -of him a-tremble, it aroused all the demon in his soul. It had worked its -will upon Ona, this great beast--and now he had it, he had it! It was -his turn now! Things swam blood before him, and he screamed aloud in his -fury, lifting his victim and smashing his head upon the floor. - -The place, of course, was in an uproar; women fainting and shrieking, -and men rushing in. Jurgis was so bent upon his task that he knew -nothing of this, and scarcely realized that people were trying to -interfere with him; it was only when half a dozen men had seized him by -the legs and shoulders and were pulling at him, that he understood that -he was losing his prey. In a flash he had bent down and sunk his teeth -into the man's cheek; and when they tore him away he was dripping with -blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his mouth. - -They got him down upon the floor, clinging to him by his arms and legs, -and still they could hardly hold him. He fought like a tiger, -writhing and twisting, half flinging them off, and starting toward his -unconscious enemy. But yet others rushed in, until there was a little -mountain of twisted limbs and bodies, heaving and tossing, and working -its way about the room. In the end, by their sheer weight, they choked -the breath out of him, and then they carried him to the company police -station, where he lay still until they had summoned a patrol wagon to -take him away. - - - -Chapter 16 - - -When Jurgis got up again he went quietly enough. He was exhausted and -half-dazed, and besides he saw the blue uniforms of the policemen. He -drove in a patrol wagon with half a dozen of them watching him; keeping -as far away as possible, however, on account of the fertilizer. Then he -stood before the sergeant's desk and gave his name and address, and saw -a charge of assault and battery entered against him. On his way to his -cell a burly policeman cursed him because he started down the -wrong corridor, and then added a kick when he was not quick enough; -nevertheless, Jurgis did not even lift his eyes--he had lived two years -and a half in Packingtown, and he knew what the police were. It was as -much as a man's very life was worth to anger them, here in their inmost -lair; like as not a dozen would pile on to him at once, and pound -his face into a pulp. It would be nothing unusual if he got his skull -cracked in the melee--in which case they would report that he had -been drunk and had fallen down, and there would be no one to know the -difference or to care. - -So a barred door clanged upon Jurgis and he sat down upon a bench and -buried his face in his hands. He was alone; he had the afternoon and all -of the night to himself. - -At first he was like a wild beast that has glutted itself; he was in -a dull stupor of satisfaction. He had done up the scoundrel pretty -well--not as well as he would have if they had given him a minute -more, but pretty well, all the same; the ends of his fingers were still -tingling from their contact with the fellow's throat. But then, little -by little, as his strength came back and his senses cleared, he began -to see beyond his momentary gratification; that he had nearly killed -the boss would not help Ona--not the horrors that she had borne, nor the -memory that would haunt her all her days. It would not help to feed her -and her child; she would certainly lose her place, while he--what was to -happen to him God only knew. - -Half the night he paced the floor, wrestling with this nightmare; and -when he was exhausted he lay down, trying to sleep, but finding instead, -for the first time in his life, that his brain was too much for him. In -the cell next to him was a drunken wife-beater and in the one beyond -a yelling maniac. At midnight they opened the station house to the -homeless wanderers who were crowded about the door, shivering in the -winter blast, and they thronged into the corridor outside of the cells. -Some of them stretched themselves out on the bare stone floor and fell -to snoring, others sat up, laughing and talking, cursing and quarreling. -The air was fetid with their breath, yet in spite of this some of them -smelled Jurgis and called down the torments of hell upon him, while he -lay in a far corner of his cell, counting the throbbings of the blood in -his forehead. - -They had brought him his supper, which was "duffers and dope"--being -hunks of dry bread on a tin plate, and coffee, called "dope" because it -was drugged to keep the prisoners quiet. Jurgis had not known this, or -he would have swallowed the stuff in desperation; as it was, every nerve -of him was a-quiver with shame and rage. Toward morning the place fell -silent, and he got up and began to pace his cell; and then within the -soul of him there rose up a fiend, red-eyed and cruel, and tore out the -strings of his heart. - -It was not for himself that he suffered--what did a man who worked in -Durham's fertilizer mill care about anything that the world might do -to him! What was any tyranny of prison compared with the tyranny of the -past, of the thing that had happened and could not be recalled, of the -memory that could never be effaced! The horror of it drove him mad; -he stretched out his arms to heaven, crying out for deliverance from -it--and there was no deliverance, there was no power even in heaven that -could undo the past. It was a ghost that would not drown; it followed -him, it seized upon him and beat him to the ground. Ah, if only he could -have foreseen it--but then, he would have foreseen it, if he had not -been a fool! He smote his hands upon his forehead, cursing himself -because he had ever allowed Ona to work where she had, because he had -not stood between her and a fate which every one knew to be so common. -He should have taken her away, even if it were to lie down and die of -starvation in the gutters of Chicago's streets! And now--oh, it could -not be true; it was too monstrous, too horrible. - -It was a thing that could not be faced; a new shuddering seized him -every time he tried to think of it. No, there was no bearing the load of -it, there was no living under it. There would be none for her--he knew -that he might pardon her, might plead with her on his knees, but she -would never look him in the face again, she would never be his -wife again. The shame of it would kill her--there could be no other -deliverance, and it was best that she should die. - -This was simple and clear, and yet, with cruel inconsistency, whenever -he escaped from this nightmare it was to suffer and cry out at the -vision of Ona starving. They had put him in jail, and they would keep -him here a long time, years maybe. And Ona would surely not go to work -again, broken and crushed as she was. And Elzbieta and Marija, too, -might lose their places--if that hell fiend Connor chose to set to work -to ruin them, they would all be turned out. And even if he did not, they -could not live--even if the boys left school again, they could surely -not pay all the bills without him and Ona. They had only a few dollars -now--they had just paid the rent of the house a week ago, and that after -it was two weeks overdue. So it would be due again in a week! They would -have no money to pay it then--and they would lose the house, after all -their long, heartbreaking struggle. Three times now the agent had warned -him that he would not tolerate another delay. Perhaps it was very -base of Jurgis to be thinking about the house when he had the other -unspeakable thing to fill his mind; yet, how much he had suffered for -this house, how much they had all of them suffered! It was their one -hope of respite, as long as they lived; they had put all their money -into it--and they were working people, poor people, whose money was -their strength, the very substance of them, body and soul, the thing by -which they lived and for lack of which they died. - -And they would lose it all; they would be turned out into the streets, -and have to hide in some icy garret, and live or die as best they could! -Jurgis had all the night--and all of many more nights--to think about -this, and he saw the thing in its details; he lived it all, as if he -were there. They would sell their furniture, and then run into debt at -the stores, and then be refused credit; they would borrow a little from -the Szedvilases, whose delicatessen store was tottering on the brink -of ruin; the neighbors would come and help them a little--poor, sick -Jadvyga would bring a few spare pennies, as she always did when people -were starving, and Tamoszius Kuszleika would bring them the proceeds of -a night's fiddling. So they would struggle to hang on until he got out -of jail--or would they know that he was in jail, would they be able to -find out anything about him? Would they be allowed to see him--or was it -to be part of his punishment to be kept in ignorance about their fate? - -His mind would hang upon the worst possibilities; he saw Ona ill and -tortured, Marija out of her place, little Stanislovas unable to get -to work for the snow, the whole family turned out on the street. God -Almighty! would they actually let them lie down in the street and die? -Would there be no help even then--would they wander about in the snow -till they froze? Jurgis had never seen any dead bodies in the streets, -but he had seen people evicted and disappear, no one knew where; -and though the city had a relief bureau, though there was a charity -organization society in the stockyards district, in all his life there -he had never heard of either of them. They did not advertise their -activities, having more calls than they could attend to without that. - ---So on until morning. Then he had another ride in the patrol wagon, -along with the drunken wife-beater and the maniac, several "plain -drunks" and "saloon fighters," a burglar, and two men who had been -arrested for stealing meat from the packing houses. Along with them he -was driven into a large, white-walled room, stale-smelling and -crowded. In front, upon a raised platform behind a rail, sat a stout, -florid-faced personage, with a nose broken out in purple blotches. - -Our friend realized vaguely that he was about to be tried. He wondered -what for--whether or not his victim might be dead, and if so, what they -would do with him. Hang him, perhaps, or beat him to death--nothing -would have surprised Jurgis, who knew little of the laws. Yet he had -picked up gossip enough to have it occur to him that the loud-voiced man -upon the bench might be the notorious Justice Callahan, about whom the -people of Packingtown spoke with bated breath. - -"Pat" Callahan--"Growler" Pat, as he had been known before he ascended -the bench--had begun life as a butcher boy and a bruiser of local -reputation; he had gone into politics almost as soon as he had learned -to talk, and had held two offices at once before he was old enough to -vote. If Scully was the thumb, Pat Callahan was the first finger of the -unseen hand whereby the packers held down the people of the district. No -politician in Chicago ranked higher in their confidence; he had been at -it a long time--had been the business agent in the city council of old -Durham, the self-made merchant, way back in the early days, when the -whole city of Chicago had been up at auction. "Growler" Pat had given -up holding city offices very early in his career--caring only for party -power, and giving the rest of his time to superintending his dives and -brothels. Of late years, however, since his children were growing up, -he had begun to value respectability, and had had himself made a -magistrate; a position for which he was admirably fitted, because of his -strong conservatism and his contempt for "foreigners." - -Jurgis sat gazing about the room for an hour or two; he was in hopes -that some one of the family would come, but in this he was disappointed. -Finally, he was led before the bar, and a lawyer for the company -appeared against him. Connor was under the doctor's care, the lawyer -explained briefly, and if his Honor would hold the prisoner for a -week--"Three hundred dollars," said his Honor, promptly. - -Jurgis was staring from the judge to the lawyer in perplexity. "Have you -any one to go on your bond?" demanded the judge, and then a clerk who -stood at Jurgis' elbow explained to him what this meant. The latter -shook his head, and before he realized what had happened the policemen -were leading him away again. They took him to a room where other -prisoners were waiting and here he stayed until court adjourned, when he -had another long and bitterly cold ride in a patrol wagon to the county -jail, which is on the north side of the city, and nine or ten miles from -the stockyards. - -Here they searched Jurgis, leaving him only his money, which consisted -of fifteen cents. Then they led him to a room and told him to strip for -a bath; after which he had to walk down a long gallery, past the grated -cell doors of the inmates of the jail. This was a great event to the -latter--the daily review of the new arrivals, all stark naked, and many -and diverting were the comments. Jurgis was required to stay in the bath -longer than any one, in the vain hope of getting out of him a few of his -phosphates and acids. The prisoners roomed two in a cell, but that day -there was one left over, and he was the one. - -The cells were in tiers, opening upon galleries. His cell was about five -feet by seven in size, with a stone floor and a heavy wooden bench built -into it. There was no window--the only light came from windows near the -roof at one end of the court outside. There were two bunks, one above -the other, each with a straw mattress and a pair of gray blankets--the -latter stiff as boards with filth, and alive with fleas, bedbugs, and -lice. When Jurgis lifted up the mattress he discovered beneath it a -layer of scurrying roaches, almost as badly frightened as himself. - -Here they brought him more "duffers and dope," with the addition of a -bowl of soup. Many of the prisoners had their meals brought in from a -restaurant, but Jurgis had no money for that. Some had books to read and -cards to play, with candles to burn by night, but Jurgis was all alone -in darkness and silence. He could not sleep again; there was the same -maddening procession of thoughts that lashed him like whips upon his -naked back. When night fell he was pacing up and down his cell like a -wild beast that breaks its teeth upon the bars of its cage. Now and then -in his frenzy he would fling himself against the walls of the place, -beating his hands upon them. They cut him and bruised him--they were -cold and merciless as the men who had built them. - -In the distance there was a church-tower bell that tolled the hours one -by one. When it came to midnight Jurgis was lying upon the floor with -his head in his arms, listening. Instead of falling silent at the end, -the bell broke into a sudden clangor. Jurgis raised his head; what could -that mean--a fire? God! Suppose there were to be a fire in this jail! -But then he made out a melody in the ringing; there were chimes. And -they seemed to waken the city--all around, far and near, there were -bells, ringing wild music; for fully a minute Jurgis lay lost in wonder, -before, all at once, the meaning of it broke over him--that this was -Christmas Eve! - -Christmas Eve--he had forgotten it entirely! There was a breaking of -floodgates, a whirl of new memories and new griefs rushing into his -mind. In far Lithuania they had celebrated Christmas; and it came to -him as if it had been yesterday--himself a little child, with his lost -brother and his dead father in the cabin--in the deep black forest, -where the snow fell all day and all night and buried them from the -world. It was too far off for Santa Claus in Lithuania, but it was not -too far for peace and good will to men, for the wonder-bearing vision -of the Christ Child. And even in Packingtown they had not forgotten -it--some gleam of it had never failed to break their darkness. Last -Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day Jurgis had toiled on the killing -beds, and Ona at wrapping hams, and still they had found strength -enough to take the children for a walk upon the avenue, to see the store -windows all decorated with Christmas trees and ablaze with electric -lights. In one window there would be live geese, in another marvels in -sugar--pink and white canes big enough for ogres, and cakes with -cherubs upon them; in a third there would be rows of fat yellow turkeys, -decorated with rosettes, and rabbits and squirrels hanging; in a fourth -would be a fairyland of toys--lovely dolls with pink dresses, and woolly -sheep and drums and soldier hats. Nor did they have to go without their -share of all this, either. The last time they had had a big basket with -them and all their Christmas marketing to do--a roast of pork and a -cabbage and some rye bread, and a pair of mittens for Ona, and a rubber -doll that squeaked, and a little green cornucopia full of candy to be -hung from the gas jet and gazed at by half a dozen pairs of longing -eyes. - -Even half a year of the sausage machines and the fertilizer mill had not -been able to kill the thought of Christmas in them; there was a choking -in Jurgis' throat as he recalled that the very night Ona had not come -home Teta Elzbieta had taken him aside and shown him an old valentine -that she had picked up in a paper store for three cents--dingy and -shopworn, but with bright colors, and figures of angels and doves. -She had wiped all the specks off this, and was going to set it on the -mantel, where the children could see it. Great sobs shook Jurgis at this -memory--they would spend their Christmas in misery and despair, with -him in prison and Ona ill and their home in desolation. Ah, it was too -cruel! Why at least had they not left him alone--why, after they had -shut him in jail, must they be ringing Christmas chimes in his ears! - -But no, their bells were not ringing for him--their Christmas was not -meant for him, they were simply not counting him at all. He was of no -consequence--he was flung aside, like a bit of trash, the carcass of -some animal. It was horrible, horrible! His wife might be dying, his -baby might be starving, his whole family might be perishing in the -cold--and all the while they were ringing their Christmas chimes! And -the bitter mockery of it--all this was punishment for him! They put him -in a place where the snow could not beat in, where the cold could not -eat through his bones; they brought him food and drink--why, in the name -of heaven, if they must punish him, did they not put his family in jail -and leave him outside--why could they find no better way to punish him -than to leave three weak women and six helpless children to starve and -freeze? That was their law, that was their justice! - -Jurgis stood upright; trembling with passion, his hands clenched and -his arms upraised, his whole soul ablaze with hatred and defiance. Ten -thousand curses upon them and their law! Their justice--it was a lie, it -was a lie, a hideous, brutal lie, a thing too black and hateful for any -world but a world of nightmares. It was a sham and a loathsome mockery. -There was no justice, there was no right, anywhere in it--it was -only force, it was tyranny, the will and the power, reckless and -unrestrained! They had ground him beneath their heel, they had devoured -all his substance; they had murdered his old father, they had broken and -wrecked his wife, they had crushed and cowed his whole family; and now -they were through with him, they had no further use for him--and because -he had interfered with them, had gotten in their way, this was what they -had done to him! They had put him behind bars, as if he had been a -wild beast, a thing without sense or reason, without rights, without -affections, without feelings. Nay, they would not even have treated a -beast as they had treated him! Would any man in his senses have trapped -a wild thing in its lair, and left its young behind to die? - -These midnight hours were fateful ones to Jurgis; in them was the -beginning of his rebellion, of his outlawry and his unbelief. He had no -wit to trace back the social crime to its far sources--he could not say -that it was the thing men have called "the system" that was crushing him -to the earth; that it was the packers, his masters, who had bought up -the law of the land, and had dealt out their brutal will to him from the -seat of justice. He only knew that he was wronged, and that the world -had wronged him; that the law, that society, with all its powers, had -declared itself his foe. And every hour his soul grew blacker, every -hour he dreamed new dreams of vengeance, of defiance, of raging, -frenzied hate. - - The vilest deeds, like poison weeds, - Bloom well in prison air; - It is only what is good in Man - That wastes and withers there; - Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, - And the Warder is Despair. - -So wrote a poet, to whom the world had dealt its justice-- - - I know not whether Laws be right, - Or whether Laws be wrong; - All that we know who lie in gaol - Is that the wall is strong. - And they do well to hide their hell, - For in it things are done - That Son of God nor son of Man - Ever should look upon! - - - -Chapter 17 - - -At seven o'clock the next morning Jurgis was let out to get water to -wash his cell--a duty which he performed faithfully, but which most -of the prisoners were accustomed to shirk, until their cells became so -filthy that the guards interposed. Then he had more "duffers and -dope," and afterward was allowed three hours for exercise, in a long, -cement-walked court roofed with glass. Here were all the inmates of -the jail crowded together. At one side of the court was a place for -visitors, cut off by two heavy wire screens, a foot apart, so that -nothing could be passed in to the prisoners; here Jurgis watched -anxiously, but there came no one to see him. - -Soon after he went back to his cell, a keeper opened the door to let -in another prisoner. He was a dapper young fellow, with a light brown -mustache and blue eyes, and a graceful figure. He nodded to Jurgis, and -then, as the keeper closed the door upon him, began gazing critically -about him. - -"Well, pal," he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again, "good -morning." - -"Good morning," said Jurgis. - -"A rum go for Christmas, eh?" added the other. - -Jurgis nodded. - -The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he lifted -up the mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. "My God!" he -said, "that's the worst yet." - -He glanced at Jurgis again. "Looks as if it hadn't been slept in last -night. Couldn't stand it, eh?" - -"I didn't want to sleep last night," said Jurgis. - -"When did you come in?" - -"Yesterday." - -The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose. -"There's the devil of a stink in here," he said, suddenly. "What is it?" - -"It's me," said Jurgis. - -"You?" - -"Yes, me." - -"Didn't they make you wash?" - -"Yes, but this don't wash." - -"What is it?" - -"Fertilizer." - -"Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?" - -"I work in the stockyards--at least I did until the other day. It's in -my clothes." - -"That's a new one on me," said the newcomer. "I thought I'd been up -against 'em all. What are you in for?" - -"I hit my boss." - -"Oh--that's it. What did he do?" - -"He--he treated me mean." - -"I see. You're what's called an honest workingman!" - -"What are you?" Jurgis asked. - -"I?" The other laughed. "They say I'm a cracksman," he said. - -"What's that?" asked Jurgis. - -"Safes, and such things," answered the other. - -"Oh," said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stared at the speaker in awe. "You -mean you break into them--you--you--" - -"Yes," laughed the other, "that's what they say." - -He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgis found -afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education, like what -the world calls a "gentleman." - -"Is that what you're here for?" Jurgis inquired. - -"No," was the answer. "I'm here for disorderly conduct. They were mad -because they couldn't get any evidence. - -"What's your name?" the young fellow continued after a pause. "My name's -Duane--Jack Duane. I've more than a dozen, but that's my company one." -He seated himself on the floor with his back to the wall and his legs -crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put Jurgis on a friendly -footing--he was evidently a man of the world, used to getting on, and -not too proud to hold conversation with a mere laboring man. He drew -Jurgis out, and heard all about his life all but the one unmentionable -thing; and then he told stories about his own life. He was a great -one for stories, not always of the choicest. Being sent to jail had -apparently not disturbed his cheerfulness; he had "done time" twice -before, it seemed, and he took it all with a frolic welcome. What with -women and wine and the excitement of his vocation, a man could afford to -rest now and then. - -Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by the -arrival of a cell mate. He could not turn his face to the wall and -sulk, he had to speak when he was spoken to; nor could he help being -interested in the conversation of Duane--the first educated man with -whom he had ever talked. How could he help listening with wonder while -the other told of midnight ventures and perilous escapes, of feastings -and orgies, of fortunes squandered in a night? The young fellow had an -amused contempt for Jurgis, as a sort of working mule; he, too, had -felt the world's injustice, but instead of bearing it patiently, he had -struck back, and struck hard. He was striking all the time--there was -war between him and society. He was a genial freebooter, living off the -enemy, without fear or shame. He was not always victorious, but then -defeat did not mean annihilation, and need not break his spirit. - -Withal he was a goodhearted fellow--too much so, it appeared. His story -came out, not in the first day, nor the second, but in the long hours -that dragged by, in which they had nothing to do but talk and nothing -to talk of but themselves. Jack Duane was from the East; he was a -college-bred man--had been studying electrical engineering. Then his -father had met with misfortune in business and killed himself; and there -had been his mother and a younger brother and sister. Also, there was an -invention of Duane's; Jurgis could not understand it clearly, but it had -to do with telegraphing, and it was a very important thing--there were -fortunes in it, millions upon millions of dollars. And Duane had been -robbed of it by a great company, and got tangled up in lawsuits and lost -all his money. Then somebody had given him a tip on a horse race, and he -had tried to retrieve his fortune with another person's money, and had -to run away, and all the rest had come from that. The other asked -him what had led him to safe-breaking--to Jurgis a wild and appalling -occupation to think about. A man he had met, his cell mate had -replied--one thing leads to another. Didn't he ever wonder about his -family, Jurgis asked. Sometimes, the other answered, but not often--he -didn't allow it. Thinking about it would make it no better. This wasn't -a world in which a man had any business with a family; sooner or later -Jurgis would find that out also, and give up the fight and shift for -himself. - -Jurgis was so transparently what he pretended to be that his cell mate -was as open with him as a child; it was pleasant to tell him adventures, -he was so full of wonder and admiration, he was so new to the ways of -the country. Duane did not even bother to keep back names and places--he -told all his triumphs and his failures, his loves and his griefs. Also -he introduced Jurgis to many of the other prisoners, nearly half of whom -he knew by name. The crowd had already given Jurgis a name--they called -him "the stinker." This was cruel, but they meant no harm by it, and he -took it with a good-natured grin. - -Our friend had caught now and then a whiff from the sewers over which -he lived, but this was the first time that he had ever been splashed by -their filth. This jail was a Noah's ark of the city's crime--there were -murderers, "hold-up men" and burglars, embezzlers, counterfeiters and -forgers, bigamists, "shoplifters," "confidence men," petty thieves -and pickpockets, gamblers and procurers, brawlers, beggars, tramps -and drunkards; they were black and white, old and young, Americans and -natives of every nation under the sun. There were hardened criminals and -innocent men too poor to give bail; old men, and boys literally not yet -in their teens. They were the drainage of the great festering ulcer of -society; they were hideous to look upon, sickening to talk to. All life -had turned to rottenness and stench in them--love was a beastliness, joy -was a snare, and God was an imprecation. They strolled here and there -about the courtyard, and Jurgis listened to them. He was ignorant and -they were wise; they had been everywhere and tried everything. They -could tell the whole hateful story of it, set forth the inner soul of -a city in which justice and honor, women's bodies and men's souls, were -for sale in the marketplace, and human beings writhed and fought and -fell upon each other like wolves in a pit; in which lusts were raging -fires, and men were fuel, and humanity was festering and stewing and -wallowing in its own corruption. Into this wild-beast tangle these men -had been born without their consent, they had taken part in it because -they could not help it; that they were in jail was no disgrace to -them, for the game had never been fair, the dice were loaded. They were -swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, and they had been trapped -and put out of the way by the swindlers and thieves of millions of -dollars. - - -To most of this Jurgis tried not to listen. They frightened him with -their savage mockery; and all the while his heart was far away, where -his loved ones were calling. Now and then in the midst of it his -thoughts would take flight; and then the tears would come into his -eyes--and he would be called back by the jeering laughter of his -companions. - -He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he had no word -from his home. He paid one of his fifteen cents for a postal card, and -his companion wrote a note to the family, telling them where he was -and when he would be tried. There came no answer to it, however, and at -last, the day before New Year's, Jurgis bade good-by to Jack Duane. The -latter gave him his address, or rather the address of his mistress, and -made Jurgis promise to look him up. "Maybe I could help you out of a -hole some day," he said, and added that he was sorry to have him go. -Jurgis rode in the patrol wagon back to Justice Callahan's court for -trial. - -One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was Teta -Elzbieta and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated far in -the rear. His heart began to pound, but he did not dare to try to signal -to them, and neither did Elzbieta. He took his seat in the prisoners' -pen and sat gazing at them in helpless agony. He saw that Ona was not -with them, and was full of foreboding as to what that might mean. He -spent half an hour brooding over this--and then suddenly he straightened -up and the blood rushed into his face. A man had come in--Jurgis could -not see his features for the bandages that swathed him, but he knew the -burly figure. It was Connor! A trembling seized him, and his limbs bent -as if for a spring. Then suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, and -heard a voice behind him: "Sit down, you son of a--!" - -He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy. The fellow was -still alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet it was -pleasant to see him, all in penitential plasters. He and the company -lawyer, who was with him, came and took seats within the judge's -railing; and a minute later the clerk called Jurgis' name, and the -policeman jerked him to his feet and led him before the bar, gripping -him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring upon the boss. - -Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath, -and told his story. The wife of the prisoner had been employed in a -department near him, and had been discharged for impudence to him. Half -an hour later he had been violently attacked, knocked down, and almost -choked to death. He had brought witnesses-- - -"They will probably not be necessary," observed the judge and he turned -to Jurgis. "You admit attacking the plaintiff?" he asked. - -"Him?" inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss. - -"Yes," said the judge. "I hit him, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Say 'your Honor,'" said the officer, pinching his arm hard. - -"Your Honor," said Jurgis, obediently. - -"You tried to choke him?" - -"Yes, sir, your Honor." - -"Ever been arrested before?" - -"No, sir, your Honor." - -"What have you to say for yourself?" - -Jurgis hesitated. What had he to say? In two years and a half he had -learned to speak English for practical purposes, but these had never -included the statement that some one had intimidated and seduced his -wife. He tried once or twice, stammering and balking, to the annoyance -of the judge, who was gasping from the odor of fertilizer. Finally, -the prisoner made it understood that his vocabulary was inadequate, and -there stepped up a dapper young man with waxed mustaches, bidding him -speak in any language he knew. - -Jurgis began; supposing that he would be given time, he explained how -the boss had taken advantage of his wife's position to make advances -to her and had threatened her with the loss of her place. When the -interpreter had translated this, the judge, whose calendar was crowded, -and whose automobile was ordered for a certain hour, interrupted with -the remark: "Oh, I see. Well, if he made love to your wife, why didn't -she complain to the superintendent or leave the place?" - -Jurgis hesitated, somewhat taken aback; he began to explain that they -were very poor--that work was hard to get-- - -"I see," said Justice Callahan; "so instead you thought you would knock -him down." He turned to the plaintiff, inquiring, "Is there any truth in -this story, Mr. Connor?" - -"Not a particle, your Honor," said the boss. "It is very -unpleasant--they tell some such tale every time you have to discharge a -woman--" - -"Yes, I know," said the judge. "I hear it often enough. The fellow seems -to have handled you pretty roughly. Thirty days and costs. Next case." - -Jurgis had been listening in perplexity. It was only when the policeman -who had him by the arm turned and started to lead him away that he -realized that sentence had been passed. He gazed round him wildly. -"Thirty days!" he panted and then he whirled upon the judge. "What will -my family do?" he cried frantically. "I have a wife and baby, sir, and -they have no money--my God, they will starve to death!" - -"You would have done well to think about them before you committed -the assault," said the judge dryly, as he turned to look at the next -prisoner. - -Jurgis would have spoken again, but the policeman had seized him by the -collar and was twisting it, and a second policeman was making for him -with evidently hostile intentions. So he let them lead him away. Far -down the room he saw Elzbieta and Kotrina, risen from their seats, -staring in fright; he made one effort to go to them, and then, brought -back by another twist at his throat, he bowed his head and gave up the -struggle. They thrust him into a cell room, where other prisoners were -waiting; and as soon as court had adjourned they led him down with them -into the "Black Maria," and drove him away. - -This time Jurgis was bound for the "Bridewell," a petty jail where Cook -County prisoners serve their time. It was even filthier and more crowded -than the county jail; all the smaller fry out of the latter had been -sifted into it--the petty thieves and swindlers, the brawlers and -vagrants. For his cell mate Jurgis had an Italian fruit seller who -had refused to pay his graft to the policeman, and been arrested for -carrying a large pocketknife; as he did not understand a word of English -our friend was glad when he left. He gave place to a Norwegian sailor, -who had lost half an ear in a drunken brawl, and who proved to be -quarrelsome, cursing Jurgis because he moved in his bunk and caused -the roaches to drop upon the lower one. It would have been quite -intolerable, staying in a cell with this wild beast, but for the fact -that all day long the prisoners were put at work breaking stone. - -Ten days of his thirty Jurgis spent thus, without hearing a word from -his family; then one day a keeper came and informed him that there was -a visitor to see him. Jurgis turned white, and so weak at the knees that -he could hardly leave his cell. - -The man led him down the corridor and a flight of steps to the visitors' -room, which was barred like a cell. Through the grating Jurgis could -see some one sitting in a chair; and as he came into the room the person -started up, and he saw that it was little Stanislovas. At the sight -of some one from home the big fellow nearly went to pieces--he had to -steady himself by a chair, and he put his other hand to his forehead, as -if to clear away a mist. "Well?" he said, weakly. - -Little Stanislovas was also trembling, and all but too frightened to -speak. "They--they sent me to tell you--" he said, with a gulp. - -"Well?" Jurgis repeated. He followed the boy's glance to where the -keeper was standing watching them. "Never mind that," Jurgis cried, -wildly. "How are they?" - -"Ona is very sick," Stanislovas said; "and we are almost starving. We -can't get along; we thought you might be able to help us." - -Jurgis gripped the chair tighter; there were beads of perspiration on -his forehead, and his hand shook. "I--can't help you," he said. - -"Ona lies in her room all day," the boy went on, breathlessly. "She -won't eat anything, and she cries all the time. She won't tell what is -the matter and she won't go to work at all. Then a long time ago the man -came for the rent. He was very cross. He came again last week. He said -he would turn us out of the house. And then Marija--" - -A sob choked Stanislovas, and he stopped. "What's the matter with -Marija?" cried Jurgis. - -"She's cut her hand!" said the boy. "She's cut it bad, this time, worse -than before. She can't work and it's all turning green, and the company -doctor says she may--she may have to have it cut off. And Marija cries -all the time--her money is nearly all gone, too, and we can't pay the -rent and the interest on the house; and we have no coal and nothing more -to eat, and the man at the store, he says--" - -The little fellow stopped again, beginning to whimper. "Go on!" the -other panted in frenzy--"Go on!" - -"I--I will," sobbed Stanislovas. "It's so--so cold all the time. And -last Sunday it snowed again--a deep, deep snow--and I couldn't--couldn't -get to work." - -"God!" Jurgis half shouted, and he took a step toward the child. There -was an old hatred between them because of the snow--ever since that -dreadful morning when the boy had had his fingers frozen and Jurgis had -had to beat him to send him to work. Now he clenched his hands, looking -as if he would try to break through the grating. "You little villain," -he cried, "you didn't try!" - -"I did--I did!" wailed Stanislovas, shrinking from him in terror. "I -tried all day--two days. Elzbieta was with me, and she couldn't either. -We couldn't walk at all, it was so deep. And we had nothing to eat, and -oh, it was so cold! I tried, and then the third day Ona went with me--" - -"Ona!" - -"Yes. She tried to get to work, too. She had to. We were all starving. -But she had lost her place--" - -Jurgis reeled, and gave a gasp. "She went back to that place?" he -screamed. "She tried to," said Stanislovas, gazing at him in perplexity. -"Why not, Jurgis?" - -The man breathed hard, three or four times. "Go--on," he panted, -finally. - -"I went with her," said Stanislovas, "but Miss Henderson wouldn't take -her back. And Connor saw her and cursed her. He was still bandaged -up--why did you hit him, Jurgis?" (There was some fascinating mystery -about this, the little fellow knew; but he could get no satisfaction.) - -Jurgis could not speak; he could only stare, his eyes starting out. "She -has been trying to get other work," the boy went on; "but she's so weak -she can't keep up. And my boss would not take me back, either--Ona says -he knows Connor, and that's the reason; they've all got a grudge against -us now. So I've got to go downtown and sell papers with the rest of the -boys and Kotrina--" - -"Kotrina!" - -"Yes, she's been selling papers, too. She does best, because she's -a girl. Only the cold is so bad--it's terrible coming home at night, -Jurgis. Sometimes they can't come home at all--I'm going to try to find -them tonight and sleep where they do, it's so late and it's such a long -ways home. I've had to walk, and I didn't know where it was--I don't -know how to get back, either. Only mother said I must come, because you -would want to know, and maybe somebody would help your family when they -had put you in jail so you couldn't work. And I walked all day to get -here--and I only had a piece of bread for breakfast, Jurgis. Mother -hasn't any work either, because the sausage department is shut down; -and she goes and begs at houses with a basket, and people give her food. -Only she didn't get much yesterday; it was too cold for her fingers, and -today she was crying--" - -So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood, -gripping the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that his -head would burst; it was like having weights piled upon him, one after -another, crushing the life out of him. He struggled and fought within -himself--as if in some terrible nightmare, in which a man suffers an -agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry out, but feels that he is going -mad, that his brain is on fire-- - -Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw would kill -him, little Stanislovas stopped. "You cannot help us?" he said weakly. - -Jurgis shook his head. - -"They won't give you anything here?" - -He shook it again. - -"When are you coming out?" - -"Three weeks yet," Jurgis answered. - -And the boy gazed around him uncertainly. "Then I might as well go," he -said. - -Jurgis nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting, he put his hand into his -pocket and drew it out, shaking. "Here," he said, holding out the -fourteen cents. "Take this to them." - -And Stanislovas took it, and after a little more hesitation, started -for the door. "Good-by, Jurgis," he said, and the other noticed that he -walked unsteadily as he passed out of sight. - -For a minute or so Jurgis stood clinging to his chair, reeling and -swaying; then the keeper touched him on the arm, and he turned and went -back to breaking stone. - - - -Chapter 18 - - -Jurgis did not get out of the Bridewell quite as soon as he had -expected. To his sentence there were added "court costs" of a dollar and -a half--he was supposed to pay for the trouble of putting him in jail, -and not having the money, was obliged to work it off by three days -more of toil. Nobody had taken the trouble to tell him this--only -after counting the days and looking forward to the end in an agony of -impatience, when the hour came that he expected to be free he found -himself still set at the stone heap, and laughed at when he ventured to -protest. Then he concluded he must have counted wrong; but as another -day passed, he gave up all hope--and was sunk in the depths of despair, -when one morning after breakfast a keeper came to him with the word that -his time was up at last. So he doffed his prison garb, and put on his -old fertilizer clothing, and heard the door of the prison clang behind -him. - -He stood upon the steps, bewildered; he could hardly believe that it was -true,--that the sky was above him again and the open street before him; -that he was a free man. But then the cold began to strike through his -clothes, and he started quickly away. - -There had been a heavy snow, and now a thaw had set in; fine sleety rain -was falling, driven by a wind that pierced Jurgis to the bone. He had -not stopped for his-overcoat when he set out to "do up" Connor, and so -his rides in the patrol wagons had been cruel experiences; his clothing -was old and worn thin, and it never had been very warm. Now as he -trudged on the rain soon wet it through; there were six inches of watery -slush on the sidewalks, so that his feet would soon have been soaked, -even had there been no holes in his shoes. - -Jurgis had had enough to eat in the jail, and the work had been the -least trying of any that he had done since he came to Chicago; but even -so, he had not grown strong--the fear and grief that had preyed upon his -mind had worn him thin. Now he shivered and shrunk from the rain, -hiding his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders together. -The Bridewell grounds were on the outskirts of the city and the country -around them was unsettled and wild--on one side was the big drainage -canal, and on the other a maze of railroad tracks, and so the wind had -full sweep. - -After walking a ways, Jurgis met a little ragamuffin whom he hailed: -"Hey, sonny!" The boy cocked one eye at him--he knew that Jurgis was a -"jailbird" by his shaven head. "Wot yer want?" he queried. - -"How do you go to the stockyards?" Jurgis demanded. - -"I don't go," replied the boy. - -Jurgis hesitated a moment, nonplussed. Then he said, "I mean which is -the way?" - -"Why don't yer say so then?" was the response, and the boy pointed to -the northwest, across the tracks. "That way." - -"How far is it?" Jurgis asked. "I dunno," said the other. "Mebbe twenty -miles or so." - -"Twenty miles!" Jurgis echoed, and his face fell. He had to walk every -foot of it, for they had turned him out of jail without a penny in his -pockets. - -Yet, when he once got started, and his blood had warmed with walking, -he forgot everything in the fever of his thoughts. All the dreadful -imaginations that had haunted him in his cell now rushed into his mind -at once. The agony was almost over--he was going to find out; and he -clenched his hands in his pockets as he strode, following his flying -desire, almost at a run. Ona--the baby--the family--the house--he would -know the truth about them all! And he was coming to the rescue--he was -free again! His hands were his own, and he could help them, he could do -battle for them against the world. - -For an hour or so he walked thus, and then he began to look about him. -He seemed to be leaving the city altogether. The street was turning into -a country road, leading out to the westward; there were snow-covered -fields on either side of him. Soon he met a farmer driving a two-horse -wagon loaded with straw, and he stopped him. - -"Is this the way to the stockyards?" he asked. - -The farmer scratched his head. "I dunno jest where they be," he said. -"But they're in the city somewhere, and you're going dead away from it -now." - -Jurgis looked dazed. "I was told this was the way," he said. - -"Who told you?" - -"A boy." - -"Well, mebbe he was playing a joke on ye. The best thing ye kin do is to -go back, and when ye git into town ask a policeman. I'd take ye in, only -I've come a long ways an' I'm loaded heavy. Git up!" - -So Jurgis turned and followed, and toward the end of the morning he -began to see Chicago again. Past endless blocks of two-story shanties -he walked, along wooden sidewalks and unpaved pathways treacherous with -deep slush holes. Every few blocks there would be a railroad crossing -on the level with the sidewalk, a deathtrap for the unwary; long freight -trains would be passing, the cars clanking and crashing together, and -Jurgis would pace about waiting, burning up with a fever of impatience. -Occasionally the cars would stop for some minutes, and wagons and -streetcars would crowd together waiting, the drivers swearing at each -other, or hiding beneath umbrellas out of the rain; at such times Jurgis -would dodge under the gates and run across the tracks and between the -cars, taking his life into his hands. - -He crossed a long bridge over a river frozen solid and covered with -slush. Not even on the river bank was the snow white--the rain which -fell was a diluted solution of smoke, and Jurgis' hands and face were -streaked with black. Then he came into the business part of the city, -where the streets were sewers of inky blackness, with horses sleeping -and plunging, and women and children flying across in panic-stricken -droves. These streets were huge canyons formed by towering black -buildings, echoing with the clang of car gongs and the shouts of -drivers; the people who swarmed in them were as busy as ants--all -hurrying breathlessly, never stopping to look at anything nor at each -other. The solitary trampish-looking foreigner, with water-soaked -clothing and haggard face and anxious eyes, was as much alone as he -hurried past them, as much unheeded and as lost, as if he had been a -thousand miles deep in a wilderness. - -A policeman gave him his direction and told him that he had five miles -to go. He came again to the slum districts, to avenues of saloons and -cheap stores, with long dingy red factory buildings, and coal-yards and -railroad tracks; and then Jurgis lifted up his head and began to sniff -the air like a startled animal--scenting the far-off odor of home. It -was late afternoon then, and he was hungry, but the dinner invitations -hung out of the saloons were not for him. - -So he came at last to the stockyards, to the black volcanoes of smoke -and the lowing cattle and the stench. Then, seeing a crowded car, his -impatience got the better of him and he jumped aboard, hiding behind -another man, unnoticed by the conductor. In ten minutes more he had -reached his street, and home. - -He was half running as he came round the corner. There was the house, at -any rate--and then suddenly he stopped and stared. What was the matter -with the house? - -Jurgis looked twice, bewildered; then he glanced at the house next door -and at the one beyond--then at the saloon on the corner. Yes, it was -the right place, quite certainly--he had not made any mistake. But the -house--the house was a different color! - -He came a couple of steps nearer. Yes; it had been gray and now it was -yellow! The trimmings around the windows had been red, and now they were -green! It was all newly painted! How strange it made it seem! - -Jurgis went closer yet, but keeping on the other side of the street. -A sudden and horrible spasm of fear had come over him. His knees were -shaking beneath him, and his mind was in a whirl. New paint on the -house, and new weatherboards, where the old had begun to rot off, and -the agent had got after them! New shingles over the hole in the roof, -too, the hole that had for six months been the bane of his soul--he -having no money to have it fixed and no time to fix it himself, and the -rain leaking in, and overflowing the pots and pans he put to catch it, -and flooding the attic and loosening the plaster. And now it was fixed! -And the broken windowpane replaced! And curtains in the windows! New, -white curtains, stiff and shiny! - -Then suddenly the front door opened. Jurgis stood, his chest heaving as -he struggled to catch his breath. A boy had come out, a stranger to him; -a big, fat, rosy-cheeked youngster, such as had never been seen in his -home before. - -Jurgis stared at the boy, fascinated. He came down the steps whistling, -kicking off the snow. He stopped at the foot, and picked up some, and -then leaned against the railing, making a snowball. A moment later -he looked around and saw Jurgis, and their eyes met; it was a hostile -glance, the boy evidently thinking that the other had suspicions of the -snowball. When Jurgis started slowly across the street toward him, he -gave a quick glance about, meditating retreat, but then he concluded to -stand his ground. - -Jurgis took hold of the railing of the steps, for he was a little -unsteady. "What--what are you doing here?" he managed to gasp. - -"Go on!" said the boy. - -"You--" Jurgis tried again. "What do you want here?" - -"Me?" answered the boy, angrily. "I live here." - -"You live here!" Jurgis panted. He turned white and clung more tightly -to the railing. "You live here! Then where's my family?" - -The boy looked surprised. "Your family!" he echoed. - -And Jurgis started toward him. "I--this is my house!" he cried. - -"Come off!" said the boy; then suddenly the door upstairs opened, and he -called: "Hey, ma! Here's a fellow says he owns this house." - -A stout Irishwoman came to the top of the steps. "What's that?" she -demanded. - -Jurgis turned toward her. "Where is my family?" he cried, wildly. "I -left them here! This is my home! What are you doing in my home?" - -The woman stared at him in frightened wonder, she must have thought -she was dealing with a maniac--Jurgis looked like one. "Your home!" she -echoed. - -"My home!" he half shrieked. "I lived here, I tell you." - -"You must be mistaken," she answered him. "No one ever lived here. This -is a new house. They told us so. They--" - -"What have they done with my family?" shouted Jurgis, frantically. - -A light had begun to break upon the woman; perhaps she had had doubts of -what "they" had told her. "I don't know where your family is," she said. -"I bought the house only three days ago, and there was nobody here, and -they told me it was all new. Do you really mean you had ever rented it?" - -"Rented it!" panted Jurgis. "I bought it! I paid for it! I own it! And -they--my God, can't you tell me where my people went?" - -She made him understand at last that she knew nothing. Jurgis' brain -was so confused that he could not grasp the situation. It was as if his -family had been wiped out of existence; as if they were proving to be -dream people, who never had existed at all. He was quite lost--but then -suddenly he thought of Grandmother Majauszkiene, who lived in the next -block. She would know! He turned and started at a run. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene came to the door herself. She cried out when -she saw Jurgis, wild-eyed and shaking. Yes, yes, she could tell him. The -family had moved; they had not been able to pay the rent and they had -been turned out into the snow, and the house had been repainted and sold -again the next week. No, she had not heard how they were, but she could -tell him that they had gone back to Aniele Jukniene, with whom they had -stayed when they first came to the yards. Wouldn't Jurgis come in and -rest? It was certainly too bad--if only he had not got into jail-- - -And so Jurgis turned and staggered away. He did not go very far round -the corner he gave out completely, and sat down on the steps of a -saloon, and hid his face in his hands, and shook all over with dry, -racking sobs. - -Their home! Their home! They had lost it! Grief, despair, rage, -overwhelmed him--what was any imagination of the thing to this -heartbreaking, crushing reality of it--to the sight of strange people -living in his house, hanging their curtains to his windows, staring at -him with hostile eyes! It was monstrous, it was unthinkable--they could -not do it--it could not be true! Only think what he had suffered for -that house--what miseries they had all suffered for it--the price they -had paid for it! - -The whole long agony came back to him. Their sacrifices in the -beginning, their three hundred dollars that they had scraped together, -all they owned in the world, all that stood between them and starvation! -And then their toil, month by month, to get together the twelve dollars, -and the interest as well, and now and then the taxes, and the other -charges, and the repairs, and what not! Why, they had put their very -souls into their payments on that house, they had paid for it with their -sweat and tears--yes, more, with their very lifeblood. Dede Antanas had -died of the struggle to earn that money--he would have been alive and -strong today if he had not had to work in Durham's dark cellars to earn -his share. And Ona, too, had given her health and strength to pay for -it--she was wrecked and ruined because of it; and so was he, who had -been a big, strong man three years ago, and now sat here shivering, -broken, cowed, weeping like a hysterical child. Ah! they had cast their -all into the fight; and they had lost, they had lost! All that they had -paid was gone--every cent of it. And their house was gone--they were -back where they had started from, flung out into the cold to starve and -freeze! - -Jurgis could see all the truth now--could see himself, through the whole -long course of events, the victim of ravenous vultures that had torn -into his vitals and devoured him; of fiends that had racked and tortured -him, mocking him, meantime, jeering in his face. Ah, God, the horror -of it, the monstrous, hideous, demoniacal wickedness of it! He and his -family, helpless women and children, struggling to live, ignorant and -defenseless and forlorn as they were--and the enemies that had been -lurking for them, crouching upon their trail and thirsting for their -blood! That first lying circular, that smooth-tongued slippery agent! -That trap of the extra payments, the interest, and all the other charges -that they had not the means to pay, and would never have attempted to -pay! And then all the tricks of the packers, their masters, the tyrants -who ruled them--the shutdowns and the scarcity of work, the irregular -hours and the cruel speeding-up, the lowering of wages, the raising of -prices! The mercilessness of nature about them, of heat and cold, rain -and snow; the mercilessness of the city, of the country in which they -lived, of its laws and customs that they did not understand! All of -these things had worked together for the company that had marked them -for its prey and was waiting for its chance. And now, with this last -hideous injustice, its time had come, and it had turned them out bag -and baggage, and taken their house and sold it again! And they could -do nothing, they were tied hand and foot--the law was against them, the -whole machinery of society was at their oppressors' command! If Jurgis -so much as raised a hand against them, back he would go into that -wild-beast pen from which he had just escaped! - -To get up and go away was to give up, to acknowledge defeat, to leave -the strange family in possession; and Jurgis might have sat shivering -in the rain for hours before he could do that, had it not been for -the thought of his family. It might be that he had worse things yet to -learn--and so he got to his feet and started away, walking on, wearily, -half-dazed. - -To Aniele's house, in back of the yards, was a good two miles; the -distance had never seemed longer to Jurgis, and when he saw the familiar -dingy-gray shanty his heart was beating fast. He ran up the steps and -began to hammer upon the door. - -The old woman herself came to open it. She had shrunk all up with her -rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow parchment face -stared up at him from a little above the level of the doorknob. She gave -a start when she saw him. "Is Ona here?" he cried, breathlessly. - -"Yes," was the answer, "she's here." - -"How--" Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching convulsively at -the side of the door. From somewhere within the house had come a sudden -cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish. And the voice was Ona's. For a -moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; then he bounded past the -old woman and into the room. - -It was Aniele's kitchen, and huddled round the stove were half a dozen -women, pale and frightened. One of them started to her feet as Jurgis -entered; she was haggard and frightfully thin, with one arm tied up in -bandages--he hardly realized that it was Marija. He looked first for -Ona; then, not seeing her, he stared at the women, expecting them to -speak. But they sat dumb, gazing back at him, panic-stricken; and a -second later came another piercing scream. - -It was from the rear of the house, and upstairs. Jurgis bounded to a -door of the room and flung it open; there was a ladder leading through -a trap door to the garret, and he was at the foot of it when suddenly he -heard a voice behind him, and saw Marija at his heels. She seized him by -the sleeve with her good hand, panting wildly, "No, no, Jurgis! Stop!" - -"What do you mean?" he gasped. - -"You mustn't go up," she cried. - -Jurgis was half-crazed with bewilderment and fright. "What's the -matter?" he shouted. "What is it?" - -Marija clung to him tightly; he could hear Ona sobbing and moaning -above, and he fought to get away and climb up, without waiting for her -reply. "No, no," she rushed on. "Jurgis! You mustn't go up! It's--it's -the child!" - -"The child?" he echoed in perplexity. "Antanas?" - -Marija answered him, in a whisper: "The new one!" - -And then Jurgis went limp, and caught himself on the ladder. He stared -at her as if she were a ghost. "The new one!" he gasped. "But it isn't -time," he added, wildly. - -Marija nodded. "I know," she said; "but it's come." - -And then again came Ona's scream, smiting him like a blow in the face, -making him wince and turn white. Her voice died away into a wail--then -he heard her sobbing again, "My God--let me die, let me die!" And Marija -hung her arms about him, crying: "Come out! Come away!" - - -She dragged him back into the kitchen, half carrying him, for he had -gone all to pieces. It was as if the pillars of his soul had fallen -in--he was blasted with horror. In the room he sank into a chair, -trembling like a leaf, Marija still holding him, and the women staring -at him in dumb, helpless fright. - -And then again Ona cried out; he could hear it nearly as plainly here, -and he staggered to his feet. "How long has this been going on?" he -panted. - -"Not very long," Marija answered, and then, at a signal from Aniele, she -rushed on: "You go away, Jurgis you can't help--go away and come back -later. It's all right--it's--" - -"Who's with her?" Jurgis demanded; and then, seeing Marija hesitating, -he cried again, "Who's with her?" - -"She's--she's all right," she answered. "Elzbieta's with her." - -"But the doctor!" he panted. "Some one who knows!" - -He seized Marija by the arm; she trembled, and her voice sank beneath a -whisper as she replied, "We--we have no money." Then, frightened at -the look on his face, she exclaimed: "It's all right, Jurgis! You don't -understand--go away--go away! Ah, if you only had waited!" - -Above her protests Jurgis heard Ona again; he was almost out of his -mind. It was all new to him, raw and horrible--it had fallen upon him -like a lightning stroke. When little Antanas was born he had been at -work, and had known nothing about it until it was over; and now he was -not to be controlled. The frightened women were at their wits' end; one -after another they tried to reason with him, to make him understand that -this was the lot of woman. In the end they half drove him out into -the rain, where he began to pace up and down, bareheaded and frantic. -Because he could hear Ona from the street, he would first go away to -escape the sounds, and then come back because he could not help it. At -the end of a quarter of an hour he rushed up the steps again, and for -fear that he would break in the door they had to open it and let him in. - -There was no arguing with him. They could not tell him that all was -going well--how could they know, he cried--why, she was dying, she was -being torn to pieces! Listen to her--listen! Why, it was monstrous--it -could not be allowed--there must be some help for it! Had they tried to -get a doctor? They might pay him afterward--they could promise-- - -"We couldn't promise, Jurgis," protested Marija. "We had no money--we -have scarcely been able to keep alive." - -"But I can work," Jurgis exclaimed. "I can earn money!" - -"Yes," she answered--"but we thought you were in jail. How could we know -when you would return? They will not work for nothing." - -Marija went on to tell how she had tried to find a midwife, and how they -had demanded ten, fifteen, even twenty-five dollars, and that in cash. -"And I had only a quarter," she said. "I have spent every cent of my -money--all that I had in the bank; and I owe the doctor who has been -coming to see me, and he has stopped because he thinks I don't mean -to pay him. And we owe Aniele for two weeks' rent, and she is nearly -starving, and is afraid of being turned out. We have been borrowing and -begging to keep alive, and there is nothing more we can do--" - -"And the children?" cried Jurgis. - -"The children have not been home for three days, the weather has been so -bad. They could not know what is happening--it came suddenly, two months -before we expected it." - -Jurgis was standing by the table, and he caught himself with his hand; -his head sank and his arms shook--it looked as if he were going to -collapse. Then suddenly Aniele got up and came hobbling toward him, -fumbling in her skirt pocket. She drew out a dirty rag, in one corner of -which she had something tied. - -"Here, Jurgis!" she said, "I have some money. Palauk! See!" - -She unwrapped it and counted it out--thirty-four cents. "You go, now," -she said, "and try and get somebody yourself. And maybe the rest can -help--give him some money, you; he will pay you back some day, and it -will do him good to have something to think about, even if he doesn't -succeed. When he comes back, maybe it will be over." - -And so the other women turned out the contents of their pocketbooks; -most of them had only pennies and nickels, but they gave him all. Mrs. -Olszewski, who lived next door, and had a husband who was a skilled -cattle butcher, but a drinking man, gave nearly half a dollar, enough -to raise the whole sum to a dollar and a quarter. Then Jurgis thrust it -into his pocket, still holding it tightly in his fist, and started away -at a run. - - - -Chapter 19 - - -"Madame Haupt Hebamme", ran a sign, swinging from a second-story window -over a saloon on the avenue; at a side door was another sign, with a -hand pointing up a dingy flight of stairs. Jurgis went up them, three at -a time. - -Madame Haupt was frying pork and onions, and had her door half open to -let out the smoke. When he tried to knock upon it, it swung open the -rest of the way, and he had a glimpse of her, with a black bottle turned -up to her lips. Then he knocked louder, and she started and put it away. -She was a Dutchwoman, enormously fat--when she walked she rolled like -a small boat on the ocean, and the dishes in the cupboard jostled each -other. She wore a filthy blue wrapper, and her teeth were black. - -"Vot is it?" she said, when she saw Jurgis. - -He had run like mad all the way and was so out of breath he could hardly -speak. His hair was flying and his eyes wild--he looked like a man that -had risen from the tomb. "My wife!" he panted. "Come quickly!" Madame -Haupt set the frying pan to one side and wiped her hands on her wrapper. - -"You vant me to come for a case?" she inquired. - -"Yes," gasped Jurgis. - -"I haf yust come back from a case," she said. "I haf had no time to eat -my dinner. Still--if it is so bad--" - -"Yes--it is!" cried he. - -"Vell, den, perhaps--vot you pay?" - -"I--I--how much do you want?" Jurgis stammered. - -"Tventy-five dollars." His face fell. "I can't pay that," he said. - -The woman was watching him narrowly. "How much do you pay?" she -demanded. - -"Must I pay now--right away?" - -"Yes; all my customers do." - -"I--I haven't much money," Jurgis began in an agony of dread. "I've been -in--in trouble--and my money is gone. But I'll pay you--every cent--just -as soon as I can; I can work--" - -"Vot is your work?" - -"I have no place now. I must get one. But I--" - -"How much haf you got now?" - -He could hardly bring himself to reply. When he said "A dollar and a -quarter," the woman laughed in his face. - -"I vould not put on my hat for a dollar and a quarter," she said. - -"It's all I've got," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I must get some -one--my wife will die. I can't help it--I--" - -Madame Haupt had put back her pork and onions on the stove. She turned -to him and answered, out of the steam and noise: "Git me ten dollars -cash, und so you can pay me the rest next mont'." - -"I can't do it--I haven't got it!" Jurgis protested. "I tell you I have -only a dollar and a quarter." - -The woman turned to her work. "I don't believe you," she said. "Dot is -all to try to sheat me. Vot is de reason a big man like you has got only -a dollar und a quarter?" - -"I've just been in jail," Jurgis cried--he was ready to get down upon -his knees to the woman--"and I had no money before, and my family has -almost starved." - -"Vere is your friends, dot ought to help you?" - -"They are all poor," he answered. "They gave me this. I have done -everything I can--" - -"Haven't you got notting you can sell?" - -"I have nothing, I tell you--I have nothing," he cried, frantically. - -"Can't you borrow it, den? Don't your store people trust you?" Then, as -he shook his head, she went on: "Listen to me--if you git me you vill be -glad of it. I vill save your wife und baby for you, and it vill not seem -like mooch to you in de end. If you loose dem now how you tink you feel -den? Und here is a lady dot knows her business--I could send you to -people in dis block, und dey vould tell you--" - -Madame Haupt was pointing her cooking-fork at Jurgis persuasively; but -her words were more than he could bear. He flung up his hands with -a gesture of despair and turned and started away. "It's no use," he -exclaimed--but suddenly he heard the woman's voice behind him again-- - -"I vill make it five dollars for you." - -She followed behind him, arguing with him. "You vill be foolish not to -take such an offer," she said. "You von't find nobody go out on a rainy -day like dis for less. Vy, I haf never took a case in my life so sheap -as dot. I couldn't pay mine room rent--" - -Jurgis interrupted her with an oath of rage. "If I haven't got it," he -shouted, "how can I pay it? Damn it, I would pay you if I could, but I -tell you I haven't got it. I haven't got it! Do you hear me I haven't -got it!" - -He turned and started away again. He was halfway down the stairs before -Madame Haupt could shout to him: "Vait! I vill go mit you! Come back!" - -He went back into the room again. - -"It is not goot to tink of anybody suffering," she said, in a melancholy -voice. "I might as vell go mit you for noffing as vot you offer me, but -I vill try to help you. How far is it?" - -"Three or four blocks from here." - -"Tree or four! Und so I shall get soaked! Gott in Himmel, it ought to -be vorth more! Vun dollar und a quarter, und a day like dis!--But you -understand now--you vill pay me de rest of twenty-five dollars soon?" - -"As soon as I can." - -"Some time dis mont'?" - -"Yes, within a month," said poor Jurgis. "Anything! Hurry up!" - -"Vere is de dollar und a quarter?" persisted Madame Haupt, relentlessly. - -Jurgis put the money on the table and the woman counted it and stowed it -away. Then she wiped her greasy hands again and proceeded to get ready, -complaining all the time; she was so fat that it was painful for her to -move, and she grunted and gasped at every step. She took off her wrapper -without even taking the trouble to turn her back to Jurgis, and put on -her corsets and dress. Then there was a black bonnet which had to be -adjusted carefully, and an umbrella which was mislaid, and a bag full of -necessaries which had to be collected from here and there--the man being -nearly crazy with anxiety in the meantime. When they were on the street -he kept about four paces ahead of her, turning now and then, as if he -could hurry her on by the force of his desire. But Madame Haupt could -only go so far at a step, and it took all her attention to get the -needed breath for that. - -They came at last to the house, and to the group of frightened women in -the kitchen. It was not over yet, Jurgis learned--he heard Ona crying -still; and meantime Madame Haupt removed her bonnet and laid it on -the mantelpiece, and got out of her bag, first an old dress and then a -saucer of goose grease, which she proceeded to rub upon her hands. The -more cases this goose grease is used in, the better luck it brings to -the midwife, and so she keeps it upon her kitchen mantelpiece or stowed -away in a cupboard with her dirty clothes, for months, and sometimes -even for years. - -Then they escorted her to the ladder, and Jurgis heard her give an -exclamation of dismay. "Gott in Himmel, vot for haf you brought me to a -place like dis? I could not climb up dot ladder. I could not git troo a -trap door! I vill not try it--vy, I might kill myself already. Vot sort -of a place is dot for a woman to bear a child in--up in a garret, mit -only a ladder to it? You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!" Jurgis -stood in the doorway and listened to her scolding, half drowning out the -horrible moans and screams of Ona. - -At last Aniele succeeded in pacifying her, and she essayed the ascent; -then, however, she had to be stopped while the old woman cautioned her -about the floor of the garret. They had no real floor--they had laid old -boards in one part to make a place for the family to live; it was all -right and safe there, but the other part of the garret had only the -joists of the floor, and the lath and plaster of the ceiling below, and -if one stepped on this there would be a catastrophe. As it was half dark -up above, perhaps one of the others had best go up first with a candle. -Then there were more outcries and threatening, until at last Jurgis had -a vision of a pair of elephantine legs disappearing through the trap -door, and felt the house shake as Madame Haupt started to walk. Then -suddenly Aniele came to him and took him by the arm. - -"Now," she said, "you go away. Do as I tell you--you have done all you -can, and you are only in the way. Go away and stay away." - -"But where shall I go?" Jurgis asked, helplessly. - -"I don't know where," she answered. "Go on the street, if there is no -other place--only go! And stay all night!" - -In the end she and Marija pushed him out of the door and shut it behind -him. It was just about sundown, and it was turning cold--the rain had -changed to snow, and the slush was freezing. Jurgis shivered in his thin -clothing, and put his hands into his pockets and started away. He had -not eaten since morning, and he felt weak and ill; with a sudden throb -of hope he recollected he was only a few blocks from the saloon where he -had been wont to eat his dinner. They might have mercy on him there, -or he might meet a friend. He set out for the place as fast as he could -walk. - -"Hello, Jack," said the saloon-keeper, when he entered--they call all -foreigners and unskilled men "Jack" in Packingtown. "Where've you been?" - -Jurgis went straight to the bar. "I've been in jail," he said, "and I've -just got out. I walked home all the way, and I've not a cent, and had -nothing to eat since this morning. And I've lost my home, and my wife's -ill, and I'm done up." - -The saloon-keeper gazed at him, with his haggard white face and his blue -trembling lips. Then he pushed a big bottle toward him. "Fill her up!" -he said. - -Jurgis could hardly hold the bottle, his hands shook so. - -"Don't be afraid," said the saloon-keeper, "fill her up!" - -So Jurgis drank a large glass of whisky, and then turned to the lunch -counter, in obedience to the other's suggestion. He ate all he dared, -stuffing it in as fast as he could; and then, after trying to speak his -gratitude, he went and sat down by the big red stove in the middle of -the room. - -It was too good to last, however--like all things in this hard -world. His soaked clothing began to steam, and the horrible stench of -fertilizer to fill the room. In an hour or so the packing houses would -be closing and the men coming in from their work; and they would not -come into a place that smelt of Jurgis. Also it was Saturday night, and -in a couple of hours would come a violin and a cornet, and in the rear -part of the saloon the families of the neighborhood would dance and -feast upon wienerwurst and lager, until two or three o'clock in the -morning. The saloon-keeper coughed once or twice, and then remarked, -"Say, Jack, I'm afraid you'll have to quit." - -He was used to the sight of human wrecks, this saloon-keeper; he "fired" -dozens of them every night, just as haggard and cold and forlorn as this -one. But they were all men who had given up and been counted out, while -Jurgis was still in the fight, and had reminders of decency about him. -As he got up meekly, the other reflected that he had always been a -steady man, and might soon be a good customer again. "You've been up -against it, I see," he said. "Come this way." - -In the rear of the saloon were the cellar stairs. There was a door above -and another below, both safely padlocked, making the stairs an admirable -place to stow away a customer who might still chance to have money, or a -political light whom it was not advisable to kick out of doors. - -So Jurgis spent the night. The whisky had only half warmed him, and he -could not sleep, exhausted as he was; he would nod forward, and then -start up, shivering with the cold, and begin to remember again. Hour -after hour passed, until he could only persuade himself that it was not -morning by the sounds of music and laughter and singing that were to -be heard from the room. When at last these ceased, he expected that he -would be turned out into the street; as this did not happen, he fell to -wondering whether the man had forgotten him. - -In the end, when the silence and suspense were no longer to be borne, -he got up and hammered on the door; and the proprietor came, yawning -and rubbing his eyes. He was keeping open all night, and dozing between -customers. - -"I want to go home," Jurgis said. "I'm worried about my wife--I can't -wait any longer." - -"Why the hell didn't you say so before?" said the man. "I thought you -didn't have any home to go to." Jurgis went outside. It was four o'clock -in the morning, and as black as night. There were three or four inches -of fresh snow on the ground, and the flakes were falling thick and fast. -He turned toward Aniele's and started at a run. - - -There was a light burning in the kitchen window and the blinds were -drawn. The door was unlocked and Jurgis rushed in. - -Aniele, Marija, and the rest of the women were huddled about the -stove, exactly as before; with them were several newcomers, Jurgis -noticed--also he noticed that the house was silent. - -"Well?" he said. - -No one answered him, they sat staring at him with their pale faces. He -cried again: "Well?" - -And then, by the light of the smoky lamp, he saw Marija who sat nearest -him, shaking her head slowly. "Not yet," she said. - -And Jurgis gave a cry of dismay. "Not yet?" - -Again Marija's head shook. The poor fellow stood dumfounded. "I don't -hear her," he gasped. - -"She's been quiet a long time," replied the other. - -There was another pause--broken suddenly by a voice from the attic: -"Hello, there!" - -Several of the women ran into the next room, while Marija sprang toward -Jurgis. "Wait here!" she cried, and the two stood, pale and trembling, -listening. In a few moments it became clear that Madame Haupt was -engaged in descending the ladder, scolding and exhorting again, while -the ladder creaked in protest. In a moment or two she reached the -ground, angry and breathless, and they heard her coming into the room. -Jurgis gave one glance at her, and then turned white and reeled. She had -her jacket off, like one of the workers on the killing beds. Her hands -and arms were smeared with blood, and blood was splashed upon her -clothing and her face. - -She stood breathing hard, and gazing about her; no one made a sound. "I -haf done my best," she began suddenly. "I can do noffing more--dere is -no use to try." - -Again there was silence. - -"It ain't my fault," she said. "You had ought to haf had a doctor, und -not vaited so long--it vas too late already ven I come." Once more there -was deathlike stillness. Marija was clutching Jurgis with all the power -of her one well arm. - -Then suddenly Madame Haupt turned to Aniele. "You haf not got something -to drink, hey?" she queried. "Some brandy?" - -Aniele shook her head. - -"Herr Gott!" exclaimed Madame Haupt. "Such people! Perhaps you vill give -me someting to eat den--I haf had noffing since yesterday morning, und -I haf vorked myself near to death here. If I could haf known it vas -like dis, I vould never haf come for such money as you gif me." At this -moment she chanced to look round, and saw Jurgis: She shook her finger -at him. "You understand me," she said, "you pays me dot money yust de -same! It is not my fault dat you send for me so late I can't help your -vife. It is not my fault if der baby comes mit one arm first, so dot I -can't save it. I haf tried all night, und in dot place vere it is not -fit for dogs to be born, und mit notting to eat only vot I brings in -mine own pockets." - -Here Madame Haupt paused for a moment to get her breath; and Marija, -seeing the beads of sweat on Jurgis's forehead, and feeling the -quivering of his frame, broke out in a low voice: "How is Ona?" - -"How is she?" echoed Madame Haupt. "How do you tink she can be ven -you leave her to kill herself so? I told dem dot ven they send for de -priest. She is young, und she might haf got over it, und been vell und -strong, if she had been treated right. She fight hard, dot girl--she is -not yet quite dead." - -And Jurgis gave a frantic scream. "Dead!" - -"She vill die, of course," said the other angrily. "Der baby is dead -now." - -The garret was lighted by a candle stuck upon a board; it had almost -burned itself out, and was sputtering and smoking as Jurgis rushed up -the ladder. He could make out dimly in one corner a pallet of rags and -old blankets, spread upon the floor; at the foot of it was a crucifix, -and near it a priest muttering a prayer. In a far corner crouched -Elzbieta, moaning and wailing. Upon the pallet lay Ona. - -She was covered with a blanket, but he could see her shoulders and -one arm lying bare; she was so shrunken he would scarcely have known -her--she was all but a skeleton, and as white as a piece of chalk. Her -eyelids were closed, and she lay still as death. He staggered toward her -and fell upon his knees with a cry of anguish: "Ona! Ona!" - -She did not stir. He caught her hand in his, and began to clasp -it frantically, calling: "Look at me! Answer me! It is Jurgis come -back--don't you hear me?" - -There was the faintest quivering of the eyelids, and he called again in -frenzy: "Ona! Ona!" - -Then suddenly her eyes opened one instant. One instant she looked at -him--there was a flash of recognition between them, he saw her afar off, -as through a dim vista, standing forlorn. He stretched out his arms to -her, he called her in wild despair; a fearful yearning surged up in him, -hunger for her that was agony, desire that was a new being born -within him, tearing his heartstrings, torturing him. But it was all in -vain--she faded from him, she slipped back and was gone. And a wail of -anguish burst from him, great sobs shook all his frame, and hot tears -ran down his cheeks and fell upon her. He clutched her hands, he shook -her, he caught her in his arms and pressed her to him but she lay cold -and still--she was gone--she was gone! - -The word rang through him like the sound of a bell, echoing in the far -depths of him, making forgotten chords to vibrate, old shadowy fears to -stir--fears of the dark, fears of the void, fears of annihilation. She -was dead! She was dead! He would never see her again, never hear her -again! An icy horror of loneliness seized him; he saw himself standing -apart and watching all the world fade away from him--a world of shadows, -of fickle dreams. He was like a little child, in his fright and grief; -he called and called, and got no answer, and his cries of despair echoed -through the house, making the women downstairs draw nearer to each other -in fear. He was inconsolable, beside himself--the priest came and laid -his hand upon his shoulder and whispered to him, but he heard not a -sound. He was gone away himself, stumbling through the shadows, and -groping after the soul that had fled. - - -So he lay. The gray dawn came up and crept into the attic. The -priest left, the women left, and he was alone with the still, white -figure--quieter now, but moaning and shuddering, wrestling with the -grisly fiend. Now and then he would raise himself and stare at the white -mask before him, then hide his eyes because he could not bear it. Dead! -dead! And she was only a girl, she was barely eighteen! Her life had -hardly begun--and here she lay murdered--mangled, tortured to death! - -It was morning when he rose up and came down into the kitchen--haggard -and ashen gray, reeling and dazed. More of the neighbors had come in, -and they stared at him in silence as he sank down upon a chair by the -table and buried his face in his arms. - -A few minutes later the front door opened; a blast of cold and snow -rushed in, and behind it little Kotrina, breathless from running, and -blue with the cold. "I'm home again!" she exclaimed. "I could hardly--" - -And then, seeing Jurgis, she stopped with an exclamation. Looking from -one to another she saw that something had happened, and she asked, in a -lower voice: "What's the matter?" - -Before anyone could reply, Jurgis started up; he went toward her, -walking unsteadily. "Where have you been?" he demanded. - -"Selling papers with the boys," she said. "The snow--" - -"Have you any money?" he demanded. - -"Yes." - -"How much?" - -"Nearly three dollars, Jurgis." - -"Give it to me." - -Kotrina, frightened by his manner, glanced at the others. "Give it to -me!" he commanded again, and she put her hand into her pocket and pulled -out a lump of coins tied in a bit of rag. Jurgis took it without a word, -and went out of the door and down the street. - -Three doors away was a saloon. "Whisky," he said, as he entered, and as -the man pushed him some, he tore at the rag with his teeth and pulled -out half a dollar. "How much is the bottle?" he said. "I want to get -drunk." - - - -Chapter 20 - - -But a big man cannot stay drunk very long on three dollars. That was -Sunday morning, and Monday night Jurgis came home, sober and sick, -realizing that he had spent every cent the family owned, and had not -bought a single instant's forgetfulness with it. - -Ona was not yet buried; but the police had been notified, and on the -morrow they would put the body in a pine coffin and take it to the -potter's field. Elzbieta was out begging now, a few pennies from each of -the neighbors, to get enough to pay for a mass for her; and the children -were upstairs starving to death, while he, good-for-nothing rascal, had -been spending their money on drink. So spoke Aniele, scornfully, and -when he started toward the fire she added the information that her -kitchen was no longer for him to fill with his phosphate stinks. She -had crowded all her boarders into one room on Ona's account, but now he -could go up in the garret where he belonged--and not there much longer, -either, if he did not pay her some rent. - -Jurgis went without a word, and, stepping over half a dozen sleeping -boarders in the next room, ascended the ladder. It was dark up above; -they could not afford any light; also it was nearly as cold as outdoors. -In a corner, as far away from the corpse as possible, sat Marija, -holding little Antanas in her one good arm and trying to soothe him to -sleep. In another corner crouched poor little Juozapas, wailing because -he had had nothing to eat all day. Marija said not a word to Jurgis; he -crept in like a whipped cur, and went and sat down by the body. - -Perhaps he ought to have meditated upon the hunger of the children, and -upon his own baseness; but he thought only of Ona, he gave himself up -again to the luxury of grief. He shed no tears, being ashamed to make a -sound; he sat motionless and shuddering with his anguish. He had never -dreamed how much he loved Ona, until now that she was gone; until now -that he sat here, knowing that on the morrow they would take her away, -and that he would never lay eyes upon her again--never all the days -of his life. His old love, which had been starved to death, beaten to -death, awoke in him again; the floodgates of memory were lifted--he saw -all their life together, saw her as he had seen her in Lithuania, the -first day at the fair, beautiful as the flowers, singing like a bird. He -saw her as he had married her, with all her tenderness, with her heart -of wonder; the very words she had spoken seemed to ring now in his ears, -the tears she had shed to be wet upon his cheek. The long, cruel battle -with misery and hunger had hardened and embittered him, but it had not -changed her--she had been the same hungry soul to the end, stretching -out her arms to him, pleading with him, begging him for love and -tenderness. And she had suffered--so cruelly she had suffered, such -agonies, such infamies--ah, God, the memory of them was not to be borne. -What a monster of wickedness, of heartlessness, he had been! Every angry -word that he had ever spoken came back to him and cut him like a knife; -every selfish act that he had done--with what torments he paid for them -now! And such devotion and awe as welled up in his soul--now that it -could never be spoken, now that it was too late, too late! His bosom-was -choking with it, bursting with it; he crouched here in the darkness -beside her, stretching out his arms to her--and she was gone forever, -she was dead! He could have screamed aloud with the horror and despair -of it; a sweat of agony beaded his forehead, yet he dared not make a -sound--he scarcely dared to breathe, because of his shame and loathing -of himself. - -Late at night came Elzbieta, having gotten the money for a mass, and -paid for it in advance, lest she should be tempted too sorely at home. -She brought also a bit of stale rye bread that some one had given her, -and with that they quieted the children and got them to sleep. Then she -came over to Jurgis and sat down beside him. - -She said not a word of reproach--she and Marija had chosen that course -before; she would only plead with him, here by the corpse of his dead -wife. Already Elzbieta had choked down her tears, grief being crowded -out of her soul by fear. She had to bury one of her children--but then -she had done it three times before, and each time risen up and gone back -to take up the battle for the rest. Elzbieta was one of the primitive -creatures: like the angleworm, which goes on living though cut in half; -like a hen, which, deprived of her chickens one by one, will mother the -last that is left her. She did this because it was her nature--she asked -no questions about the justice of it, nor the worth-whileness of life in -which destruction and death ran riot. - -And this old common-sense view she labored to impress upon Jurgis, -pleading with him with tears in her eyes. Ona was dead, but the others -were left and they must be saved. She did not ask for her own children. -She and Marija could care for them somehow, but there was Antanas, his -own son. Ona had given Antanas to him--the little fellow was the only -remembrance of her that he had; he must treasure it and protect it, he -must show himself a man. He knew what Ona would have had him do, what -she would ask of him at this moment, if she could speak to him. It was -a terrible thing that she should have died as she had; but the life had -been too hard for her, and she had to go. It was terrible that they -were not able to bury her, that he could not even have a day to mourn -her--but so it was. Their fate was pressing; they had not a cent, and -the children would perish--some money must be had. Could he not be a man -for Ona's sake, and pull himself together? In a little while they would -be out of danger--now that they had given up the house they could live -more cheaply, and with all the children working they could get along, -if only he would not go to pieces. So Elzbieta went on, with feverish -intensity. It was a struggle for life with her; she was not afraid that -Jurgis would go on drinking, for he had no money for that, but she was -wild with dread at the thought that he might desert them, might take to -the road, as Jonas had done. - -But with Ona's dead body beneath his eyes, Jurgis could not well think -of treason to his child. Yes, he said, he would try, for the sake of -Antanas. He would give the little fellow his chance--would get to work -at once, yes, tomorrow, without even waiting for Ona to be buried. They -might trust him, he would keep his word, come what might. - -And so he was out before daylight the next morning, headache, heartache, -and all. He went straight to Graham's fertilizer mill, to see if he -could get back his job. But the boss shook his head when he saw him--no, -his place had been filled long ago, and there was no room for him. - -"Do you think there will be?" Jurgis asked. "I may have to wait." - -"No," said the other, "it will not be worth your while to wait--there -will be nothing for you here." - -Jurgis stood gazing at him in perplexity. "What is the matter?" he -asked. "Didn't I do my work?" - -The other met his look with one of cold indifference, and answered, -"There will be nothing for you here, I said." - -Jurgis had his suspicions as to the dreadful meaning of that incident, -and he went away with a sinking at the heart. He went and took his stand -with the mob of hungry wretches who were standing about in the snow -before the time station. Here he stayed, breakfastless, for two hours, -until the throng was driven away by the clubs of the police. There was -no work for him that day. - -Jurgis had made a good many acquaintances in his long services at the -yards--there were saloon-keepers who would trust him for a drink and a -sandwich, and members of his old union who would lend him a dime at a -pinch. It was not a question of life and death for him, therefore; he -might hunt all day, and come again on the morrow, and try hanging on -thus for weeks, like hundreds and thousands of others. Meantime, Teta -Elzbieta would go and beg, over in the Hyde Park district, and the -children would bring home enough to pacify Aniele, and keep them all -alive. - -It was at the end of a week of this sort of waiting, roaming about in -the bitter winds or loafing in saloons, that Jurgis stumbled on a chance -in one of the cellars of Jones's big packing plant. He saw a foreman -passing the open doorway, and hailed him for a job. - -"Push a truck?" inquired the man, and Jurgis answered, "Yes, sir!" -before the words were well out of his mouth. - -"What's your name?" demanded the other. - -"Jurgis Rudkus." - -"Worked in the yards before?" - -"Yes." - -"Whereabouts?" - -"Two places--Brown's killing beds and Durham's fertilizer mill." - -"Why did you leave there?" - -"The first time I had an accident, and the last time I was sent up for a -month." - -"I see. Well, I'll give you a trial. Come early tomorrow and ask for Mr. -Thomas." - -So Jurgis rushed home with the wild tidings that he had a job--that -the terrible siege was over. The remnants of the family had quite a -celebration that night; and in the morning Jurgis was at the place -half an hour before the time of opening. The foreman came in shortly -afterward, and when he saw Jurgis he frowned. - -"Oh," he said, "I promised you a job, didn't I?" - -"Yes, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Well, I'm sorry, but I made a mistake. I can't use you." - -Jurgis stared, dumfounded. "What's the matter?" he gasped. - -"Nothing," said the man, "only I can't use you." - -There was the same cold, hostile stare that he had had from the boss of -the fertilizer mill. He knew that there was no use in saying a word, and -he turned and went away. - -Out in the saloons the men could tell him all about the meaning of it; -they gazed at him with pitying eyes--poor devil, he was blacklisted! -What had he done? they asked--knocked down his boss? Good heavens, then -he might have known! Why, he stood as much chance of getting a job in -Packingtown as of being chosen mayor of Chicago. Why had he wasted his -time hunting? They had him on a secret list in every office, big and -little, in the place. They had his name by this time in St. Louis and -New York, in Omaha and Boston, in Kansas City and St. Joseph. He was -condemned and sentenced, without trial and without appeal; he could -never work for the packers again--he could not even clean cattle pens or -drive a truck in any place where they controlled. He might try it, if he -chose, as hundreds had tried it, and found out for themselves. He -would never be told anything about it; he would never get any more -satisfaction than he had gotten just now; but he would always find when -the time came that he was not needed. It would not do for him to give -any other name, either--they had company "spotters" for just that -purpose, and he wouldn't keep a job in Packingtown three days. It was -worth a fortune to the packers to keep their blacklist effective, as -a warning to the men and a means of keeping down union agitation and -political discontent. - -Jurgis went home, carrying these new tidings to the family council. It -was a most cruel thing; here in this district was his home, such as it -was, the place he was used to and the friends he knew--and now every -possibility of employment in it was closed to him. There was nothing in -Packingtown but packing houses; and so it was the same thing as evicting -him from his home. - -He and the two women spent all day and half the night discussing it. It -would be convenient, downtown, to the children's place of work; but then -Marija was on the road to recovery, and had hopes of getting a job in -the yards; and though she did not see her old-time lover once a month, -because of the misery of their state, yet she could not make up her -mind to go away and give him up forever. Then, too, Elzbieta had heard -something about a chance to scrub floors in Durham's offices and was -waiting every day for word. In the end it was decided that Jurgis should -go downtown to strike out for himself, and they would decide after he -got a job. As there was no one from whom he could borrow there, and he -dared not beg for fear of being arrested, it was arranged that every day -he should meet one of the children and be given fifteen cents of their -earnings, upon which he could keep going. Then all day he was to pace -the streets with hundreds and thousands of other homeless wretches -inquiring at stores, warehouses, and factories for a chance; and at -night he was to crawl into some doorway or underneath a truck, and hide -there until midnight, when he might get into one of the station houses, -and spread a newspaper upon the floor, and lie down in the midst of -a throng of "bums" and beggars, reeking with alcohol and tobacco, and -filthy with vermin and disease. - - -So for two weeks more Jurgis fought with the demon of despair. Once he -got a chance to load a truck for half a day, and again he carried an old -woman's valise and was given a quarter. This let him into a lodging-house -on several nights when he might otherwise have frozen to death; and it -also gave him a chance now and then to buy a newspaper in the morning -and hunt up jobs while his rivals were watching and waiting for a -paper to be thrown away. This, however, was really not the advantage it -seemed, for the newspaper advertisements were a cause of much loss of -precious time and of many weary journeys. A full half of these were -"fakes," put in by the endless variety of establishments which preyed -upon the helpless ignorance of the unemployed. If Jurgis lost only -his time, it was because he had nothing else to lose; whenever a -smooth-tongued agent would tell him of the wonderful positions he had on -hand, he could only shake his head sorrowfully and say that he had not -the necessary dollar to deposit; when it was explained to him what "big -money" he and all his family could make by coloring photographs, he -could only promise to come in again when he had two dollars to invest in -the outfit. - -In the end Jurgis got a chance through an accidental meeting with an -old-time acquaintance of his union days. He met this man on his way to -work in the giant factories of the Harvester Trust; and his friend told -him to come along and he would speak a good word for him to his boss, -whom he knew well. So Jurgis trudged four or five miles, and passed -through a waiting throng of unemployed at the gate under the escort -of his friend. His knees nearly gave way beneath him when the foreman, -after looking him over and questioning him, told him that he could find -an opening for him. - -How much this accident meant to Jurgis he realized only by stages; -for he found that the harvester works were the sort of place to which -philanthropists and reformers pointed with pride. It had some thought -for its employees; its workshops were big and roomy, it provided a -restaurant where the workmen could buy good food at cost, it had even -a reading room, and decent places where its girl-hands could rest; also -the work was free from many of the elements of filth and repulsiveness -that prevailed at the stockyards. Day after day Jurgis discovered these -things--things never expected nor dreamed of by him--until this new -place came to seem a kind of a heaven to him. - -It was an enormous establishment, covering a hundred and sixty acres -of ground, employing five thousand people, and turning out over three -hundred thousand machines every year--a good part of all the harvesting -and mowing machines used in the country. Jurgis saw very little of it, -of course--it was all specialized work, the same as at the stockyards; -each one of the hundreds of parts of a mowing machine was made -separately, and sometimes handled by hundreds of men. Where Jurgis -worked there was a machine which cut and stamped a certain piece of -steel about two square inches in size; the pieces came tumbling out upon -a tray, and all that human hands had to do was to pile them in regular -rows, and change the trays at intervals. This was done by a single boy, -who stood with eyes and thought centered upon it, and fingers flying so -fast that the sounds of the bits of steel striking upon each other was -like the music of an express train as one hears it in a sleeping car at -night. This was "piece-work," of course; and besides it was made certain -that the boy did not idle, by setting the machine to match the highest -possible speed of human hands. Thirty thousand of these pieces he -handled every day, nine or ten million every year--how many in a -lifetime it rested with the gods to say. Near by him men sat bending -over whirling grindstones, putting the finishing touches to the steel -knives of the reaper; picking them out of a basket with the right hand, -pressing first one side and then the other against the stone and finally -dropping them with the left hand into another basket. One of these men -told Jurgis that he had sharpened three thousand pieces of steel a day -for thirteen years. In the next room were wonderful machines that ate -up long steel rods by slow stages, cutting them off, seizing the pieces, -stamping heads upon them, grinding them and polishing them, threading -them, and finally dropping them into a basket, all ready to bolt the -harvesters together. From yet another machine came tens of thousands of -steel burs to fit upon these bolts. In other places all these various -parts were dipped into troughs of paint and hung up to dry, and then -slid along on trolleys to a room where men streaked them with red and -yellow, so that they might look cheerful in the harvest fields. - -Jurgis's friend worked upstairs in the casting rooms, and his task was -to make the molds of a certain part. He shoveled black sand into an -iron receptacle and pounded it tight and set it aside to harden; then it -would be taken out, and molten iron poured into it. This man, too, was -paid by the mold--or rather for perfect castings, nearly half his -work going for naught. You might see him, along with dozens of others, -toiling like one possessed by a whole community of demons; his arms -working like the driving rods of an engine, his long, black hair flying -wild, his eyes starting out, the sweat rolling in rivers down his face. -When he had shoveled the mold full of sand, and reached for the pounder -to pound it with, it was after the manner of a canoeist running rapids -and seizing a pole at sight of a submerged rock. All day long this man -would toil thus, his whole being centered upon the purpose of making -twenty-three instead of twenty-two and a half cents an hour; and then -his product would be reckoned up by the census taker, and jubilant -captains of industry would boast of it in their banquet halls, telling -how our workers are nearly twice as efficient as those of any other -country. If we are the greatest nation the sun ever shone upon, it would -seem to be mainly because we have been able to goad our wage-earners to -this pitch of frenzy; though there are a few other things that are great -among us including our drink-bill, which is a billion and a quarter of -dollars a year, and doubling itself every decade. - - -There was a machine which stamped out the iron plates, and then another -which, with a mighty thud, mashed them to the shape of the sitting-down -portion of the American farmer. Then they were piled upon a truck, and -it was Jurgis's task to wheel them to the room where the machines were -"assembled." This was child's play for him, and he got a dollar -and seventy-five cents a day for it; on Saturday he paid Aniele the -seventy-five cents a week he owed her for the use of her garret, and -also redeemed his overcoat, which Elzbieta had put in pawn when he was -in jail. - -This last was a great blessing. A man cannot go about in midwinter in -Chicago with no overcoat and not pay for it, and Jurgis had to walk or -ride five or six miles back and forth to his work. It so happened that -half of this was in one direction and half in another, necessitating -a change of cars; the law required that transfers be given at all -intersecting points, but the railway corporation had gotten round this -by arranging a pretense at separate ownership. So whenever he wished -to ride, he had to pay ten cents each way, or over ten per cent of his -income to this power, which had gotten its franchises long ago by buying -up the city council, in the face of popular clamor amounting almost to a -rebellion. Tired as he felt at night, and dark and bitter cold as it -was in the morning, Jurgis generally chose to walk; at the hours other -workmen were traveling, the streetcar monopoly saw fit to put on so few -cars that there would be men hanging to every foot of the backs of them -and often crouching upon the snow-covered roof. Of course the doors -could never be closed, and so the cars were as cold as outdoors; Jurgis, -like many others, found it better to spend his fare for a drink and a -free lunch, to give him strength to walk. - -These, however, were all slight matters to a man who had escaped from -Durham's fertilizer mill. Jurgis began to pick up heart again and to -make plans. He had lost his house but then the awful load of the rent -and interest was off his shoulders, and when Marija was well again they -could start over and save. In the shop where he worked was a man, a -Lithuanian like himself, whom the others spoke of in admiring whispers, -because of the mighty feats he was performing. All day he sat at a -machine turning bolts; and then in the evening he went to the public -school to study English and learn to read. In addition, because he had a -family of eight children to support and his earnings were not enough, on -Saturdays and Sundays he served as a watchman; he was required to press -two buttons at opposite ends of a building every five minutes, and -as the walk only took him two minutes, he had three minutes to study -between each trip. Jurgis felt jealous of this fellow; for that was -the sort of thing he himself had dreamed of, two or three years ago. -He might do it even yet, if he had a fair chance--he might attract -attention and become a skilled man or a boss, as some had done in this -place. Suppose that Marija could get a job in the big mill where they -made binder twine--then they would move into this neighborhood, and he -would really have a chance. With a hope like that, there was some use -in living; to find a place where you were treated like a human being--by -God! he would show them how he could appreciate it. He laughed to -himself as he thought how he would hang on to this job! - -And then one afternoon, the ninth of his work in the place, when he went -to get his overcoat he saw a group of men crowded before a placard on -the door, and when he went over and asked what it was, they told him -that beginning with the morrow his department of the harvester works -would be closed until further notice! - - - - -Chapter 21 - - -That was the way they did it! There was not half an hour's warning--the -works were closed! It had happened that way before, said the men, and it -would happen that way forever. They had made all the harvesting machines -that the world needed, and now they had to wait till some wore out! It -was nobody's fault--that was the way of it; and thousands of men and -women were turned out in the dead of winter, to live upon their savings -if they had any, and otherwise to die. So many tens of thousands already -in the city, homeless and begging for work, and now several thousand -more added to them! - -Jurgis walked home-with his pittance of pay in his pocket, heartbroken, -overwhelmed. One more bandage had been torn from his eyes, one more -pitfall was revealed to him! Of what help was kindness and decency on -the part of employers--when they could not keep a job for him, when -there were more harvesting machines made than the world was able to buy! -What a hellish mockery it was, anyway, that a man should slave to make -harvesting machines for the country, only to be turned out to starve for -doing his duty too well! - -It took him two days to get over this heart-sickening disappointment. He -did not drink anything, because Elzbieta got his money for safekeeping, -and knew him too well to be in the least frightened by his angry -demands. He stayed up in the garret however, and sulked--what was the -use of a man's hunting a job when it was taken from him before he had -time to learn the work? But then their money was going again, and little -Antanas was hungry, and crying with the bitter cold of the garret. Also -Madame Haupt, the midwife, was after him for some money. So he went out -once more. - -For another ten days he roamed the streets and alleys of the huge city, -sick and hungry, begging for any work. He tried in stores and offices, -in restaurants and hotels, along the docks and in the railroad yards, in -warehouses and mills and factories where they made products that went -to every corner of the world. There were often one or two chances--but -there were always a hundred men for every chance, and his turn would not -come. At night he crept into sheds and cellars and doorways--until there -came a spell of belated winter weather, with a raging gale, and the -thermometer five degrees below zero at sundown and falling all night. -Then Jurgis fought like a wild beast to get into the big Harrison Street -police station, and slept down in a corridor, crowded with two other men -upon a single step. - -He had to fight often in these days to fight for a place near the -factory gates, and now and again with gangs on the street. He found, for -instance, that the business of carrying satchels for railroad passengers -was a pre-empted one--whenever he essayed it, eight or ten men and boys -would fall upon him and force him to run for his life. They always -had the policeman "squared," and so there was no use in expecting -protection. - -That Jurgis did not starve to death was due solely to the pittance the -children brought him. And even this was never certain. For one thing the -cold was almost more than the children could bear; and then they, too, -were in perpetual peril from rivals who plundered and beat them. The law -was against them, too--little Vilimas, who was really eleven, but did -not look to be eight, was stopped on the streets by a severe old lady in -spectacles, who told him that he was too young to be working and that -if he did not stop selling papers she would send a truant officer after -him. Also one night a strange man caught little Kotrina by the arm and -tried to persuade her into a dark cellar-way, an experience which filled -her with such terror that she was hardly to be kept at work. - -At last, on a Sunday, as there was no use looking for work, Jurgis went -home by stealing rides on the cars. He found that they had been waiting -for him for three days--there was a chance of a job for him. - -It was quite a story. Little Juozapas, who was near crazy with hunger -these days, had gone out on the street to beg for himself. Juozapas had -only one leg, having been run over by a wagon when a little child, -but he had got himself a broomstick, which he put under his arm for a -crutch. He had fallen in with some other children and found the way to -Mike Scully's dump, which lay three or four blocks away. To this place -there came every day many hundreds of wagon-loads of garbage and trash -from the lake front, where the rich people lived; and in the heaps the -children raked for food--there were hunks of bread and potato peelings -and apple cores and meat bones, all of it half frozen and quite -unspoiled. Little Juozapas gorged himself, and came home with a -newspaper full, which he was feeding to Antanas when his mother came in. -Elzbieta was horrified, for she did not believe that the food out of the -dumps was fit to eat. The next day, however, when no harm came of it and -Juozapas began to cry with hunger, she gave in and said that he might go -again. And that afternoon he came home with a story of how while he had -been digging away with a stick, a lady upon the street had called him. -A real fine lady, the little boy explained, a beautiful lady; and -she wanted to know all about him, and whether he got the garbage for -chickens, and why he walked with a broomstick, and why Ona had died, and -how Jurgis had come to go to jail, and what was the matter with Marija, -and everything. In the end she had asked where he lived, and said that -she was coming to see him, and bring him a new crutch to walk with. She -had on a hat with a bird upon it, Juozapas added, and a long fur snake -around her neck. - -She really came, the very next morning, and climbed the ladder to the -garret, and stood and stared about her, turning pale at the sight of -the blood stains on the floor where Ona had died. She was a "settlement -worker," she explained to Elzbieta--she lived around on Ashland Avenue. -Elzbieta knew the place, over a feed store; somebody had wanted her to -go there, but she had not cared to, for she thought that it must have -something to do with religion, and the priest did not like her to have -anything to do with strange religions. They were rich people who came -to live there to find out about the poor people; but what good they -expected it would do them to know, one could not imagine. So spoke -Elzbieta, naively, and the young lady laughed and was rather at a loss -for an answer--she stood and gazed about her, and thought of a cynical -remark that had been made to her, that she was standing upon the brink -of the pit of hell and throwing in snowballs to lower the temperature. - -Elzbieta was glad to have somebody to listen, and she told all their -woes--what had happened to Ona, and the jail, and the loss of their -home, and Marija's accident, and how Ona had died, and how Jurgis could -get no work. As she listened the pretty young lady's eyes filled with -tears, and in the midst of it she burst into weeping and hid her face on -Elzbieta's shoulder, quite regardless of the fact that the woman had on -a dirty old wrapper and that the garret was full of fleas. Poor Elzbieta -was ashamed of herself for having told so woeful a tale, and the other -had to beg and plead with her to get her to go on. The end of it was -that the young lady sent them a basket of things to eat, and left a -letter that Jurgis was to take to a gentleman who was superintendent in -one of the mills of the great steelworks in South Chicago. "He will get -Jurgis something to do," the young lady had said, and added, smiling -through her tears--"If he doesn't, he will never marry me." - -The steel-works were fifteen miles away, and as usual it was so -contrived that one had to pay two fares to get there. Far and wide the -sky was flaring with the red glare that leaped from rows of towering -chimneys--for it was pitch dark when Jurgis arrived. The vast works, a -city in themselves, were surrounded by a stockade; and already a full -hundred men were waiting at the gate where new hands were taken on. Soon -after daybreak whistles began to blow, and then suddenly thousands of -men appeared, streaming from saloons and boardinghouses across the way, -leaping from trolley cars that passed--it seemed as if they rose out of -the ground, in the dim gray light. A river of them poured in through the -gate--and then gradually ebbed away again, until there were only a few -late ones running, and the watchman pacing up and down, and the hungry -strangers stamping and shivering. - -Jurgis presented his precious letter. The gatekeeper was surly, and put -him through a catechism, but he insisted that he knew nothing, and as he -had taken the precaution to seal his letter, there was nothing for the -gatekeeper to do but send it to the person to whom it was addressed. -A messenger came back to say that Jurgis should wait, and so he came -inside of the gate, perhaps not sorry enough that there were others less -fortunate watching him with greedy eyes. The great mills were getting -under way--one could hear a vast stirring, a rolling and rumbling -and hammering. Little by little the scene grew plain: towering, black -buildings here and there, long rows of shops and sheds, little railways -branching everywhere, bare gray cinders underfoot and oceans of -billowing black smoke above. On one side of the grounds ran a railroad -with a dozen tracks, and on the other side lay the lake, where steamers -came to load. - -Jurgis had time enough to stare and speculate, for it was two hours -before he was summoned. He went into the office building, where a -company timekeeper interviewed him. The superintendent was busy, he -said, but he (the timekeeper) would try to find Jurgis a job. He had -never worked in a steel mill before? But he was ready for anything? -Well, then, they would go and see. - -So they began a tour, among sights that made Jurgis stare amazed. He -wondered if ever he could get used to working in a place like this, -where the air shook with deafening thunder, and whistles shrieked -warnings on all sides of him at once; where miniature steam engines came -rushing upon him, and sizzling, quivering, white-hot masses of metal -sped past him, and explosions of fire and flaming sparks dazzled him and -scorched his face. The men in these mills were all black with soot, and -hollow-eyed and gaunt; they worked with fierce intensity, rushing here -and there, and never lifting their eyes from their tasks. Jurgis clung -to his guide like a scared child to its nurse, and while the latter -hailed one foreman after another to ask if they could use another -unskilled man, he stared about him and marveled. - -He was taken to the Bessemer furnace, where they made billets of -steel--a dome-like building, the size of a big theater. Jurgis stood -where the balcony of the theater would have been, and opposite, by the -stage, he saw three giant caldrons, big enough for all the devils of -hell to brew their broth in, full of something white and blinding, -bubbling and splashing, roaring as if volcanoes were blowing through -it--one had to shout to be heard in the place. Liquid fire would leap -from these caldrons and scatter like bombs below--and men were working -there, seeming careless, so that Jurgis caught his breath with fright. -Then a whistle would toot, and across the curtain of the theater would -come a little engine with a carload of something to be dumped into one -of the receptacles; and then another whistle would toot, down by -the stage, and another train would back up--and suddenly, without an -instant's warning, one of the giant kettles began to tilt and topple, -flinging out a jet of hissing, roaring flame. Jurgis shrank back -appalled, for he thought it was an accident; there fell a pillar of -white flame, dazzling as the sun, swishing like a huge tree falling in -the forest. A torrent of sparks swept all the way across the building, -overwhelming everything, hiding it from sight; and then Jurgis looked -through the fingers of his hands, and saw pouring out of the caldron a -cascade of living, leaping fire, white with a whiteness not of earth, -scorching the eyeballs. Incandescent rainbows shone above it, blue, -red, and golden lights played about it; but the stream itself was white, -ineffable. Out of regions of wonder it streamed, the very river of life; -and the soul leaped up at the sight of it, fled back upon it, swift and -resistless, back into far-off lands, where beauty and terror dwell. Then -the great caldron tilted back again, empty, and Jurgis saw to his relief -that no one was hurt, and turned and followed his guide out into the -sunlight. - -They went through the blast furnaces, through rolling mills where bars -of steel were tossed about and chopped like bits of cheese. All around -and above giant machine arms were flying, giant wheels were turning, -great hammers crashing; traveling cranes creaked and groaned overhead, -reaching down iron hands and seizing iron prey--it was like standing in -the center of the earth, where the machinery of time was revolving. - -By and by they came to the place where steel rails were made; and Jurgis -heard a toot behind him, and jumped out of the way of a car with a -white-hot ingot upon it, the size of a man's body. There was a sudden -crash and the car came to a halt, and the ingot toppled out upon -a moving platform, where steel fingers and arms seized hold of it, -punching it and prodding it into place, and hurrying it into the grip of -huge rollers. Then it came out upon the other side, and there were more -crashings and clatterings, and over it was flopped, like a pancake on -a gridiron, and seized again and rushed back at you through another -squeezer. So amid deafening uproar it clattered to and fro, growing -thinner and flatter and longer. The ingot seemed almost a living thing; -it did not want to run this mad course, but it was in the grip of fate, -it was tumbled on, screeching and clanking and shivering in protest. By -and by it was long and thin, a great red snake escaped from purgatory; -and then, as it slid through the rollers, you would have sworn that it -was alive--it writhed and squirmed, and wriggles and shudders passed out -through its tail, all but flinging it off by their violence. There was -no rest for it until it was cold and black--and then it needed only to -be cut and straightened to be ready for a railroad. - -It was at the end of this rail's progress that Jurgis got his chance. -They had to be moved by men with crowbars, and the boss here could use -another man. So he took off his coat and set to work on the spot. - - -It took him two hours to get to this place every day and cost him a -dollar and twenty cents a week. As this was out of the question, he -wrapped his bedding in a bundle and took it with him, and one of his -fellow workingmen introduced him to a Polish lodging-house, where he -might have the privilege of sleeping upon the floor for ten cents a -night. He got his meals at free-lunch counters, and every Saturday night -he went home--bedding and all--and took the greater part of his money to -the family. Elzbieta was sorry for this arrangement, for she feared that -it would get him into the habit of living without them, and once a week -was not very often for him to see his baby; but there was no other way -of arranging it. There was no chance for a woman at the steelworks, and -Marija was now ready for work again, and lured on from day to day by the -hope of finding it at the yards. - - -In a week Jurgis got over his sense of helplessness and bewilderment -in the rail mill. He learned to find his way about and to take all the -miracles and terrors for granted, to work without hearing the rumbling -and crashing. From blind fear he went to the other extreme; he became -reckless and indifferent, like all the rest of the men, who took -but little thought of themselves in the ardor of their work. It was -wonderful, when one came to think of it, that these men should have -taken an interest in the work they did--they had no share in it--they -were paid by the hour, and paid no more for being interested. Also they -knew that if they were hurt they would be flung aside and forgotten--and -still they would hurry to their task by dangerous short cuts, would use -methods that were quicker and more effective in spite of the fact -that they were also risky. His fourth day at his work Jurgis saw a man -stumble while running in front of a car, and have his foot mashed off, -and before he had been there three weeks he was witness of a yet more -dreadful accident. There was a row of brick furnaces, shining white -through every crack with the molten steel inside. Some of these were -bulging dangerously, yet men worked before them, wearing blue glasses -when they opened and shut the doors. One morning as Jurgis was passing, -a furnace blew out, spraying two men with a shower of liquid fire. As -they lay screaming and rolling upon the ground in agony, Jurgis rushed -to help them, and as a result he lost a good part of the skin from the -inside of one of his hands. The company doctor bandaged it up, but he -got no other thanks from any one, and was laid up for eight working days -without any pay. - -Most fortunately, at this juncture, Elzbieta got the long-awaited chance -to go at five o'clock in the morning and help scrub the office floors of -one of the packers. Jurgis came home and covered himself with blankets -to keep warm, and divided his time between sleeping and playing with -little Antanas. Juozapas was away raking in the dump a good part of the -time, and Elzbieta and Marija were hunting for more work. - -Antanas was now over a year and a half old, and was a perfect talking -machine. He learned so fast that every week when Jurgis came home it -seemed to him as if he had a new child. He would sit down and listen and -stare at him, and give vent to delighted exclamations--"Palauk! Muma! -Tu mano szirdele!" The little fellow was now really the one delight -that Jurgis had in the world--his one hope, his one victory. Thank God, -Antanas was a boy! And he was as tough as a pine knot, and with the -appetite of a wolf. Nothing had hurt him, and nothing could hurt him; -he had come through all the suffering and deprivation unscathed--only -shriller-voiced and more determined in his grip upon life. He was a -terrible child to manage, was Antanas, but his father did not mind -that--he would watch him and smile to himself with satisfaction. The -more of a fighter he was the better--he would need to fight before he -got through. - -Jurgis had got the habit of buying the Sunday paper whenever he had the -money; a most wonderful paper could be had for only five cents, a whole -armful, with all the news of the world set forth in big headlines, that -Jurgis could spell out slowly, with the children to help him at the long -words. There was battle and murder and sudden death--it was marvelous -how they ever heard about so many entertaining and thrilling happenings; -the stories must be all true, for surely no man could have made such -things up, and besides, there were pictures of them all, as real as -life. One of these papers was as good as a circus, and nearly as good -as a spree--certainly a most wonderful treat for a workingman, who was -tired out and stupefied, and had never had any education, and whose work -was one dull, sordid grind, day after day, and year after year, with -never a sight of a green field nor an hour's entertainment, nor anything -but liquor to stimulate his imagination. Among other things, these -papers had pages full of comical pictures, and these were the main joy -in life to little Antanas. He treasured them up, and would drag them out -and make his father tell him about them; there were all sorts of animals -among them, and Antanas could tell the names of all of them, lying -upon the floor for hours and pointing them out with his chubby little -fingers. Whenever the story was plain enough for Jurgis to make out, -Antanas would have it repeated to him, and then he would remember it, -prattling funny little sentences and mixing it up with other stories in -an irresistible fashion. Also his quaint pronunciation of words was -such a delight--and the phrases he would pick up and remember, the most -outlandish and impossible things! The first time that the little rascal -burst out with "God damn," his father nearly rolled off the chair -with glee; but in the end he was sorry for this, for Antanas was soon -"God-damning" everything and everybody. - -And then, when he was able to use his hands, Jurgis took his bedding -again and went back to his task of shifting rails. It was now April, and -the snow had given place to cold rains, and the unpaved street in front -of Aniele's house was turned into a canal. Jurgis would have to wade -through it to get home, and if it was late he might easily get stuck to -his waist in the mire. But he did not mind this much--it was a promise -that summer was coming. Marija had now gotten a place as beef-trimmer -in one of the smaller packing plants; and he told himself that he had -learned his lesson now, and would meet with no more accidents--so that -at last there was prospect of an end to their long agony. They could -save money again, and when another winter came they would have a -comfortable place; and the children would be off the streets and in -school again, and they might set to work to nurse back into life their -habits of decency and kindness. So once more Jurgis began to make plans -and dream dreams. - -And then one Saturday night he jumped off the car and started home, with -the sun shining low under the edge of a bank of clouds that had been -pouring floods of water into the mud-soaked street. There was a rainbow -in the sky, and another in his breast--for he had thirty-six hours' rest -before him, and a chance to see his family. Then suddenly he came in -sight of the house, and noticed that there was a crowd before the door. -He ran up the steps and pushed his way in, and saw Aniele's kitchen -crowded with excited women. It reminded him so vividly of the time when -he had come home from jail and found Ona dying, that his heart almost -stood still. "What's the matter?" he cried. - -A dead silence had fallen in the room, and he saw that every one was -staring at him. "What's the matter?" he exclaimed again. - -And then, up in the garret, he heard sounds of wailing, in Marija's -voice. He started for the ladder--and Aniele seized him by the arm. "No, -no!" she exclaimed. "Don't go up there!" - -"What is it?" he shouted. - -And the old woman answered him weakly: "It's Antanas. He's dead. He was -drowned out in the street!" - - -Chapter 22 - - -Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned deadly pale, but he -caught himself, and for half a minute stood in the middle of the room, -clenching his hands tightly and setting his teeth. Then he pushed Aniele -aside and strode into the next room and climbed the ladder. - -In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing beneath it; and -beside it lay Elzbieta, whether crying or in a faint, Jurgis could not -tell. Marija was pacing the room, screaming and wringing her hands. He -clenched his hands tighter yet, and his voice was hard as he spoke. - -"How did it happen?" he asked. - -Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated the question, -louder and yet more harshly. "He fell off the sidewalk!" she wailed. -The sidewalk in front of the house was a platform made of half-rotten -boards, about five feet above the level of the sunken street. - -"How did he come to be there?" he demanded. - -"He went--he went out to play," Marija sobbed, her voice choking her. -"We couldn't make him stay in. He must have got caught in the mud!" - -"Are you sure that he is dead?" he demanded. - -"Ai! ai!" she wailed. "Yes; we had the doctor." - -Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed a tear. He -took one glance more at the blanket with the little form beneath it, -and then turned suddenly to the ladder and climbed down again. A silence -fell once more in the room as he entered. He went straight to the door, -passed out, and started down the street. - -When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, but he did -not do that now, though he had his week's wages in his pocket. He walked -and walked, seeing nothing, splashing through mud and water. Later on he -sat down upon a step and hid his face in his hands and for half an hour -or so he did not move. Now and then he would whisper to himself: "Dead! -Dead!" - -Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was about sunset, and he went -on and on until it was dark, when he was stopped by a railroad crossing. -The gates were down, and a long train of freight cars was thundering by. -He stood and watched it; and all at once a wild impulse seized him, a -thought that had been lurking within him, unspoken, unrecognized, leaped -into sudden life. He started down the track, and when he was past the -gate-keeper's shanty he sprang forward and swung himself on to one of -the cars. - -By and by the train stopped again, and Jurgis sprang down and ran under -the car, and hid himself upon the truck. Here he sat, and when the train -started again, he fought a battle with his soul. He gripped his hands -and set his teeth together--he had not wept, and he would not--not a -tear! It was past and over, and he was done with it--he would fling it -off his shoulders, be free of it, the whole business, that night. It -should go like a black, hateful nightmare, and in the morning he would -be a new man. And every time that a thought of it assailed him--a tender -memory, a trace of a tear--he rose up, cursing with rage, and pounded it -down. - -He was fighting for his life; he gnashed his teeth together in his -desperation. He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted his life, he had -wrecked himself, with his accursed weakness; and now he was done with -it--he would tear it out of him, root and branch! There should be no -more tears and no more tenderness; he had had enough of them--they had -sold him into slavery! Now he was going to be free, to tear off his -shackles, to rise up and fight. He was glad that the end had come--it -had to come some time, and it was just as well now. This was no world -for women and children, and the sooner they got out of it the better -for them. Whatever Antanas might suffer where he was, he could suffer -no more than he would have had he stayed upon earth. And meantime his -father had thought the last thought about him that he meant to; he was -going to think of himself, he was going to fight for himself, against -the world that had baffled him and tortured him! - -So he went on, tearing up all the flowers from the garden of his soul, -and setting his heel upon them. The train thundered deafeningly, and -a storm of dust blew in his face; but though it stopped now and then -through the night, he clung where he was--he would cling there until -he was driven off, for every mile that he got from Packingtown meant -another load from his mind. - -Whenever the cars stopped a warm breeze blew upon him, a breeze laden -with the perfume of fresh fields, of honeysuckle and clover. He snuffed -it, and it made his heart beat wildly--he was out in the country again! -He was going to live in the country! When the dawn came he was peering -out with hungry eyes, getting glimpses of meadows and woods and rivers. -At last he could stand it no longer, and when the train stopped again he -crawled out. Upon the top of the car was a brakeman, who shook his fist -and swore; Jurgis waved his hand derisively, and started across the -country. - -Only think that he had been a countryman all his life; and for three -long years he had never seen a country sight nor heard a country sound! -Excepting for that one walk when he left jail, when he was too much -worried to notice anything, and for a few times that he had rested -in the city parks in the winter time when he was out of work, he had -literally never seen a tree! And now he felt like a bird lifted up -and borne away upon a gale; he stopped and stared at each new sight of -wonder--at a herd of cows, and a meadow full of daisies, at hedgerows -set thick with June roses, at little birds singing in the trees. - -Then he came to a farm-house, and after getting himself a stick for -protection, he approached it. The farmer was greasing a wagon in -front of the barn, and Jurgis went to him. "I would like to get some -breakfast, please," he said. - -"Do you want to work?" said the farmer. - -"No," said Jurgis. "I don't." - -"Then you can't get anything here," snapped the other. - -"I meant to pay for it," said Jurgis. - -"Oh," said the farmer; and then added sarcastically, "We don't serve -breakfast after 7 A.M." - -"I am very hungry," said Jurgis gravely; "I would like to buy some -food." - -"Ask the woman," said the farmer, nodding over his shoulder. The "woman" -was more tractable, and for a dime Jurgis secured two thick sandwiches -and a piece of pie and two apples. He walked off eating the pie, as the -least convenient thing to carry. In a few minutes he came to a stream, -and he climbed a fence and walked down the bank, along a woodland path. -By and by he found a comfortable spot, and there he devoured his meal, -slaking his thirst at the stream. Then he lay for hours, just gazing and -drinking in joy; until at last he felt sleepy, and lay down in the shade -of a bush. - -When he awoke the sun was shining hot in his face. He sat up and -stretched his arms, and then gazed at the water sliding by. There was a -deep pool, sheltered and silent, below him, and a sudden wonderful idea -rushed upon him. He might have a bath! The water was free, and he might -get into it--all the way into it! It would be the first time that he had -been all the way into the water since he left Lithuania! - -When Jurgis had first come to the stockyards he had been as clean as any -workingman could well be. But later on, what with sickness and cold -and hunger and discouragement, and the filthiness of his work, and the -vermin in his home, he had given up washing in winter, and in summer -only as much of him as would go into a basin. He had had a shower bath -in jail, but nothing since--and now he would have a swim! - -The water was warm, and he splashed about like a very boy in his glee. -Afterward he sat down in the water near the bank, and proceeded to scrub -himself--soberly and methodically, scouring every inch of him with sand. -While he was doing it he would do it thoroughly, and see how it felt to -be clean. He even scrubbed his head with sand, and combed what the men -called "crumbs" out of his long, black hair, holding his head under -water as long as he could, to see if he could not kill them all. Then, -seeing that the sun was still hot, he took his clothes from the bank -and proceeded to wash them, piece by piece; as the dirt and grease went -floating off downstream he grunted with satisfaction and soused the -clothes again, venturing even to dream that he might get rid of the -fertilizer. - -He hung them all up, and while they were drying he lay down in the sun -and had another long sleep. They were hot and stiff as boards on top, -and a little damp on the underside, when he awakened; but being hungry, -he put them on and set out again. He had no knife, but with some labor -he broke himself a good stout club, and, armed with this, he marched -down the road again. - -Before long he came to a big farmhouse, and turned up the lane that led -to it. It was just supper-time, and the farmer was washing his hands at -the kitchen door. "Please, sir," said Jurgis, "can I have something to -eat? I can pay." To which the farmer responded promptly, "We don't feed -tramps here. Get out!" - -Jurgis went without a word; but as he passed round the barn he came to -a freshly ploughed and harrowed field, in which the farmer had set out -some young peach trees; and as he walked he jerked up a row of them by -the roots, more than a hundred trees in all, before he reached the end -of the field. That was his answer, and it showed his mood; from now on -he was fighting, and the man who hit him would get all that he gave, -every time. - -Beyond the orchard Jurgis struck through a patch of woods, and then a -field of winter grain, and came at last to another road. Before long he -saw another farmhouse, and, as it was beginning to cloud over a little, -he asked here for shelter as well as food. Seeing the farmer eying him -dubiously, he added, "I'll be glad to sleep in the barn." - -"Well, I dunno," said the other. "Do you smoke?" - -"Sometimes," said Jurgis, "but I'll do it out of doors." When the man -had assented, he inquired, "How much will it cost me? I haven't very -much money." - -"I reckon about twenty cents for supper," replied the farmer. "I won't -charge ye for the barn." - -So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer's wife and -half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal--there were baked beans -and mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped and stewed, and a dish of -strawberries, and great, thick slices of bread, and a pitcher of milk. -Jurgis had not had such a feast since his wedding day, and he made a -mighty effort to put in his twenty cents' worth. - -They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they sat upon -the steps and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest. When Jurgis -had explained that he was a workingman from Chicago, and that he did not -know just whither he was bound, the other said, "Why don't you stay here -and work for me?" - -"I'm not looking for work just now," Jurgis answered. - -"I'll pay ye good," said the other, eying his big form--"a dollar a day -and board ye. Help's terrible scarce round here." - -"Is that winter as well as summer?" Jurgis demanded quickly. - -"N--no," said the farmer; "I couldn't keep ye after November--I ain't -got a big enough place for that." - -"I see," said the other, "that's what I thought. When you get through -working your horses this fall, will you turn them out in the snow?" -(Jurgis was beginning to think for himself nowadays.) - -"It ain't quite the same," the farmer answered, seeing the point. "There -ought to be work a strong fellow like you can find to do, in the cities, -or some place, in the winter time." - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's what they all think; and so they crowd into -the cities, and when they have to beg or steal to live, then people -ask 'em why they don't go into the country, where help is scarce." The -farmer meditated awhile. - -"How about when your money's gone?" he inquired, finally. "You'll have -to, then, won't you?" - -"Wait till she's gone," said Jurgis; "then I'll see." - -He had a long sleep in the barn and then a big breakfast of coffee and -bread and oatmeal and stewed cherries, for which the man charged him -only fifteen cents, perhaps having been influenced by his arguments. -Then Jurgis bade farewell, and went on his way. - - -Such was the beginning of his life as a tramp. It was seldom he got -as fair treatment as from this last farmer, and so as time went on he -learned to shun the houses and to prefer sleeping in the fields. When -it rained he would find a deserted building, if he could, and if not, -he would wait until after dark and then, with his stick ready, begin a -stealthy approach upon a barn. Generally he could get in before the dog -got scent of him, and then he would hide in the hay and be safe until -morning; if not, and the dog attacked him, he would rise up and make a -retreat in battle order. Jurgis was not the mighty man he had once been, -but his arms were still good, and there were few farm dogs he needed to -hit more than once. - -Before long there came raspberries, and then blackberries, to help him -save his money; and there were apples in the orchards and potatoes in -the ground--he learned to note the places and fill his pockets after -dark. Twice he even managed to capture a chicken, and had a feast, once -in a deserted barn and the other time in a lonely spot alongside of a -stream. When all of these things failed him he used his money carefully, -but without worry--for he saw that he could earn more whenever he chose. -Half an hour's chopping wood in his lively fashion was enough to bring -him a meal, and when the farmer had seen him working he would sometimes -try to bribe him to stay. - -But Jurgis was not staying. He was a free man now, a buccaneer. The old -wanderlust had got into his blood, the joy of the unbound life, the -joy of seeking, of hoping without limit. There were mishaps and -discomforts--but at least there was always something new; and only think -what it meant to a man who for years had been penned up in one place, -seeing nothing but one dreary prospect of shanties and factories, to be -suddenly set loose beneath the open sky, to behold new landscapes, -new places, and new people every hour! To a man whose whole life had -consisted of doing one certain thing all day, until he was so exhausted -that he could only lie down and sleep until the next day--and to be now -his own master, working as he pleased and when he pleased, and facing a -new adventure every hour! - -Then, too, his health came back to him, all his lost youthful vigor, his -joy and power that he had mourned and forgotten! It came with a sudden -rush, bewildering him, startling him; it was as if his dead childhood -had come back to him, laughing and calling! What with plenty to eat and -fresh air and exercise that was taken as it pleased him, he would waken -from his sleep and start off not knowing what to do with his energy, -stretching his arms, laughing, singing old songs of home that came back -to him. Now and then, of course, he could not help but think of little -Antanas, whom he should never see again, whose little voice he should -never hear; and then he would have to battle with himself. Sometimes at -night he would waken dreaming of Ona, and stretch out his arms to her, -and wet the ground with his tears. But in the morning he would get up -and shake himself, and stride away again to battle with the world. - -He never asked where he was nor where he was going; the country was big -enough, he knew, and there was no danger of his coming to the end of it. -And of course he could always have company for the asking--everywhere he -went there were men living just as he lived, and whom he was welcome to -join. He was a stranger at the business, but they were not clannish, and -they taught him all their tricks--what towns and villages it was best -to keep away from, and how to read the secret signs upon the fences, and -when to beg and when to steal, and just how to do both. They laughed at -his ideas of paying for anything with money or with work--for they got -all they wanted without either. Now and then Jurgis camped out with -a gang of them in some woodland haunt, and foraged with them in the -neighborhood at night. And then among them some one would "take a shine" -to him, and they would go off together and travel for a week, exchanging -reminiscences. - -Of these professional tramps a great many had, of course, been shiftless -and vicious all their lives. But the vast majority of them had been -workingmen, had fought the long fight as Jurgis had, and found that it -was a losing fight, and given up. Later on he encountered yet another -sort of men, those from whose ranks the tramps were recruited, men who -were homeless and wandering, but still seeking work--seeking it in the -harvest fields. Of these there was an army, the huge surplus labor army -of society; called into being under the stern system of nature, to -do the casual work of the world, the tasks which were transient and -irregular, and yet which had to be done. They did not know that they -were such, of course; they only knew that they sought the job, and that -the job was fleeting. In the early summer they would be in Texas, and -as the crops were ready they would follow north with the season, ending -with the fall in Manitoba. Then they would seek out the big lumber -camps, where there was winter work; or failing in this, would drift to -the cities, and live upon what they had managed to save, with the -help of such transient work as was there the loading and unloading of -steamships and drays, the digging of ditches and the shoveling of snow. -If there were more of them on hand than chanced to be needed, the weaker -ones died off of cold and hunger, again according to the stern system of -nature. - -It was in the latter part of July, when Jurgis was in Missouri, that -he came upon the harvest work. Here were crops that men had worked for -three or four months to prepare, and of which they would lose nearly -all unless they could find others to help them for a week or two. So all -over the land there was a cry for labor--agencies were set up and all -the cities were drained of men, even college boys were brought by the -carload, and hordes of frantic farmers would hold up trains and carry -off wagon-loads of men by main force. Not that they did not pay them -well--any man could get two dollars a day and his board, and the best -men could get two dollars and a half or three. - -The harvest-fever was in the very air, and no man with any spirit in -him could be in that region and not catch it. Jurgis joined a gang and -worked from dawn till dark, eighteen hours a day, for two weeks without -a break. Then he had a sum of money that would have been a fortune to -him in the old days of misery--but what could he do with it now? To be -sure he might have put it in a bank, and, if he were fortunate, get -it back again when he wanted it. But Jurgis was now a homeless man, -wandering over a continent; and what did he know about banking and -drafts and letters of credit? If he carried the money about with him, he -would surely be robbed in the end; and so what was there for him to do -but enjoy it while he could? On a Saturday night he drifted into a town -with his fellows; and because it was raining, and there was no other -place provided for him, he went to a saloon. And there were some who -treated him and whom he had to treat, and there was laughter and singing -and good cheer; and then out of the rear part of the saloon a girl's -face, red-cheeked and merry, smiled at Jurgis, and his heart thumped -suddenly in his throat. He nodded to her, and she came and sat by him, -and they had more drink, and then he went upstairs into a room with her, -and the wild beast rose up within him and screamed, as it has screamed -in the Jungle from the dawn of time. And then because of his memories -and his shame, he was glad when others joined them, men and women; and -they had more drink and spent the night in wild rioting and debauchery. -In the van of the surplus-labor army, there followed another, an army of -women, they also struggling for life under the stern system of nature. -Because there were rich men who sought pleasure, there had been ease and -plenty for them so long as they were young and beautiful; and later on, -when they were crowded out by others younger and more beautiful, they -went out to follow upon the trail of the workingmen. Sometimes they came -of themselves, and the saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes -they were handled by agencies, the same as the labor army. They were in -the towns in harvest time, near the lumber camps in the winter, in -the cities when the men came there; if a regiment were encamped, or a -railroad or canal being made, or a great exposition getting ready, the -crowd of women were on hand, living in shanties or saloons or tenement -rooms, sometimes eight or ten of them together. - -In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon the road -again. He was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan of his life, he -crushed his feelings down. He had made a fool of himself, but he could -not help it now--all he could do was to see that it did not happen -again. So he tramped on until exercise and fresh air banished his -headache, and his strength and joy returned. This happened to him every -time, for Jurgis was still a creature of impulse, and his pleasures had -not yet become business. It would be a long time before he could be like -the majority of these men of the road, who roamed until the hunger for -drink and for women mastered them, and then went to work with a purpose -in mind, and stopped when they had the price of a spree. - -On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help being made -miserable by his conscience. It was the ghost that would not down. It -would come upon him in the most unexpected places--sometimes it fairly -drove him to drink. - -One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelter in a -little house just outside of a town. It was a working-man's home, and -the owner was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant from White Russia; he -bade Jurgis welcome in his home language, and told him to come to the -kitchen-fire and dry himself. He had no bed for him, but there was straw -in the garret, and he could make out. The man's wife was cooking the -supper, and their children were playing about on the floor. Jurgis sat -and exchanged thoughts with him about the old country, and the places -where they had been and the work they had done. Then they ate, and -afterward sat and smoked and talked more about America, and how they -found it. In the middle of a sentence, however, Jurgis stopped, seeing -that the woman had brought a big basin of water and was proceeding to -undress her youngest baby. The rest had crawled into the closet where -they slept, but the baby was to have a bath, the workingman explained. -The nights had begun to be chilly, and his mother, ignorant as to the -climate in America, had sewed him up for the winter; then it had turned -warm again, and some kind of a rash had broken out on the child. The -doctor had said she must bathe him every night, and she, foolish woman, -believed him. - -Jurgis scarcely heard the explanation; he was watching the baby. He was -about a year old, and a sturdy little fellow, with soft fat legs, and a -round ball of a stomach, and eyes as black as coals. His pimples did -not seem to bother him much, and he was wild with glee over the bath, -kicking and squirming and chuckling with delight, pulling at his -mother's face and then at his own little toes. When she put him into the -basin he sat in the midst of it and grinned, splashing the water over -himself and squealing like a little pig. He spoke in Russian, of which -Jurgis knew some; he spoke it with the quaintest of baby accents--and -every word of it brought back to Jurgis some word of his own dead little -one, and stabbed him like a knife. He sat perfectly motionless, silent, -but gripping his hands tightly, while a storm gathered in his bosom and -a flood heaped itself up behind his eyes. And in the end he could bear -it no more, but buried his face in his hands and burst into tears, to -the alarm and amazement of his hosts. Between the shame of this and his -woe Jurgis could not stand it, and got up and rushed out into the rain. - -He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods, where -he hid and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, what agony was that, -what despair, when the tomb of memory was rent open and the ghosts of -his old life came forth to scourge him! What terror to see what he had -been and now could never be--to see Ona and his child and his own dead -self stretching out their arms to him, calling to him across a bottomless -abyss--and to know that they were gone from him forever, and he writhing -and suffocating in the mire of his own vileness! - - -Chapter 23 - - -Early in the fall Jurgis set out for Chicago again. All the joy went out -of tramping as soon as a man could not keep warm in the hay; and, like -many thousands of others, he deluded himself with the hope that by -coming early he could avoid the rush. He brought fifteen dollars with -him, hidden away in one of his shoes, a sum which had been saved from -the saloon-keepers, not so much by his conscience, as by the fear which -filled him at the thought of being out of work in the city in the winter -time. - -He traveled upon the railroad with several other men, hiding in freight -cars at night, and liable to be thrown off at any time, regardless of -the speed of the train. When he reached the city he left the rest, for -he had money and they did not, and he meant to save himself in this -fight. He would bring to it all the skill that practice had brought him, -and he would stand, whoever fell. On fair nights he would sleep in the -park or on a truck or an empty barrel or box, and when it was rainy or -cold he would stow himself upon a shelf in a ten-cent lodging-house, -or pay three cents for the privileges of a "squatter" in a tenement -hallway. He would eat at free lunches, five cents a meal, and never a -cent more--so he might keep alive for two months and more, and in that -time he would surely find a job. He would have to bid farewell to -his summer cleanliness, of course, for he would come out of the first -night's lodging with his clothes alive with vermin. There was no place -in the city where he could wash even his face, unless he went down to -the lake front--and there it would soon be all ice. - -First he went to the steel mill and the harvester works, and found that -his places there had been filled long ago. He was careful to keep away -from the stockyards--he was a single man now, he told himself, and he -meant to stay one, to have his wages for his own when he got a job. He -began the long, weary round of factories and warehouses, tramping all -day, from one end of the city to the other, finding everywhere from ten -to a hundred men ahead of him. He watched the newspapers, too--but no -longer was he to be taken in by smooth-spoken agents. He had been told -of all those tricks while "on the road." - -In the end it was through a newspaper that he got a job, after nearly -a month of seeking. It was a call for a hundred laborers, and though he -thought it was a "fake," he went because the place was near by. He found -a line of men a block long, but as a wagon chanced to come out of an -alley and break the line, he saw his chance and sprang to seize a place. -Men threatened him and tried to throw him out, but he cursed and made -a disturbance to attract a policeman, upon which they subsided, knowing -that if the latter interfered it would be to "fire" them all. - -An hour or two later he entered a room and confronted a big Irishman -behind a desk. - -"Ever worked in Chicago before?" the man inquired; and whether it was -a good angel that put it into Jurgis's mind, or an intuition of his -sharpened wits, he was moved to answer, "No, sir." - -"Where do you come from?" - -"Kansas City, sir." - -"Any references?" - -"No, sir. I'm just an unskilled man. I've got good arms." - -"I want men for hard work--it's all underground, digging tunnels for -telephones. Maybe it won't suit you." - -"I'm willing, sir--anything for me. What's the pay?" - -"Fifteen cents an hour." - -"I'm willing, sir." - -"All right; go back there and give your name." - -So within half an hour he was at work, far underneath the streets of the -city. The tunnel was a peculiar one for telephone wires; it was -about eight feet high, and with a level floor nearly as wide. It had -innumerable branches--a perfect spider web beneath the city; Jurgis -walked over half a mile with his gang to the place where they were to -work. Stranger yet, the tunnel was lighted by electricity, and upon it -was laid a double-tracked, narrow-gauge railroad! - -But Jurgis was not there to ask questions, and he did not give the -matter a thought. It was nearly a year afterward that he finally learned -the meaning of this whole affair. The City Council had passed a quiet -and innocent little bill allowing a company to construct telephone -conduits under the city streets; and upon the strength of this, a great -corporation had proceeded to tunnel all Chicago with a system of railway -freight-subways. In the city there was a combination of employers, -representing hundreds of millions of capital, and formed for the purpose -of crushing the labor unions. The chief union which troubled it was the -teamsters'; and when these freight tunnels were completed, connecting -all the big factories and stores with the railroad depots, they would -have the teamsters' union by the throat. Now and then there were rumors -and murmurs in the Board of Aldermen, and once there was a committee to -investigate--but each time another small fortune was paid over, and the -rumors died away; until at last the city woke up with a start to find -the work completed. There was a tremendous scandal, of course; it -was found that the city records had been falsified and other -crimes committed, and some of Chicago's big capitalists got into -jail--figuratively speaking. The aldermen declared that they had had no -idea of it all, in spite of the fact that the main entrance to the work -had been in the rear of the saloon of one of them. - -It was in a newly opened cut that Jurgis worked, and so he knew that he -had an all-winter job. He was so rejoiced that he treated himself to a -spree that night, and with the balance of his money he hired himself -a place in a tenement room, where he slept upon a big homemade straw -mattress along with four other workingmen. This was one dollar a week, -and for four more he got his food in a boardinghouse near his work. This -would leave him four dollars extra each week, an unthinkable sum for -him. At the outset he had to pay for his digging tools, and also to buy -a pair of heavy boots, since his shoes were falling to pieces, and a -flannel shirt, since the one he had worn all summer was in shreds. He -spent a week meditating whether or not he should also buy an overcoat. -There was one belonging to a Hebrew collar button peddler, who had died -in the room next to him, and which the landlady was holding for her -rent; in the end, however, Jurgis decided to do without it, as he was to -be underground by day and in bed at night. - -This was an unfortunate decision, however, for it drove him more quickly -than ever into the saloons. From now on Jurgis worked from seven o'clock -until half-past five, with half an hour for dinner; which meant that he -never saw the sunlight on weekdays. In the evenings there was no place -for him to go except a barroom; no place where there was light and -warmth, where he could hear a little music or sit with a companion -and talk. He had now no home to go to; he had no affection left in his -life--only the pitiful mockery of it in the camaraderie of vice. On -Sundays the churches were open--but where was there a church in which an -ill-smelling workingman, with vermin crawling upon his neck, could sit -without seeing people edge away and look annoyed? He had, of course, -his corner in a close though unheated room, with a window opening upon -a blank wall two feet away; and also he had the bare streets, with -the winter gales sweeping through them; besides this he had only the -saloons--and, of course, he had to drink to stay in them. If he drank -now and then he was free to make himself at home, to gamble with dice or -a pack of greasy cards, to play at a dingy pool table for money, or to -look at a beer-stained pink "sporting paper," with pictures of murderers -and half-naked women. It was for such pleasures as these that he spent -his money; and such was his life during the six weeks and a half that he -toiled for the merchants of Chicago, to enable them to break the grip of -their teamsters' union. - -In a work thus carried out, not much thought was given to the welfare of -the laborers. On an average, the tunneling cost a life a day and several -manglings; it was seldom, however, that more than a dozen or two men -heard of any one accident. The work was all done by the new boring -machinery, with as little blasting as possible; but there would be -falling rocks and crushed supports, and premature explosions--and in -addition all the dangers of railroading. So it was that one night, as -Jurgis was on his way out with his gang, an engine and a loaded car -dashed round one of the innumerable right-angle branches and struck him -upon the shoulder, hurling him against the concrete wall and knocking -him senseless. - -When he opened his eyes again it was to the clanging of the bell of -an ambulance. He was lying in it, covered by a blanket, and it was -threading its way slowly through the holiday-shopping crowds. They took -him to the county hospital, where a young surgeon set his arm; then he -was washed and laid upon a bed in a ward with a score or two more of -maimed and mangled men. - -Jurgis spent his Christmas in this hospital, and it was the pleasantest -Christmas he had had in America. Every year there were scandals and -investigations in this institution, the newspapers charging that doctors -were allowed to try fantastic experiments upon the patients; but Jurgis -knew nothing of this--his only complaint was that they used to feed him -upon tinned meat, which no man who had ever worked in Packingtown would -feed to his dog. Jurgis had often wondered just who ate the canned -corned beef and "roast beef" of the stockyards; now he began to -understand--that it was what you might call "graft meat," put up to -be sold to public officials and contractors, and eaten by soldiers and -sailors, prisoners and inmates of institutions, "shantymen" and gangs of -railroad laborers. - -Jurgis was ready to leave the hospital at the end of two weeks. This -did not mean that his arm was strong and that he was able to go back to -work, but simply that he could get along without further attention, and -that his place was needed for some one worse off than he. That he was -utterly helpless, and had no means of keeping himself alive in the -meantime, was something which did not concern the hospital authorities, -nor any one else in the city. - -As it chanced, he had been hurt on a Monday, and had just paid for his -last week's board and his room rent, and spent nearly all the balance of -his Saturday's pay. He had less than seventy-five cents in his pockets, -and a dollar and a half due him for the day's work he had done before he -was hurt. He might possibly have sued the company, and got some damages -for his injuries, but he did not know this, and it was not the company's -business to tell him. He went and got his pay and his tools, which he -left in a pawnshop for fifty cents. Then he went to his landlady, -who had rented his place and had no other for him; and then to his -boardinghouse keeper, who looked him over and questioned him. As he must -certainly be helpless for a couple of months, and had boarded there only -six weeks, she decided very quickly that it would not be worth the risk -to keep him on trust. - -So Jurgis went out into the streets, in a most dreadful plight. It was -bitterly cold, and a heavy snow was falling, beating into his face. -He had no overcoat, and no place to go, and two dollars and sixty-five -cents in his pocket, with the certainty that he could not earn another -cent for months. The snow meant no chance to him now; he must walk along -and see others shoveling, vigorous and active--and he with his left arm -bound to his side! He could not hope to tide himself over by odd jobs -of loading trucks; he could not even sell newspapers or carry satchels, -because he was now at the mercy of any rival. Words could not paint the -terror that came over him as he realized all this. He was like a wounded -animal in the forest; he was forced to compete with his enemies upon -unequal terms. There would be no consideration for him because of his -weakness--it was no one's business to help him in such distress, to make -the fight the least bit easier for him. Even if he took to begging, he -would be at a disadvantage, for reasons which he was to discover in good -time. - -In the beginning he could not think of anything except getting out of -the awful cold. He went into one of the saloons he had been wont to -frequent and bought a drink, and then stood by the fire shivering and -waiting to be ordered out. According to an unwritten law, the buying a -drink included the privilege of loafing for just so long; then one -had to buy another drink or move on. That Jurgis was an old customer -entitled him to a somewhat longer stop; but then he had been away two -weeks, and was evidently "on the bum." He might plead and tell his "hard -luck story," but that would not help him much; a saloon-keeper who was -to be moved by such means would soon have his place jammed to the doors -with "hoboes" on a day like this. - -So Jurgis went out into another place, and paid another nickel. He -was so hungry this time that he could not resist the hot beef stew, an -indulgence which cut short his stay by a considerable time. When he was -again told to move on, he made his way to a "tough" place in the -"Levee" district, where now and then he had gone with a certain rat-eyed -Bohemian workingman of his acquaintance, seeking a woman. It was -Jurgis's vain hope that here the proprietor would let him remain as a -"sitter." In low-class places, in the dead of winter, saloon-keepers -would often allow one or two forlorn-looking bums who came in covered -with snow or soaked with rain to sit by the fire and look miserable to -attract custom. A workingman would come in, feeling cheerful after his -day's work was over, and it would trouble him to have to take his glass -with such a sight under his nose; and so he would call out: "Hello, Bub, -what's the matter? You look as if you'd been up against it!" And then -the other would begin to pour out some tale of misery, and the man would -say, "Come have a glass, and maybe that'll brace you up." And so -they would drink together, and if the tramp was sufficiently -wretched-looking, or good enough at the "gab," they might have two; and -if they were to discover that they were from the same country, or had -lived in the same city or worked at the same trade, they might sit down -at a table and spend an hour or two in talk--and before they got through -the saloon-keeper would have taken in a dollar. All of this might seem -diabolical, but the saloon-keeper was in no wise to blame for it. He -was in the same plight as the manufacturer who has to adulterate and -misrepresent his product. If he does not, some one else will; and the -saloon-keeper, unless he is also an alderman, is apt to be in debt to -the big brewers, and on the verge of being sold out. - -The market for "sitters" was glutted that afternoon, however, and there -was no place for Jurgis. In all he had to spend six nickels in keeping a -shelter over him that frightful day, and then it was just dark, and -the station houses would not open until midnight! At the last place, -however, there was a bartender who knew him and liked him, and let him -doze at one of the tables until the boss came back; and also, as he -was going out, the man gave him a tip--on the next block there was a -religious revival of some sort, with preaching and singing, and hundreds -of hoboes would go there for the shelter and warmth. - -Jurgis went straightway, and saw a sign hung out, saying that the door -would open at seven-thirty; then he walked, or half ran, a block, and -hid awhile in a doorway and then ran again, and so on until the hour. -At the end he was all but frozen, and fought his way in with the rest of -the throng (at the risk of having his arm broken again), and got close -to the big stove. - -By eight o'clock the place was so crowded that the speakers ought to -have been flattered; the aisles were filled halfway up, and at the door -men were packed tight enough to walk upon. There were three elderly -gentlemen in black upon the platform, and a young lady who played the -piano in front. First they sang a hymn, and then one of the three, a -tall, smooth-shaven man, very thin, and wearing black spectacles, began -an address. Jurgis heard smatterings of it, for the reason that terror -kept him awake--he knew that he snored abominably, and to have been put -out just then would have been like a sentence of death to him. - -The evangelist was preaching "sin and redemption," the infinite grace of -God and His pardon for human frailty. He was very much in earnest, and -he meant well, but Jurgis, as he listened, found his soul filled with -hatred. What did he know about sin and suffering--with his smooth, black -coat and his neatly starched collar, his body warm, and his belly full, -and money in his pocket--and lecturing men who were struggling for their -lives, men at the death grapple with the demon powers of hunger and -cold!--This, of course, was unfair; but Jurgis felt that these men were -out of touch with the life they discussed, that they were unfitted to -solve its problems; nay, they themselves were part of the problem--they -were part of the order established that was crushing men down and -beating them! They were of the triumphant and insolent possessors; they -had a hall, and a fire, and food and clothing and money, and so they -might preach to hungry men, and the hungry men must be humble and -listen! They were trying to save their souls--and who but a fool could -fail to see that all that was the matter with their souls was that they -had not been able to get a decent existence for their bodies? - -At eleven the meeting closed, and the desolate audience filed out into -the snow, muttering curses upon the few traitors who had got repentance -and gone up on the platform. It was yet an hour before the station -house would open, and Jurgis had no overcoat--and was weak from a long -illness. During that hour he nearly perished. He was obliged to run hard -to keep his blood moving at all--and then he came back to the station -house and found a crowd blocking the street before the door! This was in -the month of January, 1904, when the country was on the verge of "hard -times," and the newspapers were reporting the shutting down of factories -every day--it was estimated that a million and a half men were thrown -out of work before the spring. So all the hiding places of the city were -crowded, and before that station house door men fought and tore each -other like savage beasts. When at last the place was jammed and they -shut the doors, half the crowd was still outside; and Jurgis, with his -helpless arm, was among them. There was no choice then but to go to a -lodging-house and spend another dime. It really broke his heart to do -this, at half-past twelve o'clock, after he had wasted the night at the -meeting and on the street. He would be turned out of the lodging-house -promptly at seven--they had the shelves which served as bunks so -contrived that they could be dropped, and any man who was slow about -obeying orders could be tumbled to the floor. - -This was one day, and the cold spell lasted for fourteen of them. At the -end of six days every cent of Jurgis' money was gone; and then he went -out on the streets to beg for his life. - -He would begin as soon as the business of the city was moving. He would -sally forth from a saloon, and, after making sure there was no policeman -in sight, would approach every likely-looking person who passed him, -telling his woeful story and pleading for a nickel or a dime. Then when -he got one, he would dart round the corner and return to his base to get -warm; and his victim, seeing him do this, would go away, vowing that he -would never give a cent to a beggar again. The victim never paused to -ask where else Jurgis could have gone under the circumstances--where -he, the victim, would have gone. At the saloon Jurgis could not only get -more food and better food than he could buy in any restaurant for the -same money, but a drink in the bargain to warm him up. Also he could -find a comfortable seat by a fire, and could chat with a companion until -he was as warm as toast. At the saloon, too, he felt at home. Part of -the saloon-keeper's business was to offer a home and refreshments to -beggars in exchange for the proceeds of their foragings; and was there -any one else in the whole city who would do this--would the victim have -done it himself? - -Poor Jurgis might have been expected to make a successful beggar. He -was just out of the hospital, and desperately sick-looking, and with -a helpless arm; also he had no overcoat, and shivered pitifully. But, -alas, it was again the case of the honest merchant, who finds that the -genuine and unadulterated article is driven to the wall by the artistic -counterfeit. Jurgis, as a beggar, was simply a blundering amateur in -competition with organized and scientific professionalism. He was just -out of the hospital--but the story was worn threadbare, and how could -he prove it? He had his arm in a sling--and it was a device a regular -beggar's little boy would have scorned. He was pale and shivering--but -they were made up with cosmetics, and had studied the art of chattering -their teeth. As to his being without an overcoat, among them you would -meet men you could swear had on nothing but a ragged linen duster and -a pair of cotton trousers--so cleverly had they concealed the several -suits of all-wool underwear beneath. Many of these professional -mendicants had comfortable homes, and families, and thousands of dollars -in the bank; some of them had retired upon their earnings, and gone into -the business of fitting out and doctoring others, or working children -at the trade. There were some who had both their arms bound tightly to -their sides, and padded stumps in their sleeves, and a sick child hired -to carry a cup for them. There were some who had no legs, and pushed -themselves upon a wheeled platform--some who had been favored with -blindness, and were led by pretty little dogs. Some less fortunate had -mutilated themselves or burned themselves, or had brought horrible sores -upon themselves with chemicals; you might suddenly encounter upon the -street a man holding out to you a finger rotting and discolored with -gangrene--or one with livid scarlet wounds half escaped from their -filthy bandages. These desperate ones were the dregs of the city's -cesspools, wretches who hid at night in the rain-soaked cellars of -old ramshackle tenements, in "stale-beer dives" and opium joints, with -abandoned women in the last stages of the harlot's progress--women who -had been kept by Chinamen and turned away at last to die. Every day -the police net would drag hundreds of them off the streets, and in the -detention hospital you might see them, herded together in a miniature -inferno, with hideous, beastly faces, bloated and leprous with disease, -laughing, shouting, screaming in all stages of drunkenness, barking like -dogs, gibbering like apes, raving and tearing themselves in delirium. - - - -Chapter 24 - - -In the face of all his handicaps, Jurgis was obliged to make the -price of a lodging, and of a drink every hour or two, under penalty of -freezing to death. Day after day he roamed about in the arctic cold, -his soul filled full of bitterness and despair. He saw the world of -civilization then more plainly than ever he had seen it before; a world -in which nothing counted but brutal might, an order devised by those who -possessed it for the subjugation of those who did not. He was one of -the latter; and all outdoors, all life, was to him one colossal prison, -which he paced like a pent-up tiger, trying one bar after another, and -finding them all beyond his power. He had lost in the fierce battle of -greed, and so was doomed to be exterminated; and all society was busied -to see that he did not escape the sentence. Everywhere that he turned -were prison bars, and hostile eyes following him; the well-fed, sleek -policemen, from whose glances he shrank, and who seemed to grip their -clubs more tightly when they saw him; the saloon-keepers, who never -ceased to watch him while he was in their places, who were jealous -of every moment he lingered after he had paid his money; the hurrying -throngs upon the streets, who were deaf to his entreaties, oblivious of -his very existence--and savage and contemptuous when he forced himself -upon them. They had their own affairs, and there was no place for him -among them. There was no place for him anywhere--every direction he -turned his gaze, this fact was forced upon him: Everything was built -to express it to him: the residences, with their heavy walls and bolted -doors, and basement windows barred with iron; the great warehouses -filled with the products of the whole world, and guarded by iron -shutters and heavy gates; the banks with their unthinkable billions of -wealth, all buried in safes and vaults of steel. - - -And then one day there befell Jurgis the one adventure of his life. It -was late at night, and he had failed to get the price of a lodging. Snow -was falling, and he had been out so long that he was covered with it, -and was chilled to the bone. He was working among the theater crowds, -flitting here and there, taking large chances with the police, in his -desperation half hoping to be arrested. When he saw a blue-coat start -toward him, however, his heart failed him, and he dashed down a side -street and fled a couple of blocks. When he stopped again he saw a man -coming toward him, and placed himself in his path. - -"Please, sir," he began, in the usual formula, "will you give me the -price of a lodging? I've had a broken arm, and I can't work, and I've -not a cent in my pocket. I'm an honest working-man, sir, and I never -begged before! It's not my fault, sir--" - -Jurgis usually went on until he was interrupted, but this man did not -interrupt, and so at last he came to a breathless stop. The other had -halted, and Jurgis suddenly noticed that he stood a little unsteadily. -"Whuzzat you say?" he queried suddenly, in a thick voice. - -Jurgis began again, speaking more slowly and distinctly; before he was -half through the other put out his hand and rested it upon his shoulder. -"Poor ole chappie!" he said. "Been up--hic--up--against it, hey?" - -Then he lurched toward Jurgis, and the hand upon his shoulder became an -arm about his neck. "Up against it myself, ole sport," he said. "She's a -hard ole world." - -They were close to a lamppost, and Jurgis got a glimpse of the other. He -was a young fellow--not much over eighteen, with a handsome boyish face. -He wore a silk hat and a rich soft overcoat with a fur collar; and he -smiled at Jurgis with benignant sympathy. "I'm hard up, too, my -goo' fren'," he said. "I've got cruel parents, or I'd set you up. -Whuzzamatter whizyer?" - -"I've been in the hospital." - -"Hospital!" exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly, "thass -too bad! Same's my Aunt Polly--hic--my Aunt Polly's in the hospital, -too--ole auntie's been havin' twins! Whuzzamatter whiz you?" - -"I've got a broken arm--" Jurgis began. - -"So," said the other, sympathetically. "That ain't so bad--you get over -that. I wish somebody'd break my arm, ole chappie--damfidon't! Then -they'd treat me better--hic--hole me up, ole sport! Whuzzit you wamme -do?" - -"I'm hungry, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Hungry! Why don't you hassome supper?" - -"I've got no money, sir." - -"No money! Ho, ho--less be chums, ole boy--jess like me! No money, -either--a'most busted! Why don't you go home, then, same's me?" - -"I haven't any home," said Jurgis. - -"No home! Stranger in the city, hey? Goo' God, thass bad! Better come -home wiz me--yes, by Harry, thass the trick, you'll come home an' -hassome supper--hic--wiz me! Awful lonesome--nobody home! Guv'ner gone -abroad--Bubby on's honeymoon--Polly havin' twins--every damn soul gone -away! Nuff--hic--nuff to drive a feller to drink, I say! Only ole Ham -standin' by, passin' plates--damfican eat like that, no sir! The club -for me every time, my boy, I say. But then they won't lemme sleep -there--guv'ner's orders, by Harry--home every night, sir! Ever hear -anythin' like that? 'Every mornin' do?' I asked him. 'No, sir, every -night, or no allowance at all, sir.' Thass my guv'ner--'nice as nails, -by Harry! Tole ole Ham to watch me, too--servants spyin' on me--whuzyer -think that, my fren'? A nice, quiet--hic--goodhearted young feller like -me, an' his daddy can't go to Europe--hup!--an' leave him in peace! -Ain't that a shame, sir? An' I gotter go home every evenin' an' miss -all the fun, by Harry! Thass whuzzamatter now--thass why I'm here! Hadda -come away an' leave Kitty--hic--left her cryin', too--whujja think of -that, ole sport? 'Lemme go, Kittens,' says I--'come early an' -often--I go where duty--hic--calls me. Farewell, farewell, my own true -love--farewell, farewehell, my--own true--love!'" - -This last was a song, and the young gentleman's voice rose mournful -and wailing, while he swung upon Jurgis's neck. The latter was glancing -about nervously, lest some one should approach. They were still alone, -however. - -"But I came all right, all right," continued the youngster, -aggressively, "I can--hic--I can have my own way when I want it, by -Harry--Freddie Jones is a hard man to handle when he gets goin'! 'No, -sir,' says I, 'by thunder, and I don't need anybody goin' home with me, -either--whujja take me for, hey? Think I'm drunk, dontcha, hey?--I know -you! But I'm no more drunk than you are, Kittens,' says I to her. And -then says she, 'Thass true, Freddie dear' (she's a smart one, is Kitty), -'but I'm stayin' in the flat, an' you're goin' out into the cold, cold -night!' 'Put it in a pome, lovely Kitty,' says I. 'No jokin', Freddie, -my boy,' says she. 'Lemme call a cab now, like a good dear'--but I can -call my own cabs, dontcha fool yourself--and I know what I'm a-doin', -you bet! Say, my fren', whatcha say--willye come home an' see me, an' -hassome supper? Come 'long like a good feller--don't be haughty! You're -up against it, same as me, an' you can unerstan' a feller; your heart's -in the right place, by Harry--come 'long, ole chappie, an' we'll -light up the house, an' have some fizz, an' we'll raise hell, we -will--whoop-la! S'long's I'm inside the house I can do as I please--the -guv'ner's own very orders, b'God! Hip! hip!" - -They had started down the street, arm in arm, the young man pushing -Jurgis along, half dazed. Jurgis was trying to think what to do--he knew -he could not pass any crowded place with his new acquaintance without -attracting attention and being stopped. It was only because of the -falling snow that people who passed here did not notice anything wrong. - -Suddenly, therefore, Jurgis stopped. "Is it very far?" he inquired. - -"Not very," said the other, "Tired, are you, though? Well, we'll -ride--whatcha say? Good! Call a cab!" - -And then, gripping Jurgis tight with one hand, the young fellow began -searching his pockets with the other. "You call, ole sport, an' I'll -pay," he suggested. "How's that, hey?" - -And he pulled out from somewhere a big roll of bills. It was more money -than Jurgis had ever seen in his life before, and he stared at it with -startled eyes. - -"Looks like a lot, hey?" said Master Freddie, fumbling with it. "Fool -you, though, ole chappie--they're all little ones! I'll be busted in -one week more, sure thing--word of honor. An' not a cent more till the -first--hic--guv'ner's orders--hic--not a cent, by Harry! Nuff to set a -feller crazy, it is. I sent him a cable, this af'noon--thass one -reason more why I'm goin' home. 'Hangin' on the verge of starvation,' I -says--'for the honor of the family--hic--sen' me some bread. Hunger will -compel me to join you--Freddie.' Thass what I wired him, by Harry, an' I -mean it--I'll run away from school, b'God, if he don't sen' me some." - -After this fashion the young gentleman continued to prattle on--and -meantime Jurgis was trembling with excitement. He might grab that wad of -bills and be out of sight in the darkness before the other could collect -his wits. Should he do it? What better had he to hope for, if he waited -longer? But Jurgis had never committed a crime in his life, and now he -hesitated half a second too long. "Freddie" got one bill loose, and then -stuffed the rest back into his trousers' pocket. - -"Here, ole man," he said, "you take it." He held it out fluttering. They -were in front of a saloon; and by the light of the window Jurgis saw -that it was a hundred-dollar bill! "You take it," the other repeated. -"Pay the cabbie an' keep the change--I've got--hic--no head for -business! Guv'ner says so hisself, an' the guv'ner knows--the guv'ner's -got a head for business, you bet! 'All right, guv'ner,' I told him, 'you -run the show, and I'll take the tickets!' An' so he set Aunt Polly to -watch me--hic--an' now Polly's off in the hospital havin' twins, an' me -out raisin' Cain! Hello, there! Hey! Call him!" - -A cab was driving by; and Jurgis sprang and called, and it swung round -to the curb. Master Freddie clambered in with some difficulty, and -Jurgis had started to follow, when the driver shouted: "Hi, there! Get -out--you!" - -Jurgis hesitated, and was half obeying; but his companion broke out: -"Whuzzat? Whuzzamatter wiz you, hey?" - -And the cabbie subsided, and Jurgis climbed in. Then Freddie gave a -number on the Lake Shore Drive, and the carriage started away. The -youngster leaned back and snuggled up to Jurgis, murmuring contentedly; -in half a minute he was sound asleep, Jurgis sat shivering, speculating -as to whether he might not still be able to get hold of the roll of -bills. He was afraid to try to go through his companion's pockets, -however; and besides the cabbie might be on the watch. He had the -hundred safe, and he would have to be content with that. - - -At the end of half an hour or so the cab stopped. They were out on -the waterfront, and from the east a freezing gale was blowing off the -ice-bound lake. "Here we are," called the cabbie, and Jurgis awakened -his companion. - -Master Freddie sat up with a start. - -"Hello!" he said. "Where are we? Whuzzis? Who are you, hey? Oh, yes, -sure nuff! Mos' forgot you--hic--ole chappie! Home, are we? -Lessee! Br-r-r--it's cold! Yes--come 'long--we're home--it ever -so--hic--humble!" - -Before them there loomed an enormous granite pile, set far back from the -street, and occupying a whole block. By the light of the driveway lamps -Jurgis could see that it had towers and huge gables, like a medieval -castle. He thought that the young fellow must have made a mistake--it -was inconceivable to him that any person could have a home like a hotel -or the city hall. But he followed in silence, and they went up the long -flight of steps, arm in arm. - -"There's a button here, ole sport," said Master Freddie. "Hole my arm -while I find her! Steady, now--oh, yes, here she is! Saved!" - -A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in blue -livery stood holding it, and gazing before him, silent as a statue. - -They stood for a moment blinking in the light. Then Jurgis felt his -companion pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton closed the -door. Jurgis's heart was beating wildly; it was a bold thing for him to -do--into what strange unearthly place he was venturing he had no idea. -Aladdin entering his cave could not have been more excited. - -The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a vast -hall, with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great staircase -opening at the far end of it. The floor was of tesselated marble, smooth -as glass, and from the walls strange shapes loomed out, woven into -huge portieres in rich, harmonious colors, or gleaming from paintings, -wonderful and mysterious-looking in the half-light, purple and red and -golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest. - -The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie took -off his hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of Jurgis' -arm, tried to get out of his overcoat. After two or three attempts he -accomplished this, with the lackey's help, and meantime a second man had -approached, a tall and portly personage, solemn as an executioner. He -bore straight down upon Jurgis, who shrank away nervously; he seized him -by the arm without a word, and started toward the door with him. Then -suddenly came Master Freddie's voice, "Hamilton! My fren' will remain -wiz me." - -The man paused and half released Jurgis. "Come 'long ole chappie," said -the other, and Jurgis started toward him. - -"Master Frederick!" exclaimed the man. - -"See that the cabbie--hic--is paid," was the other's response; and he -linked his arm in Jurgis'. Jurgis was about to say, "I have the money -for him," but he restrained himself. The stout man in uniform signaled -to the other, who went out to the cab, while he followed Jurgis and his -young master. - -They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were two -huge doors. - -"Hamilton," said Master Freddie. - -"Well, sir?" said the other. - -"Whuzzamatter wizze dinin'-room doors?" - -"Nothing is the matter, sir." - -"Then why dontcha openum?" - -The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness. -"Lights," commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a button, and -a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, half-blinding -Jurgis. He stared; and little by little he made out the great apartment, -with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and walls that were -one enormous painting--nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn -glade--Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through a -mountain streamlet--a group of maidens bathing in a forest pool--all -life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some work of -enchantment, that he was in a dream palace. Then his eye passed to -the long table in the center of the hall, a table black as ebony, and -gleaming with wrought silver and gold. In the center of it was a huge -carven bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple -of rare orchids, glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their midst. - -"This's the dinin' room," observed Master Freddie. "How you like it, -hey, ole sport?" - -He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over -Jurgis and smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it. - -"Rummy ole place to feed in all 'lone, though," was Freddie's -comment--"rummy's hell! Whuzya think, hey?" Then another idea -occurred to him and he went on, without waiting: "Maybe you never saw -anythin--hic--like this 'fore? Hey, ole chappie?" - -"No," said Jurgis. - -"Come from country, maybe--hey?" - -"Yes," said Jurgis. - -"Aha! I thosso! Lossa folks from country never saw such a place. Guv'ner -brings 'em--free show--hic--reg'lar circus! Go home tell folks about it. -Ole man Jones's place--Jones the packer--beef-trust man. Made it all -out of hogs, too, damn ole scoundrel. Now we see where our pennies -go--rebates, an' private car lines--hic--by Harry! Bully place, -though--worth seein'! Ever hear of Jones the packer, hey, ole chappie?" - -Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes missed -nothing, demanded: "Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?" - -And Jurgis managed to stammer out: "I have worked for him in the yards." - -"What!" cried Master Freddie, with a yell. "You! In the yards? Ho, ho! -Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man--by Harry! Guv'ner -ought to be here--glad to see you. Great fren's with the men, -guv'ner--labor an' capital, commun'ty 'f int'rests, an' all that--hic! -Funny things happen in this world, don't they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme -interduce you--fren' the family--ole fren' the guv'ner's--works in the -yards. Come to spend the night wiz me, Hamilton--have a hot time. Me -fren', Mr.--whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name." - -"Rudkus--Jurgis Rudkus." - -"My fren', Mr. Rednose, Hamilton--shake han's." - -The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly -Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. "I know whuzzamatter wiz -you, Hamilton--lay you a dollar I know! You think--hic--you think I'm -drunk! Hey, now?" - -And the butler again bowed his head. "Yes, sir," he said, at which -Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis's neck and went into a fit of -laughter. "Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel," he roared, "I'll 'scharge -you for impudence, you see 'f I don't! Ho, ho, ho! I'm drunk! Ho, ho!" - -The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim -would seize him. "Whatcha wanta do?" he queried suddenly. "Wanta see -the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv'ner--show you roun'? State -parlors--Looee Cans--Looee Sez--chairs cost three thousand apiece. Tea -room Maryanntnet--picture of shepherds dancing--Ruysdael--twenty-three -thousan'! Ballroom--balc'ny pillars--hic--imported--special -ship--sixty-eight thousan'! Ceilin' painted in Rome--whuzzat -feller's name, Hamilton--Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this place--silver -bowl--Benvenuto Cellini--rummy ole Dago! An' the organ--thirty thousan' -dollars, sir--starter up, Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No--never -mind--clean forgot--says he's hungry, Hamilton--less have some supper. -Only--hic--don't less have it here--come up to my place, ole sport--nice -an' cosy. This way--steady now, don't slip on the floor. Hamilton, we'll -have a cole spread, an' some fizz--don't leave out the fizz, by Harry. -We'll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?" - -"Yes, sir," said the butler, "but, Master Frederick, your father left -orders--" - -And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. "My father's -orders were left to me--hic--an' not to you," he said. Then, clasping -Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room; on the way -another idea occurred to him, and he asked: "Any--hic--cable message for -me, Hamilton?" - -"No, sir," said the butler. - -"Guv'ner must be travelin'. An' how's the twins, Hamilton?" - -"They are doing well, sir." - -"Good!" said Master Freddie; and added fervently: "God bless 'em, the -little lambs!" - -They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top of it -there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph crouching -by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm and -glowing with the hues of life. Above was a huge court, with domed roof, -the various apartments opening into it. The butler had paused below but -a few minutes to give orders, and then followed them; now he pressed a -button, and the hall blazed with light. He opened a door before them, -and then pressed another button, as they staggered into the apartment. - -It was fitted up as a study. In the center was a mahogany table, covered -with books, and smokers' implements; the walls were decorated -with college trophies and colors--flags, posters, photographs and -knickknacks--tennis rackets, canoe paddles, golf clubs, and polo sticks. -An enormous moose head, with horns six feet across, faced a buffalo head -on the opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the polished -floor. There were lounging chairs and sofas, window seats covered with -soft cushions of fantastic designs; there was one corner fitted in -Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jeweled lamp beneath. Beyond, -a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a swimming pool of the -purest marble, that had cost about forty thousand dollars. - -Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then out -of the next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous -object that Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, opening a mouth -like a dragon's; and he came toward the young man, wagging his tail. -"Hello, Dewey!" cried his master. "Been havin' a snooze, ole boy? Well, -well--hello there, whuzzamatter?" (The dog was snarling at Jurgis.) -"Why, Dewey--this' my fren', Mr. Rednose--ole fren' the guv'ner's! Mr. -Rednose, Admiral Dewey; shake han's--hic. Ain't he a daisy, though--blue -ribbon at the New York show--eighty-five hundred at a clip! How's that, -hey?" - -The speaker sank into one of the big armchairs, and Admiral Dewey -crouched beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes -off Jurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral. - -The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Jurgis -every second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, as he opened the -door a man in livery entered, carrying a folding table, and behind him -two men with covered trays. They stood like statues while the first -spread the table and set out the contents of the trays upon it. -There were cold pates, and thin slices of meat, tiny bread and butter -sandwiches with the crust cut off, a bowl of sliced peaches and cream -(in January), little fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow and white, -and half a dozen ice-cold bottles of wine. - -"Thass the stuff for you!" cried Master Freddie, exultantly, as he spied -them. "Come 'long, ole chappie, move up." - -And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, and he -took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession -down his throat. Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and cried again to -Jurgis to seat himself. - -The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Jurgis -thought it was to keep him out of it; but finally he understand that -it was the other's intention to put it under him, and so he sat -down, cautiously and mistrustingly. Master Freddie perceived that the -attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked with a nod to them, "You may -go." - -They went, all save the butler. - -"You may go too, Hamilton," he said. - -"Master Frederick--" the man began. - -"Go!" cried the youngster, angrily. "Damn you, don't you hear me?" - -The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as he, -observed that he took the key out of the lock, in order that he might -peer through the keyhole. - -Master Frederick turned to the table again. "Now," he said, "go for it." - -Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. "Eat!" cried the other. "Pile in, ole -chappie!" - -"Don't you want anything?" Jurgis asked. - -"Ain't hungry," was the reply--"only thirsty. Kitty and me had some -candy--you go on." - -So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, his -fork in one hand and his knife in the other; when he once got started -his wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for breath -until he had cleared every plate. "Gee whiz!" said the other, who had -been watching him in wonder. - -Then he held Jurgis the bottle. "Lessee you drink now," he said; and -Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderfully -unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve of -him, thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and then -he gave vent to a long-drawn "Ah!" - -"Good stuff, hey?" said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned back in -the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing at Jurgis. - -And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening dress, was -Freddie, and looked very handsome--he was a beautiful boy, with -light golden hair and the head of an Antinous. He smiled at Jurgis -confidingly, and then started talking again, with his blissful -insouciance. This time he talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in -the course of the speech he told Jurgis all of his family history. His -big brother Charlie was in love with the guileless maiden who played the -part of "Little Bright-Eyes" in "The Kaliph of Kamskatka." He had been -on the verge of marrying her once, only "the guv'ner" had sworn to -disinherit him, and had presented him with a sum that would stagger the -imagination, and that had staggered the virtue of "Little Bright-Eyes." -Now Charlie had got leave from college, and had gone away in his -automobile on the next best thing to a honeymoon. "The guv'ner" had made -threats to disinherit another of his children also, sister Gwendolen, -who had married an Italian marquis with a string of titles and a dueling -record. They lived in his chateau, or rather had, until he had taken to -firing the breakfast dishes at her; then she had cabled for help, and -the old gentleman had gone over to find out what were his Grace's terms. -So they had left Freddie all alone, and he with less than two thousand -dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in arms and meant serious -business, as they would find in the end--if there was no other way of -bringing them to terms he would have his "Kittens" wire that she was -about to marry him, and see what happened then. - -So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled -his sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, sleepily. -Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed them -and forgot to open them. - -For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and -reveling in the strange sensation of the champagne. Once he stirred, -and the dog growled; after that he sat almost holding his breath--until -after a while the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came -in. - -He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis rose -up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and -then the butler came close, and pointed toward the door. "Get out of -here!" he whispered. - -Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring softly. -"If you do, you son of a--" hissed the butler, "I'll mash in your face -for you before you get out of here!" - -And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw "Admiral Dewey" coming -up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his threats. Then he -surrendered and started toward the door. - -They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, -and through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler -strode close to him. - -"Hold up your hands," he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, clinching his -one well fist. - -"What for?" he cried; and then understanding that the fellow proposed to -search him, he answered, "I'll see you in hell first." - -"Do you want to go to jail?" demanded the butler, menacingly. "I'll have -the police--" - -"Have 'em!" roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. "But you won't put -your hands on me till you do! I haven't touched anything in your damned -house, and I'll not have you touch me!" - -So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, -stepped suddenly to the door, and opened it. "Get out of here!" he said; -and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he gave him a ferocious -kick that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and landed him -sprawling in the snow at the bottom. - - - -Chapter 25 - - -Jurgis got up, wild with rage, but the door was shut and the great -castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit -into him, and he turned and went away at a run. - -When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented -streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last -humiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out -ahead on that deal! He put his hand into his trousers' pocket every now -and then, to make sure that the precious hundred-dollar bill was still -there. - -Yet he was in a plight--a curious and even dreadful plight, when he came -to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one bill! And he had to -find some shelter that night he had to change it! - -Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was -no one he could go to for help--he had to manage it all alone. To get -it changed in a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands--he -would almost certainly be robbed, and perhaps murdered, before morning. -He might go to some hotel or railroad depot and ask to have it changed; -but what would they think, seeing a "bum" like him with a hundred -dollars? He would probably be arrested if he tried it; and what story -could he tell? On the morrow Freddie Jones would discover his loss, and -there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. The only -other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. He might pay them -to change it, if it could not be done otherwise. - -He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as being -too crowded--then finally, chancing upon one where the bartender was all -alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in. - -"Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?" he demanded. - -The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, -and a three weeks' stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Jurgis. "What's -that youse say?" he demanded. - -"I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?" - -"Where'd youse get it?" he inquired incredulously. - -"Never mind," said Jurgis; "I've got it, and I want it changed. I'll pay -you if you'll do it." - -The other stared at him hard. "Lemme see it," he said. - -"Will you change it?" Jurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his -pocket. - -"How the hell can I know if it's good or not?" retorted the bartender. -"Whatcher take me for, hey?" - -Then Jurgis slowly and warily approached him; he took out the bill, and -fumbled it for a moment, while the man stared at him with hostile eyes -across the counter. Then finally he handed it over. - -The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it between his -fingers, and held it up to the light; he turned it over, and upside -down, and edgeways. It was new and rather stiff, and that made him -dubious. Jurgis was watching him like a cat all the time. - -"Humph," he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him up--a -ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in a sling--and -a hundred-dollar bill! "Want to buy anything?" he demanded. - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "I'll take a glass of beer." - -"All right," said the other, "I'll change it." And he put the bill in -his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, and set it on the -counter. Then he turned to the cash register, and punched up five cents, -and began to pull money out of the drawer. Finally, he faced Jurgis, -counting it out--two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. "There," he -said. - -For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. "My -ninety-nine dollars," he said. - -"What ninety-nine dollars?" demanded the bartender. - -"My change!" he cried--"the rest of my hundred!" - -"Go on," said the bartender, "you're nutty!" - -And Jurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror reigned -in him--black, paralyzing, awful horror, clutching him at the heart; -and then came rage, in surging, blinding floods--he screamed aloud, and -seized the glass and hurled it at the other's head. The man ducked, and -it missed him by half an inch; he rose again and faced Jurgis, who was -vaulting over the bar with his one well arm, and dealt him a smashing -blow in the face, hurling him backward upon the floor. Then, as Jurgis -scrambled to his feet again and started round the counter after him, he -shouted at the top of his voice, "Help! help!" - -Jurgis seized a bottle off the counter as he ran; and as the bartender -made a leap he hurled the missile at him with all his force. It just -grazed his head, and shivered into a thousand pieces against the post -of the door. Then Jurgis started back, rushing at the man again in the -middle of the room. This time, in his blind frenzy, he came without a -bottle, and that was all the bartender wanted--he met him halfway and -floored him with a sledgehammer drive between the eyes. An instant later -the screen doors flew open, and two men rushed in--just as Jurgis was -getting to his feet again, foaming at the mouth with rage, and trying to -tear his broken arm out of its bandages. - -"Look out!" shouted the bartender. "He's got a knife!" Then, seeing that -the two were disposed to join the fray, he made another rush at Jurgis, -and knocked aside his feeble defense and sent him tumbling again; and -the three flung themselves upon him, rolling and kicking about the -place. - -A second later a policeman dashed in, and the bartender yelled once -more--"Look out for his knife!" Jurgis had fought himself half to his -knees, when the policeman made a leap at him, and cracked him across the -face with his club. Though the blow staggered him, the wild-beast frenzy -still blazed in him, and he got to his feet, lunging into the air. Then -again the club descended, full upon his head, and he dropped like a log -to the floor. - -The policeman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for him to -try to rise again; and meantime the barkeeper got up, and put his hand -to his head. "Christ!" he said, "I thought I was done for that time. Did -he cut me?" - -"Don't see anything, Jake," said the policeman. "What's the matter with -him?" - -"Just crazy drunk," said the other. "A lame duck, too--but he 'most got -me under the bar. Youse had better call the wagon, Billy." - -"No," said the officer. "He's got no more fight in him, I guess--and -he's only got a block to go." He twisted his hand in Jurgis's collar and -jerked at him. "Git up here, you!" he commanded. - -But Jurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, and -after stowing the hundred-dollar bill away in a safe hiding place, came -and poured a glass of water over Jurgis. Then, as the latter began to -moan feebly, the policeman got him to his feet and dragged him out of -the place. The station house was just around the corner, and so in a few -minutes Jurgis was in a cell. - -He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance moaning in -torment, with a blinding headache and a racking thirst. Now and then -he cried aloud for a drink of water, but there was no one to hear him. -There were others in that same station house with split heads and -a fever; there were hundreds of them in the great city, and tens of -thousands of them in the great land, and there was no one to hear any of -them. - -In the morning Jurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of bread, and -then hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the nearest police court. -He sat in the pen with a score of others until his turn came. - -The bartender--who proved to be a well-known bruiser--was called to the -stand. He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner had come into -his saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had ordered a glass -of beer and tendered a dollar bill in payment. He had been given -ninety-five cents' change, and had demanded ninety-nine dollars more, -and before the plaintiff could even answer had hurled the glass at him -and then attacked him with a bottle of bitters, and nearly wrecked the -place. - -Then the prisoner was sworn--a forlorn object, haggard and unshorn, with -an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and head cut, and bloody, -and one eye purplish black and entirely closed. "What have you to say -for yourself?" queried the magistrate. - -"Your Honor," said Jurgis, "I went into his place and asked the man -if he could change me a hundred-dollar bill. And he said he would if -I bought a drink. I gave him the bill and then he wouldn't give me the -change." - -The magistrate was staring at him in perplexity. "You gave him a -hundred-dollar bill!" he exclaimed. - -"Yes, your Honor," said Jurgis. - -"Where did you get it?" - -"A man gave it to me, your Honor." - -"A man? What man, and what for?" - -"A young man I met upon the street, your Honor. I had been begging." - -There was a titter in the courtroom; the officer who was holding Jurgis -put up his hand to hide a smile, and the magistrate smiled without -trying to hide it. "It's true, your Honor!" cried Jurgis, passionately. - -"You had been drinking as well as begging last night, had you not?" -inquired the magistrate. "No, your Honor--" protested Jurgis. "I--" - -"You had not had anything to drink?" - -"Why, yes, your Honor, I had--" - -"What did you have?" - -"I had a bottle of something--I don't know what it was--something that -burned--" - -There was again a laugh round the courtroom, stopping suddenly as the -magistrate looked up and frowned. "Have you ever been arrested before?" -he asked abruptly. - -The question took Jurgis aback. "I--I--" he stammered. - -"Tell me the truth, now!" commanded the other, sternly. - -"Yes, your Honor," said Jurgis. - -"How often?" - -"Only once, your Honor." - -"What for?" - -"For knocking down my boss, your Honor. I was working in the stockyards, -and he--" - -"I see," said his Honor; "I guess that will do. You ought to stop -drinking if you can't control yourself. Ten days and costs. Next case." - -Jurgis gave vent to a cry of dismay, cut off suddenly by the policeman, -who seized him by the collar. He was jerked out of the way, into a room -with the convicted prisoners, where he sat and wept like a child in -his impotent rage. It seemed monstrous to him that policemen and -judges should esteem his word as nothing in comparison with the -bartender's--poor Jurgis could not know that the owner of the saloon -paid five dollars each week to the policeman alone for Sunday privileges -and general favors--nor that the pugilist bartender was one of the -most trusted henchmen of the Democratic leader of the district, and had -helped only a few months before to hustle out a record-breaking vote as -a testimonial to the magistrate, who had been made the target of odious -kid-gloved reformers. - -Jurgis was driven out to the Bridewell for the second time. In his -tumbling around he had hurt his arm again, and so could not work, but -had to be attended by the physician. Also his head and his eye had to -be tied up--and so he was a pretty-looking object when, the second -day after his arrival, he went out into the exercise court and -encountered--Jack Duane! - -The young fellow was so glad to see Jurgis that he almost hugged him. -"By God, if it isn't 'the Stinker'!" he cried. "And what is it--have you -been through a sausage machine?" - -"No," said Jurgis, "but I've been in a railroad wreck and a fight." And -then, while some of the other prisoners gathered round he told his wild -story; most of them were incredulous, but Duane knew that Jurgis could -never have made up such a yarn as that. - -"Hard luck, old man," he said, when they were alone; "but maybe it's -taught you a lesson." - -"I've learned some things since I saw you last," said Jurgis mournfully. -Then he explained how he had spent the last summer, "hoboing it," as -the phrase was. "And you?" he asked finally. "Have you been here ever -since?" - -"Lord, no!" said the other. "I only came in the day before yesterday. -It's the second time they've sent me up on a trumped-up charge--I've had -hard luck and can't pay them what they want. Why don't you quit Chicago -with me, Jurgis?" - -"I've no place to go," said Jurgis, sadly. - -"Neither have I," replied the other, laughing lightly. "But we'll wait -till we get out and see." - -In the Bridewell Jurgis met few who had been there the last time, but -he met scores of others, old and young, of exactly the same sort. It -was like breakers upon a beach; there was new water, but the wave looked -just the same. He strolled about and talked with them, and the biggest -of them told tales of their prowess, while those who were weaker, or -younger and inexperienced, gathered round and listened in admiring -silence. The last time he was there, Jurgis had thought of little but -his family; but now he was free to listen to these men, and to realize -that he was one of them--that their point of view was his point of view, -and that the way they kept themselves alive in the world was the way he -meant to do it in the future. - -And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny in his -pocket, he went straight to Jack Duane. He went full of humility and -gratitude; for Duane was a gentleman, and a man with a profession--and -it was remarkable that he should be willing to throw in his lot with a -humble workingman, one who had even been a beggar and a tramp. Jurgis -could not see what help he could be to him; but he did not understand -that a man like himself--who could be trusted to stand by any one who -was kind to him--was as rare among criminals as among any other class of -men. - -The address Jurgis had was a garret room in the Ghetto district, the -home of a pretty little French girl, Duane's mistress, who sewed all -day, and eked out her living by prostitution. He had gone elsewhere, she -told Jurgis--he was afraid to stay there now, on account of the police. -The new address was a cellar dive, whose proprietor said that he had -never heard of Duane; but after he had put Jurgis through a catechism -he showed him a back stairs which led to a "fence" in the rear of a -pawnbroker's shop, and thence to a number of assignation rooms, in one -of which Duane was hiding. - -Duane was glad to see him; he was without a cent of money, he said, -and had been waiting for Jurgis to help him get some. He explained his -plan--in fact he spent the day in laying bare to his friend the criminal -world of the city, and in showing him how he might earn himself a living -in it. That winter he would have a hard time, on account of his arm, and -because of an unwonted fit of activity of the police; but so long as he -was unknown to them he would be safe if he were careful. Here at "Papa" -Hanson's (so they called the old man who kept the dive) he might rest at -ease, for "Papa" Hanson was "square"--would stand by him so long as he -paid, and gave him an hour's notice if there were to be a police raid. -Also Rosensteg, the pawnbroker, would buy anything he had for a third of -its value, and guarantee to keep it hidden for a year. - -There was an oil stove in the little cupboard of a room, and they had -some supper; and then about eleven o'clock at night they sallied forth -together, by a rear entrance to the place, Duane armed with a slingshot. -They came to a residence district, and he sprang up a lamppost and blew -out the light, and then the two dodged into the shelter of an area step -and hid in silence. - -Pretty soon a man came by, a workingman--and they let him go. Then after -a long interval came the heavy tread of a policeman, and they held their -breath till he was gone. Though half-frozen, they waited a full quarter -of an hour after that--and then again came footsteps, walking briskly. -Duane nudged Jurgis, and the instant the man had passed they rose up. -Duane stole out as silently as a shadow, and a second later Jurgis heard -a thud and a stifled cry. He was only a couple of feet behind, and he -leaped to stop the man's mouth, while Duane held him fast by the arms, -as they had agreed. But the man was limp and showed a tendency to fall, -and so Jurgis had only to hold him by the collar, while the other, -with swift fingers, went through his pockets--ripping open, first his -overcoat, and then his coat, and then his vest, searching inside and -outside, and transferring the contents into his own pockets. At last, -after feeling of the man's fingers and in his necktie, Duane whispered, -"That's all!" and they dragged him to the area and dropped him in. Then -Jurgis went one way and his friend the other, walking briskly. - -The latter arrived first, and Jurgis found him examining the "swag." -There was a gold watch, for one thing, with a chain and locket; there -was a silver pencil, and a matchbox, and a handful of small change, -and finally a card-case. This last Duane opened feverishly--there were -letters and checks, and two theater-tickets, and at last, in the back -part, a wad of bills. He counted them--there was a twenty, five tens, -four fives, and three ones. Duane drew a long breath. "That lets us -out!" he said. - -After further examination, they burned the card-case and its contents, -all but the bills, and likewise the picture of a little girl in the -locket. Then Duane took the watch and trinkets downstairs, and came back -with sixteen dollars. "The old scoundrel said the case was filled," he -said. "It's a lie, but he knows I want the money." - -They divided up the spoils, and Jurgis got as his share fifty-five -dollars and some change. He protested that it was too much, but the -other had agreed to divide even. That was a good haul, he said, better -than average. - -When they got up in the morning, Jurgis was sent out to buy a paper; -one of the pleasures of committing a crime was the reading about -it afterward. "I had a pal that always did it," Duane remarked, -laughing--"until one day he read that he had left three thousand dollars -in a lower inside pocket of his party's vest!" - -There was a half-column account of the robbery--it was evident that a -gang was operating in the neighborhood, said the paper, for it was -the third within a week, and the police were apparently powerless. The -victim was an insurance agent, and he had lost a hundred and ten dollars -that did not belong to him. He had chanced to have his name marked -on his shirt, otherwise he would not have been identified yet. His -assailant had hit him too hard, and he was suffering from concussion of -the brain; and also he had been half-frozen when found, and would lose -three fingers on his right hand. The enterprising newspaper reporter had -taken all this information to his family, and told how they had received -it. - -Since it was Jurgis's first experience, these details naturally caused -him some worriment; but the other laughed coolly--it was the way of the -game, and there was no helping it. Before long Jurgis would think no -more of it than they did in the yards of knocking out a bullock. "It's a -case of us or the other fellow, and I say the other fellow, every time," -he observed. - -"Still," said Jurgis, reflectively, "he never did us any harm." - -"He was doing it to somebody as hard as he could, you can be sure of -that," said his friend. - - -Duane had already explained to Jurgis that if a man of their trade were -known he would have to work all the time to satisfy the demands of the -police. Therefore it would be better for Jurgis to stay in hiding and -never be seen in public with his pal. But Jurgis soon got very tired -of staying in hiding. In a couple of weeks he was feeling strong and -beginning to use his arm, and then he could not stand it any longer. -Duane, who had done a job of some sort by himself, and made a truce with -the powers, brought over Marie, his little French girl, to share with -him; but even that did not avail for long, and in the end he had to give -up arguing, and take Jurgis out and introduce him to the saloons and -"sporting houses" where the big crooks and "holdup men" hung out. - -And so Jurgis got a glimpse of the high-class criminal world of -Chicago. The city, which was owned by an oligarchy of business men, being -nominally ruled by the people, a huge army of graft was necessary for -the purpose of effecting the transfer of power. Twice a year, in the -spring and fall elections, millions of dollars were furnished by the -business men and expended by this army; meetings were held and clever -speakers were hired, bands played and rockets sizzled, tons of documents -and reservoirs of drinks were distributed, and tens of thousands of -votes were bought for cash. And this army of graft had, of course, to be -maintained the year round. The leaders and organizers were maintained by -the business men directly--aldermen and legislators by means of bribes, -party officials out of the campaign funds, lobbyists and corporation -lawyers in the form of salaries, contractors by means of jobs, labor -union leaders by subsidies, and newspaper proprietors and editors by -advertisements. The rank and file, however, were either foisted upon the -city, or else lived off the population directly. There was the police -department, and the fire and water departments, and the whole balance -of the civil list, from the meanest office boy to the head of a city -department; and for the horde who could find no room in these, there was -the world of vice and crime, there was license to seduce, to swindle -and plunder and prey. The law forbade Sunday drinking; and this had -delivered the saloon-keepers into the hands of the police, and made an -alliance between them necessary. The law forbade prostitution; and this -had brought the "madames" into the combination. It was the same with the -gambling-house keeper and the poolroom man, and the same with any other -man or woman who had a means of getting "graft," and was willing to -pay over a share of it: the green-goods man and the highwayman, the -pickpocket and the sneak thief, and the receiver of stolen goods, -the seller of adulterated milk, of stale fruit and diseased meat, the -proprietor of unsanitary tenements, the fake doctor and the usurer, the -beggar and the "pushcart man," the prize fighter and the professional -slugger, the race-track "tout," the procurer, the white-slave agent, and -the expert seducer of young girls. All of these agencies of corruption -were banded together, and leagued in blood brotherhood with the -politician and the police; more often than not they were one and the -same person,--the police captain would own the brothel he pretended -to raid, the politician would open his headquarters in his saloon. -"Hinkydink" or "Bathhouse John," or others of that ilk, were proprietors -of the most notorious dives in Chicago, and also the "gray wolves" -of the city council, who gave away the streets of the city to the -business men; and those who patronized their places were the gamblers and -prize fighters who set the law at defiance, and the burglars and holdup -men who kept the whole city in terror. On election day all these powers -of vice and crime were one power; they could tell within one per cent -what the vote of their district would be, and they could change it at an -hour's notice. - -A month ago Jurgis had all but perished of starvation upon the streets; -and now suddenly, as by the gift of a magic key, he had entered into a -world where money and all the good things of life came freely. He was -introduced by his friend to an Irishman named "Buck" Halloran, who was -a political "worker" and on the inside of things. This man talked with -Jurgis for a while, and then told him that he had a little plan by which -a man who looked like a workingman might make some easy money; but it -was a private affair, and had to be kept quiet. Jurgis expressed himself -as agreeable, and the other took him that afternoon (it was Saturday) to -a place where city laborers were being paid off. The paymaster sat in -a little booth, with a pile of envelopes before him, and two policemen -standing by. Jurgis went, according to directions, and gave the name of -"Michael O'Flaherty," and received an envelope, which he took around the -corner and delivered to Halloran, who was waiting for him in a saloon. -Then he went again; and gave the name of "Johann Schmidt," and a third -time, and give the name of "Serge Reminitsky." Halloran had quite a list -of imaginary workingmen, and Jurgis got an envelope for each one. For -this work he received five dollars, and was told that he might have it -every week, so long as he kept quiet. As Jurgis was excellent at keeping -quiet, he soon won the trust of "Buck" Halloran, and was introduced to -others as a man who could be depended upon. - -This acquaintance was useful to him in another way, also before long -Jurgis made his discovery of the meaning of "pull," and just why his -boss, Connor, and also the pugilist bartender, had been able to send him -to jail. One night there was given a ball, the "benefit" of "One-eyed -Larry," a lame man who played the violin in one of the big "high-class" -houses of prostitution on Clark Street, and was a wag and a popular -character on the "Levee." This ball was held in a big dance hall, and -was one of the occasions when the city's powers of debauchery gave -themselves up to madness. Jurgis attended and got half insane with -drink, and began quarreling over a girl; his arm was pretty strong by -then, and he set to work to clean out the place, and ended in a cell in -the police station. The police station being crowded to the doors, and -stinking with "bums," Jurgis did not relish staying there to sleep off -his liquor, and sent for Halloran, who called up the district leader and -had Jurgis bailed out by telephone at four o'clock in the morning. When -he was arraigned that same morning, the district leader had already seen -the clerk of the court and explained that Jurgis Rudkus was a decent -fellow, who had been indiscreet; and so Jurgis was fined ten dollars and -the fine was "suspended"--which meant that he did not have to pay for -it, and never would have to pay it, unless somebody chose to bring it up -against him in the future. - -Among the people Jurgis lived with now money was valued according to an -entirely different standard from that of the people of Packingtown; yet, -strange as it may seem, he did a great deal less drinking than he had -as a workingman. He had not the same provocations of exhaustion and -hopelessness; he had now something to work for, to struggle for. He -soon found that if he kept his wits about him, he would come upon new -opportunities; and being naturally an active man, he not only kept sober -himself, but helped to steady his friend, who was a good deal fonder of -both wine and women than he. - -One thing led to another. In the saloon where Jurgis met "Buck" Halloran -he was sitting late one night with Duane, when a "country customer" -(a buyer for an out-of-town merchant) came in, a little more than half -"piped." There was no one else in the place but the bartender, and as -the man went out again Jurgis and Duane followed him; he went round -the corner, and in a dark place made by a combination of the elevated -railroad and an unrented building, Jurgis leaped forward and shoved a -revolver under his nose, while Duane, with his hat pulled over his eyes, -went through the man's pockets with lightning fingers. They got his -watch and his "wad," and were round the corner again and into the saloon -before he could shout more than once. The bartender, to whom they had -tipped the wink, had the cellar door open for them, and they vanished, -making their way by a secret entrance to a brothel next door. From the -roof of this there was access to three similar places beyond. By means -of these passages the customers of any one place could be gotten out -of the way, in case a falling out with the police chanced to lead to a -raid; and also it was necessary to have a way of getting a girl out -of reach in case of an emergency. Thousands of them came to Chicago -answering advertisements for "servants" and "factory hands," and found -themselves trapped by fake employment agencies, and locked up in a -bawdy-house. It was generally enough to take all their clothes away from -them; but sometimes they would have to be "doped" and kept prisoners for -weeks; and meantime their parents might be telegraphing the police, and -even coming on to see why nothing was done. Occasionally there was no -way of satisfying them but to let them search the place to which the -girl had been traced. - -For his help in this little job, the bartender received twenty out of -the hundred and thirty odd dollars that the pair secured; and naturally -this put them on friendly terms with him, and a few days later he -introduced them to a little "sheeny" named Goldberger, one of the -"runners" of the "sporting house" where they had been hidden. After a -few drinks Goldberger began, with some hesitation, to narrate how he had -had a quarrel over his best girl with a professional "cardsharp," who -had hit him in the jaw. The fellow was a stranger in Chicago, and if he -was found some night with his head cracked there would be no one to care -very much. Jurgis, who by this time would cheerfully have cracked the -heads of all the gamblers in Chicago, inquired what would be coming to -him; at which the Jew became still more confidential, and said that he -had some tips on the New Orleans races, which he got direct from the -police captain of the district, whom he had got out of a bad scrape, and -who "stood in" with a big syndicate of horse owners. Duane took all -this in at once, but Jurgis had to have the whole race-track situation -explained to him before he realized the importance of such an -opportunity. - -There was the gigantic Racing Trust. It owned the legislatures in -every state in which it did business; it even owned some of the big -newspapers, and made public opinion--there was no power in the land that -could oppose it unless, perhaps, it were the Poolroom Trust. It built -magnificent racing parks all over the country, and by means of enormous -purses it lured the people to come, and then it organized a gigantic -shell game, whereby it plundered them of hundreds of millions of dollars -every year. Horse racing had once been a sport, but nowadays it was -a business; a horse could be "doped" and doctored, undertrained or -overtrained; it could be made to fall at any moment--or its gait could -be broken by lashing it with the whip, which all the spectators would -take to be a desperate effort to keep it in the lead. There were scores -of such tricks; and sometimes it was the owners who played them and made -fortunes, sometimes it was the jockeys and trainers, sometimes it was -outsiders, who bribed them--but most of the time it was the chiefs -of the trust. Now for instance, they were having winter racing in New -Orleans and a syndicate was laying out each day's program in advance, -and its agents in all the Northern cities were "milking" the poolrooms. -The word came by long-distance telephone in a cipher code, just a little -while before each race; and any man who could get the secret had as good -as a fortune. If Jurgis did not believe it, he could try it, said the -little Jew--let them meet at a certain house on the morrow and make a -test. Jurgis was willing, and so was Duane, and so they went to one -of the high-class poolrooms where brokers and merchants gambled (with -society women in a private room), and they put up ten dollars each upon -a horse called "Black Beldame," a six to one shot, and won. For a secret -like that they would have done a good many sluggings--but the next day -Goldberger informed them that the offending gambler had got wind of what -was coming to him, and had skipped the town. - - -There were ups and downs at the business; but there was always a living, -inside of a jail, if not out of it. Early in April the city elections -were due, and that meant prosperity for all the powers of graft. Jurgis, -hanging round in dives and gambling houses and brothels, met with -the heelers of both parties, and from their conversation he came to -understand all the ins and outs of the game, and to hear of a number of -ways in which he could make himself useful about election time. "Buck" -Halloran was a "Democrat," and so Jurgis became a Democrat also; but he -was not a bitter one--the Republicans were good fellows, too, and were -to have a pile of money in this next campaign. At the last election the -Republicans had paid four dollars a vote to the Democrats' three; and -"Buck" Halloran sat one night playing cards with Jurgis and another man, -who told how Halloran had been charged with the job voting a "bunch" of -thirty-seven newly landed Italians, and how he, the narrator, had met -the Republican worker who was after the very same gang, and how the -three had effected a bargain, whereby the Italians were to vote half and -half, for a glass of beer apiece, while the balance of the fund went to -the conspirators! - -Not long after this, Jurgis, wearying of the risks and vicissitudes -of miscellaneous crime, was moved to give up the career for that of a -politician. Just at this time there was a tremendous uproar being raised -concerning the alliance between the criminals and the police. For the -criminal graft was one in which the business men had no direct part--it -was what is called a "side line," carried by the police. "Wide -open" gambling and debauchery made the city pleasing to "trade," but -burglaries and holdups did not. One night it chanced that while Jack -Duane was drilling a safe in a clothing store he was caught red-handed -by the night watchman, and turned over to a policeman, who chanced to -know him well, and who took the responsibility of letting him make his -escape. Such a howl from the newspapers followed this that Duane was -slated for sacrifice, and barely got out of town in time. And just at -that juncture it happened that Jurgis was introduced to a man named -Harper whom he recognized as the night watchman at Brown's, who had been -instrumental in making him an American citizen, the first year of his -arrival at the yards. The other was interested in the coincidence, but -did not remember Jurgis--he had handled too many "green ones" in his -time, he said. He sat in a dance hall with Jurgis and Halloran until one -or two in the morning, exchanging experiences. He had a long story to -tell of his quarrel with the superintendent of his department, and how -he was now a plain workingman, and a good union man as well. It was not -until some months afterward that Jurgis understood that the quarrel with -the superintendent had been prearranged, and that Harper was in reality -drawing a salary of twenty dollars a week from the packers for an inside -report of his union's secret proceedings. The yards were seething with -agitation just then, said the man, speaking as a unionist. The people of -Packingtown had borne about all that they would bear, and it looked as -if a strike might begin any week. - -After this talk the man made inquiries concerning Jurgis, and a couple -of days later he came to him with an interesting proposition. He was -not absolutely certain, he said, but he thought that he could get him -a regular salary if he would come to Packingtown and do as he was told, -and keep his mouth shut. Harper--"Bush" Harper, he was called--was a -right-hand man of Mike Scully, the Democratic boss of the stockyards; -and in the coming election there was a peculiar situation. There had -come to Scully a proposition to nominate a certain rich brewer who lived -upon a swell boulevard that skirted the district, and who coveted the -big badge and the "honorable" of an alderman. The brewer was a Jew, and -had no brains, but he was harmless, and would put up a rare campaign -fund. Scully had accepted the offer, and then gone to the Republicans -with a proposition. He was not sure that he could manage the "sheeny," -and he did not mean to take any chances with his district; let the -Republicans nominate a certain obscure but amiable friend of Scully's, -who was now setting tenpins in the cellar of an Ashland Avenue saloon, -and he, Scully, would elect him with the "sheeny's" money, and the -Republicans might have the glory, which was more than they would get -otherwise. In return for this the Republicans would agree to put up no -candidate the following year, when Scully himself came up for reelection -as the other alderman from the ward. To this the Republicans had -assented at once; but the hell of it was--so Harper explained--that -the Republicans were all of them fools--a man had to be a fool to be -a Republican in the stockyards, where Scully was king. And they didn't -know how to work, and of course it would not do for the Democratic -workers, the noble redskins of the War Whoop League, to support the -Republican openly. The difficulty would not have been so great except -for another fact--there had been a curious development in stockyards -politics in the last year or two, a new party having leaped into being. -They were the Socialists; and it was a devil of a mess, said "Bush" -Harper. The one image which the word "Socialist" brought to Jurgis was -of poor little Tamoszius Kuszleika, who had called himself one, and -would go out with a couple of other men and a soap-box, and shout -himself hoarse on a street corner Saturday nights. Tamoszius had tried -to explain to Jurgis what it was all about, but Jurgis, who was not of -an imaginative turn, had never quite got it straight; at present he was -content with his companion's explanation that the Socialists were the -enemies of American institutions--could not be bought, and would not -combine or make any sort of a "dicker." Mike Scully was very much -worried over the opportunity which his last deal gave to them--the -stockyards Democrats were furious at the idea of a rich capitalist -for their candidate, and while they were changing they might possibly -conclude that a Socialist firebrand was preferable to a Republican bum. -And so right here was a chance for Jurgis to make himself a place in -the world, explained "Bush" Harper; he had been a union man, and he -was known in the yards as a workingman; he must have hundreds of -acquaintances, and as he had never talked politics with them he might -come out as a Republican now without exciting the least suspicion. There -were barrels of money for the use of those who could deliver the goods; -and Jurgis might count upon Mike Scully, who had never yet gone back on -a friend. Just what could he do? Jurgis asked, in some perplexity, and -the other explained in detail. To begin with, he would have to go to the -yards and work, and he mightn't relish that; but he would have what he -earned, as well as the rest that came to him. He would get active in the -union again, and perhaps try to get an office, as he, Harper, had; he -would tell all his friends the good points of Doyle, the Republican -nominee, and the bad ones of the "sheeny"; and then Scully would -furnish a meeting place, and he would start the "Young Men's Republican -Association," or something of that sort, and have the rich brewer's -best beer by the hogshead, and fireworks and speeches, just like the -War Whoop League. Surely Jurgis must know hundreds of men who would like -that sort of fun; and there would be the regular Republican leaders and -workers to help him out, and they would deliver a big enough majority on -election day. - -When he had heard all this explanation to the end, Jurgis demanded: "But -how can I get a job in Packingtown? I'm blacklisted." - -At which "Bush" Harper laughed. "I'll attend to that all right," he -said. - -And the other replied, "It's a go, then; I'm your man." So Jurgis went -out to the stockyards again, and was introduced to the political lord of -the district, the boss of Chicago's mayor. It was Scully who owned the -brick-yards and the dump and the ice pond--though Jurgis did not know it. -It was Scully who was to blame for the unpaved street in which Jurgis's -child had been drowned; it was Scully who had put into office the -magistrate who had first sent Jurgis to jail; it was Scully who was -principal stockholder in the company which had sold him the ramshackle -tenement, and then robbed him of it. But Jurgis knew none of these -things--any more than he knew that Scully was but a tool and puppet of -the packers. To him Scully was a mighty power, the "biggest" man he had -ever met. - -He was a little, dried-up Irishman, whose hands shook. He had a brief -talk with his visitor, watching him with his ratlike eyes, and making -up his mind about him; and then he gave him a note to Mr. Harmon, one of -the head managers of Durham's-- - -"The bearer, Jurgis Rudkus, is a particular friend of mine, and I would -like you to find him a good place, for important reasons. He was once -indiscreet, but you will perhaps be so good as to overlook that." - -Mr. Harmon looked up inquiringly when he read this. "What does he mean -by 'indiscreet'?" he asked. - -"I was blacklisted, sir," said Jurgis. - -At which the other frowned. "Blacklisted?" he said. "How do you mean?" -And Jurgis turned red with embarrassment. - -He had forgotten that a blacklist did not exist. "I--that is--I had -difficulty in getting a place," he stammered. - -"What was the matter?" - -"I got into a quarrel with a foreman--not my own boss, sir--and struck -him." - -"I see," said the other, and meditated for a few moments. "What do you -wish to do?" he asked. - -"Anything, sir," said Jurgis--"only I had a broken arm this winter, and -so I have to be careful." - -"How would it suit you to be a night watchman?" - -"That wouldn't do, sir. I have to be among the men at night." - -"I see--politics. Well, would it suit you to trim hogs?" - -"Yes, sir," said Jurgis. - -And Mr. Harmon called a timekeeper and said, "Take this man to Pat -Murphy and tell him to find room for him somehow." - -And so Jurgis marched into the hog-killing room, a place where, in the -days gone by, he had come begging for a job. Now he walked jauntily, and -smiled to himself, seeing the frown that came to the boss's face as -the timekeeper said, "Mr. Harmon says to put this man on." It would -overcrowd his department and spoil the record he was trying to make--but -he said not a word except "All right." - -And so Jurgis became a workingman once more; and straightway he sought -out his old friends, and joined the union, and began to "root" for -"Scotty" Doyle. Doyle had done him a good turn once, he explained, -and was really a bully chap; Doyle was a workingman himself, and would -represent the workingmen--why did they want to vote for a millionaire -"sheeny," and what the hell had Mike Scully ever done for them that they -should back his candidates all the time? And meantime Scully had given -Jurgis a note to the Republican leader of the ward, and he had gone -there and met the crowd he was to work with. Already they had hired -a big hall, with some of the brewer's money, and every night Jurgis -brought in a dozen new members of the "Doyle Republican Association." -Pretty soon they had a grand opening night; and there was a brass band, -which marched through the streets, and fireworks and bombs and red -lights in front of the hall; and there was an enormous crowd, with -two overflow meetings--so that the pale and trembling candidate had to -recite three times over the little speech which one of Scully's henchmen -had written, and which he had been a month learning by heart. Best -of all, the famous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, presidential -candidate, rode out in an automobile to discuss the sacred privileges -of American citizenship, and protection and prosperity for the American -workingman. His inspiriting address was quoted to the extent of half a -column in all the morning newspapers, which also said that it could be -stated upon excellent authority that the unexpected popularity developed -by Doyle, the Republican candidate for alderman, was giving great -anxiety to Mr. Scully, the chairman of the Democratic City Committee. - -The chairman was still more worried when the monster torchlight -procession came off, with the members of the Doyle Republican -Association all in red capes and hats, and free beer for every voter in -the ward--the best beer ever given away in a political campaign, as -the whole electorate testified. During this parade, and at innumerable -cart-tail meetings as well, Jurgis labored tirelessly. He did not make -any speeches--there were lawyers and other experts for that--but he -helped to manage things; distributing notices and posting placards and -bringing out the crowds; and when the show was on he attended to the -fireworks and the beer. Thus in the course of the campaign he handled -many hundreds of dollars of the Hebrew brewer's money, administering it -with naive and touching fidelity. Toward the end, however, he learned -that he was regarded with hatred by the rest of the "boys," because he -compelled them either to make a poorer showing than he or to do without -their share of the pie. After that Jurgis did his best to please them, -and to make up for the time he had lost before he discovered the extra -bungholes of the campaign barrel. - -He pleased Mike Scully, also. On election morning he was out at four -o'clock, "getting out the vote"; he had a two-horse carriage to ride in, -and he went from house to house for his friends, and escorted them in -triumph to the polls. He voted half a dozen times himself, and voted -some of his friends as often; he brought bunch after bunch of the newest -foreigners--Lithuanians, Poles, Bohemians, Slovaks--and when he had put -them through the mill he turned them over to another man to take to -the next polling place. When Jurgis first set out, the captain of the -precinct gave him a hundred dollars, and three times in the course of -the day he came for another hundred, and not more than twenty-five out -of each lot got stuck in his own pocket. The balance all went for actual -votes, and on a day of Democratic landslides they elected "Scotty" -Doyle, the ex-tenpin setter, by nearly a thousand plurality--and -beginning at five o'clock in the afternoon, and ending at three the next -morning, Jurgis treated himself to a most unholy and horrible "jag." -Nearly every one else in Packingtown did the same, however, for there -was universal exultation over this triumph of popular government, this -crushing defeat of an arrogant plutocrat by the power of the common -people. - - - -Chapter 26 - - -After the elections Jurgis stayed on in Packingtown and kept his -job. The agitation to break up the police protection of criminals was -continuing, and it seemed to him best to "lay low" for the present. He -had nearly three hundred dollars in the bank, and might have considered -himself entitled to a vacation; but he had an easy job, and force of -habit kept him at it. Besides, Mike Scully, whom he consulted, advised -him that something might "turn up" before long. - -Jurgis got himself a place in a boardinghouse with some congenial -friends. He had already inquired of Aniele, and learned that Elzbieta -and her family had gone downtown, and so he gave no further thought -to them. He went with a new set, now, young unmarried fellows who were -"sporty." Jurgis had long ago cast off his fertilizer clothing, and -since going into politics he had donned a linen collar and a greasy red -necktie. He had some reason for thinking of his dress, for he was making -about eleven dollars a week, and two-thirds of it he might spend upon -his pleasures without ever touching his savings. - -Sometimes he would ride down-town with a party of friends to the cheap -theaters and the music halls and other haunts with which they were -familiar. Many of the saloons in Packingtown had pool tables, and some -of them bowling alleys, by means of which he could spend his evenings -in petty gambling. Also, there were cards and dice. One time Jurgis got -into a game on a Saturday night and won prodigiously, and because he was -a man of spirit he stayed in with the rest and the game continued -until late Sunday afternoon, and by that time he was "out" over twenty -dollars. On Saturday nights, also, a number of balls were generally -given in Packingtown; each man would bring his "girl" with him, paying -half a dollar for a ticket, and several dollars additional for drinks -in the course of the festivities, which continued until three or four -o'clock in the morning, unless broken up by fighting. During all this -time the same man and woman would dance together, half-stupefied with -sensuality and drink. - -Before long Jurgis discovered what Scully had meant by something -"turning up." In May the agreement between the packers and the unions -expired, and a new agreement had to be signed. Negotiations were going -on, and the yards were full of talk of a strike. The old scale had dealt -with the wages of the skilled men only; and of the members of the Meat -Workers' Union about two-thirds were unskilled men. In Chicago these -latter were receiving, for the most part, eighteen and a half cents an -hour, and the unions wished to make this the general wage for the next -year. It was not nearly so large a wage as it seemed--in the course of -the negotiations the union officers examined time checks to the amount -of ten thousand dollars, and they found that the highest wages paid had -been fourteen dollars a week, and the lowest two dollars and five cents, -and the average of the whole, six dollars and sixty-five cents. And six -dollars and sixty-five cents was hardly too much for a man to keep -a family on, considering the fact that the price of dressed meat had -increased nearly fifty per cent in the last five years, while the price -of "beef on the hoof" had decreased as much, it would have seemed that -the packers ought to be able to pay it; but the packers were unwilling -to pay it--they rejected the union demand, and to show what their -purpose was, a week or two after the agreement expired they put down the -wages of about a thousand men to sixteen and a half cents, and it was -said that old man Jones had vowed he would put them to fifteen before -he got through. There were a million and a half of men in the country -looking for work, a hundred thousand of them right in Chicago; and were -the packers to let the union stewards march into their places and bind -them to a contract that would lose them several thousand dollars a day -for a year? Not much! - -All this was in June; and before long the question was submitted to a -referendum in the unions, and the decision was for a strike. It was the -same in all the packing house cities; and suddenly the newspapers and -public woke up to face the gruesome spectacle of a meat famine. All -sorts of pleas for a reconsideration were made, but the packers were -obdurate; and all the while they were reducing wages, and heading off -shipments of cattle, and rushing in wagon-loads of mattresses and cots. -So the men boiled over, and one night telegrams went out from the union -headquarters to all the big packing centers--to St. Paul, South Omaha, -Sioux City, St. Joseph, Kansas City, East St. Louis, and New York--and -the next day at noon between fifty and sixty thousand men drew off their -working clothes and marched out of the factories, and the great "Beef -Strike" was on. - -Jurgis went to his dinner, and afterward he walked over to see Mike -Scully, who lived in a fine house, upon a street which had been decently -paved and lighted for his especial benefit. Scully had gone into -semi-retirement, and looked nervous and worried. "What do you want?" he -demanded, when he saw Jurgis. - -"I came to see if maybe you could get me a place during the strike," the -other replied. - -And Scully knit his brows and eyed him narrowly. In that morning's -papers Jurgis had read a fierce denunciation of the packers by Scully, -who had declared that if they did not treat their people better the -city authorities would end the matter by tearing down their plants. Now, -therefore, Jurgis was not a little taken aback when the other demanded -suddenly, "See here, Rudkus, why don't you stick by your job?" - -Jurgis started. "Work as a scab?" he cried. - -"Why not?" demanded Scully. "What's that to you?" - -"But--but--" stammered Jurgis. He had somehow taken it for granted that -he should go out with his union. "The packers need good men, and need -them bad," continued the other, "and they'll treat a man right that -stands by them. Why don't you take your chance and fix yourself?" - -"But," said Jurgis, "how could I ever be of any use to you--in -politics?" - -"You couldn't be it anyhow," said Scully, abruptly. - -"Why not?" asked Jurgis. - -"Hell, man!" cried the other. "Don't you know you're a Republican? And -do you think I'm always going to elect Republicans? My brewer has found -out already how we served him, and there is the deuce to pay." - -Jurgis looked dumfounded. He had never thought of that aspect of it -before. "I could be a Democrat," he said. - -"Yes," responded the other, "but not right away; a man can't change his -politics every day. And besides, I don't need you--there'd be nothing -for you to do. And it's a long time to election day, anyhow; and what -are you going to do meantime?" - -"I thought I could count on you," began Jurgis. - -"Yes," responded Scully, "so you could--I never yet went back on a -friend. But is it fair to leave the job I got you and come to me for -another? I have had a hundred fellows after me today, and what can I -do? I've put seventeen men on the city payroll to clean streets this one -week, and do you think I can keep that up forever? It wouldn't do for -me to tell other men what I tell you, but you've been on the inside, -and you ought to have sense enough to see for yourself. What have you to -gain by a strike?" - -"I hadn't thought," said Jurgis. - -"Exactly," said Scully, "but you'd better. Take my word for it, the -strike will be over in a few days, and the men will be beaten; and -meantime what you can get out of it will belong to you. Do you see?" - -And Jurgis saw. He went back to the yards, and into the workroom. The -men had left a long line of hogs in various stages of preparation, and -the foreman was directing the feeble efforts of a score or two of clerks -and stenographers and office boys to finish up the job and get them into -the chilling rooms. Jurgis went straight up to him and announced, "I -have come back to work, Mr. Murphy." - -The boss's face lighted up. "Good man!" he cried. "Come ahead!" - -"Just a moment," said Jurgis, checking his enthusiasm. "I think I ought -to get a little more wages." - -"Yes," replied the other, "of course. What do you want?" - -Jurgis had debated on the way. His nerve almost failed him now, but he -clenched his hands. "I think I ought to have' three dollars a day," he -said. - -"All right," said the other, promptly; and before the day was out our -friend discovered that the clerks and stenographers and office boys were -getting five dollars a day, and then he could have kicked himself! - - -So Jurgis became one of the new "American heroes," a man whose virtues -merited comparison with those of the martyrs of Lexington and Valley -Forge. The resemblance was not complete, of course, for Jurgis was -generously paid and comfortably clad, and was provided with a spring cot -and a mattress and three substantial meals a day; also he was perfectly -at ease, and safe from all peril of life and limb, save only in the -case that a desire for beer should lead him to venture outside of the -stockyards gates. And even in the exercise of this privilege he was not -left unprotected; a good part of the inadequate police force of Chicago -was suddenly diverted from its work of hunting criminals, and rushed out -to serve him. The police, and the strikers also, were determined that -there should be no violence; but there was another party interested -which was minded to the contrary--and that was the press. On the first -day of his life as a strikebreaker Jurgis quit work early, and in a -spirit of bravado he challenged three men of his acquaintance to go -outside and get a drink. They accepted, and went through the big Halsted -Street gate, where several policemen were watching, and also some union -pickets, scanning sharply those who passed in and out. Jurgis and -his companions went south on Halsted Street; past the hotel, and then -suddenly half a dozen men started across the street toward them and -proceeded to argue with them concerning the error of their ways. As the -arguments were not taken in the proper spirit, they went on to threats; -and suddenly one of them jerked off the hat of one of the four and -flung it over the fence. The man started after it, and then, as a cry -of "Scab!" was raised and a dozen people came running out of saloons and -doorways, a second man's heart failed him and he followed. Jurgis and -the fourth stayed long enough to give themselves the satisfaction of -a quick exchange of blows, and then they, too, took to their heels and -fled back of the hotel and into the yards again. Meantime, of course, -policemen were coming on a run, and as a crowd gathered other police got -excited and sent in a riot call. Jurgis knew nothing of this, but went -back to "Packers' Avenue," and in front of the "Central Time Station" -he saw one of his companions, breathless and wild with excitement, -narrating to an ever growing throng how the four had been attacked and -surrounded by a howling mob, and had been nearly torn to pieces. While -he stood listening, smiling cynically, several dapper young men stood by -with notebooks in their hands, and it was not more than two hours later -that Jurgis saw newsboys running about with armfuls of newspapers, -printed in red and black letters six inches high: - -VIOLENCE IN THE YARDS! STRIKEBREAKERS SURROUNDED BY FRENZIED MOB! - -If he had been able to buy all of the newspapers of the United States -the next morning, he might have discovered that his beer-hunting exploit -was being perused by some two score millions of people, and had served -as a text for editorials in half the staid and solemn business-men's -newspapers in the land. - -Jurgis was to see more of this as time passed. For the present, his work -being over, he was free to ride into the city, by a railroad direct from -the yards, or else to spend the night in a room where cots had been -laid in rows. He chose the latter, but to his regret, for all night long -gangs of strikebreakers kept arriving. As very few of the better class -of workingmen could be got for such work, these specimens of the new -American hero contained an assortment of the criminals and thugs of -the city, besides Negroes and the lowest foreigners--Greeks, Roumanians, -Sicilians, and Slovaks. They had been attracted more by the prospect of -disorder than by the big wages; and they made the night hideous with -singing and carousing, and only went to sleep when the time came for -them to get up to work. - -In the morning before Jurgis had finished his breakfast, "Pat" Murphy -ordered him to one of the superintendents, who questioned him as to his -experience in the work of the killing room. His heart began to thump -with excitement, for he divined instantly that his hour had come--that -he was to be a boss! - -Some of the foremen were union members, and many who were not had gone -out with the men. It was in the killing department that the packers had -been left most in the lurch, and precisely here that they could least -afford it; the smoking and canning and salting of meat might wait, and -all the by-products might be wasted--but fresh meats must be had, or the -restaurants and hotels and brownstone houses would feel the pinch, and -then "public opinion" would take a startling turn. - -An opportunity such as this would not come twice to a man; and Jurgis -seized it. Yes, he knew the work, the whole of it, and he could teach it -to others. But if he took the job and gave satisfaction he would expect -to keep it--they would not turn him off at the end of the strike? To -which the superintendent replied that he might safely trust Durham's -for that--they proposed to teach these unions a lesson, and most of -all those foremen who had gone back on them. Jurgis would receive five -dollars a day during the strike, and twenty-five a week after it was -settled. - -So our friend got a pair of "slaughter pen" boots and "jeans," and flung -himself at his task. It was a weird sight, there on the killing beds--a -throng of stupid black Negroes, and foreigners who could not understand -a word that was said to them, mixed with pale-faced, hollow-chested -bookkeepers and clerks, half-fainting for the tropical heat and the -sickening stench of fresh blood--and all struggling to dress a dozen -or two cattle in the same place where, twenty-four hours ago, the old -killing gang had been speeding, with their marvelous precision, turning -out four hundred carcasses every hour! - -The Negroes and the "toughs" from the Levee did not want to work, -and every few minutes some of them would feel obliged to retire and -recuperate. In a couple of days Durham and Company had electric fans up -to cool off the rooms for them, and even couches for them to rest -on; and meantime they could go out and find a shady corner and take a -"snooze," and as there was no place for any one in particular, and no -system, it might be hours before their boss discovered them. As for -the poor office employees, they did their best, moved to it by terror; -thirty of them had been "fired" in a bunch that first morning for -refusing to serve, besides a number of women clerks and typewriters who -had declined to act as waitresses. - -It was such a force as this that Jurgis had to organize. He did his -best, flying here and there, placing them in rows and showing them the -tricks; he had never given an order in his life before, but he had taken -enough of them to know, and he soon fell into the spirit of it, and -roared and stormed like any old stager. He had not the most tractable -pupils, however. "See hyar, boss," a big black "buck" would begin, "ef -you doan' like de way Ah does dis job, you kin get somebody else to do -it." Then a crowd would gather and listen, muttering threats. After the -first meal nearly all the steel knives had been missing, and now every -Negro had one, ground to a fine point, hidden in his boots. - -There was no bringing order out of such a chaos, Jurgis soon discovered; -and he fell in with the spirit of the thing--there was no reason why he -should wear himself out with shouting. If hides and guts were slashed -and rendered useless there was no way of tracing it to any one; and if -a man lay off and forgot to come back there was nothing to be gained -by seeking him, for all the rest would quit in the meantime. Everything -went, during the strike, and the packers paid. Before long Jurgis -found that the custom of resting had suggested to some alert minds the -possibility of registering at more than one place and earning more than -one five dollars a day. When he caught a man at this he "fired" him, -but it chanced to be in a quiet corner, and the man tendered him a -ten-dollar bill and a wink, and he took them. Of course, before long -this custom spread, and Jurgis was soon making quite a good income from -it. - -In the face of handicaps such as these the packers counted themselves -lucky if they could kill off the cattle that had been crippled in -transit and the hogs that had developed disease. Frequently, in the -course of a two or three days' trip, in hot weather and without water, -some hog would develop cholera, and die; and the rest would attack him -before he had ceased kicking, and when the car was opened there would be -nothing of him left but the bones. If all the hogs in this carload were -not killed at once, they would soon be down with the dread disease, and -there would be nothing to do but make them into lard. It was the same -with cattle that were gored and dying, or were limping with broken bones -stuck through their flesh--they must be killed, even if brokers and -buyers and superintendents had to take off their coats and help -drive and cut and skin them. And meantime, agents of the packers were -gathering gangs of Negroes in the country districts of the far South, -promising them five dollars a day and board, and being careful not to -mention there was a strike; already carloads of them were on the way, -with special rates from the railroads, and all traffic ordered out of -the way. Many towns and cities were taking advantage of the chance to -clear out their jails and workhouses--in Detroit the magistrates would -release every man who agreed to leave town within twenty-four hours, -and agents of the packers were in the courtrooms to ship them right. And -meantime trainloads of supplies were coming in for their accommodation, -including beer and whisky, so that they might not be tempted to go -outside. They hired thirty young girls in Cincinnati to "pack fruit," -and when they arrived put them at work canning corned beef, and put cots -for them to sleep in a public hallway, through which the men passed. As -the gangs came in day and night, under the escort of squads of police, -they stowed away in unused workrooms and storerooms, and in the car -sheds, crowded so closely together that the cots touched. In some places -they would use the same room for eating and sleeping, and at night the -men would put their cots upon the tables, to keep away from the swarms -of rats. - -But with all their best efforts, the packers were demoralized. -Ninety per cent of the men had walked out; and they faced the task of -completely remaking their labor force--and with the price of meat up -thirty per cent, and the public clamoring for a settlement. They made an -offer to submit the whole question at issue to arbitration; and at the -end of ten days the unions accepted it, and the strike was called off. -It was agreed that all the men were to be re-employed within forty-five -days, and that there was to be "no discrimination against union men." - -This was an anxious time for Jurgis. If the men were taken back "without -discrimination," he would lose his present place. He sought out the -superintendent, who smiled grimly and bade him "wait and see." Durham's -strikebreakers were few of them leaving. - -Whether or not the "settlement" was simply a trick of the packers to -gain time, or whether they really expected to break the strike and -cripple the unions by the plan, cannot be said; but that night there -went out from the office of Durham and Company a telegram to all the big -packing centers, "Employ no union leaders." And in the morning, when the -twenty thousand men thronged into the yards, with their dinner pails and -working clothes, Jurgis stood near the door of the hog-trimming room, -where he had worked before the strike, and saw a throng of eager -men, with a score or two of policemen watching them; and he saw a -superintendent come out and walk down the line, and pick out man after -man that pleased him; and one after another came, and there were some -men up near the head of the line who were never picked--they being -the union stewards and delegates, and the men Jurgis had heard making -speeches at the meetings. Each time, of course, there were louder -murmurings and angrier looks. Over where the cattle butchers were -waiting, Jurgis heard shouts and saw a crowd, and he hurried there. One -big butcher, who was president of the Packing Trades Council, had been -passed over five times, and the men were wild with rage; they had -appointed a committee of three to go in and see the superintendent, and -the committee had made three attempts, and each time the police had -clubbed them back from the door. Then there were yells and hoots, -continuing until at last the superintendent came to the door. "We all go -back or none of us do!" cried a hundred voices. And the other shook his -fist at them, and shouted, "You went out of here like cattle, and like -cattle you'll come back!" - -Then suddenly the big butcher president leaped upon a pile of stones and -yelled: "It's off, boys. We'll all of us quit again!" And so the cattle -butchers declared a new strike on the spot; and gathering their members -from the other plants, where the same trick had been played, they -marched down Packers' Avenue, which was thronged with a dense mass of -workers, cheering wildly. Men who had already got to work on the killing -beds dropped their tools and joined them; some galloped here and there -on horseback, shouting the tidings, and within half an hour the whole of -Packingtown was on strike again, and beside itself with fury. - -There was quite a different tone in Packingtown after this--the place -was a seething caldron of passion, and the "scab" who ventured into -it fared badly. There were one or two of these incidents each day, the -newspapers detailing them, and always blaming them upon the unions. Yet -ten years before, when there were no unions in Packingtown, there was -a strike, and national troops had to be called, and there were pitched -battles fought at night, by the light of blazing freight trains. -Packingtown was always a center of violence; in "Whisky Point," where -there were a hundred saloons and one glue factory, there was always -fighting, and always more of it in hot weather. Any one who had taken -the trouble to consult the station house blotter would have found that -there was less violence that summer than ever before--and this while -twenty thousand men were out of work, and with nothing to do all day -but brood upon bitter wrongs. There was no one to picture the battle the -union leaders were fighting--to hold this huge army in rank, to keep -it from straggling and pillaging, to cheer and encourage and guide a -hundred thousand people, of a dozen different tongues, through six long -weeks of hunger and disappointment and despair. - -Meantime the packers had set themselves definitely to the task of making -a new labor force. A thousand or two of strikebreakers were brought in -every night, and distributed among the various plants. Some of them were -experienced workers,--butchers, salesmen, and managers from the packers' -branch stores, and a few union men who had deserted from other cities; -but the vast majority were "green" Negroes from the cotton districts of -the far South, and they were herded into the packing plants like sheep. -There was a law forbidding the use of buildings as lodging-houses unless -they were licensed for the purpose, and provided with proper windows, -stairways, and fire escapes; but here, in a "paint room," reached only -by an enclosed "chute," a room without a single window and only one -door, a hundred men were crowded upon mattresses on the floor. Up on -the third story of the "hog house" of Jones's was a storeroom, without -a window, into which they crowded seven hundred men, sleeping upon the -bare springs of cots, and with a second shift to use them by day. -And when the clamor of the public led to an investigation into -these conditions, and the mayor of the city was forced to order the -enforcement of the law, the packers got a judge to issue an injunction -forbidding him to do it! - -Just at this time the mayor was boasting that he had put an end -to gambling and prize fighting in the city; but here a swarm of -professional gamblers had leagued themselves with the police to fleece -the strikebreakers; and any night, in the big open space in front of -Brown's, one might see brawny Negroes stripped to the waist and pounding -each other for money, while a howling throng of three or four thousand -surged about, men and women, young white girls from the country rubbing -elbows with big buck Negroes with daggers in their boots, while rows of -woolly heads peered down from every window of the surrounding factories. -The ancestors of these black people had been savages in Africa; and -since then they had been chattel slaves, or had been held down by a -community ruled by the traditions of slavery. Now for the first time -they were free--free to gratify every passion, free to wreck themselves. -They were wanted to break a strike, and when it was broken they would be -shipped away, and their present masters would never see them again; and -so whisky and women were brought in by the carload and sold to them, and -hell was let loose in the yards. Every night there were stabbings and -shootings; it was said that the packers had blank permits, which -enabled them to ship dead bodies from the city without troubling the -authorities. They lodged men and women on the same floor; and with -the night there began a saturnalia of debauchery--scenes such as never -before had been witnessed in America. And as the women were the dregs -from the brothels of Chicago, and the men were for the most part -ignorant country Negroes, the nameless diseases of vice were soon rife; -and this where food was being handled which was sent out to every corner -of the civilized world. - -The "Union Stockyards" were never a pleasant place; but now they were -not only a collection of slaughterhouses, but also the camping place -of an army of fifteen or twenty thousand human beasts. All day long the -blazing midsummer sun beat down upon that square mile of abominations: -upon tens of thousands of cattle crowded into pens whose wooden floors -stank and steamed contagion; upon bare, blistering, cinder-strewn -railroad tracks, and huge blocks of dingy meat factories, whose -labyrinthine passages defied a breath of fresh air to penetrate them; -and there were not merely rivers of hot blood, and car-loads of -moist flesh, and rendering vats and soap caldrons, glue factories and -fertilizer tanks, that smelt like the craters of hell--there were also -tons of garbage festering in the sun, and the greasy laundry of the -workers hung out to dry, and dining rooms littered with food and black -with flies, and toilet rooms that were open sewers. - -And then at night, when this throng poured out into the streets to -play--fighting, gambling, drinking and carousing, cursing and screaming, -laughing and singing, playing banjoes and dancing! They were worked -in the yards all the seven days of the week, and they had their prize -fights and crap games on Sunday nights as well; but then around the -corner one might see a bonfire blazing, and an old, gray-headed Negress, -lean and witchlike, her hair flying wild and her eyes blazing, yelling -and chanting of the fires of perdition and the blood of the "Lamb," -while men and women lay down upon the ground and moaned and screamed in -convulsions of terror and remorse. - -Such were the stockyards during the strike; while the unions watched -in sullen despair, and the country clamored like a greedy child for its -food, and the packers went grimly on their way. Each day they added new -workers, and could be more stern with the old ones--could put them on -piecework, and dismiss them if they did not keep up the pace. Jurgis was -now one of their agents in this process; and he could feel the change -day by day, like the slow starting up of a huge machine. He had gotten -used to being a master of men; and because of the stifling heat and -the stench, and the fact that he was a "scab" and knew it and despised -himself. He was drinking, and developing a villainous temper, and he -stormed and cursed and raged at his men, and drove them until they were -ready to drop with exhaustion. - - -Then one day late in August, a superintendent ran into the place -and shouted to Jurgis and his gang to drop their work and come. They -followed him outside, to where, in the midst of a dense throng, they -saw several two-horse trucks waiting, and three patrol-wagon loads of -police. Jurgis and his men sprang upon one of the trucks, and the driver -yelled to the crowd, and they went thundering away at a gallop. Some -steers had just escaped from the yards, and the strikers had got hold of -them, and there would be the chance of a scrap! - -They went out at the Ashland Avenue gate, and over in the direction of -the "dump." There was a yell as soon as they were sighted, men and women -rushing out of houses and saloons as they galloped by. There were eight -or ten policemen on the truck, however, and there was no disturbance -until they came to a place where the street was blocked with a dense -throng. Those on the flying truck yelled a warning and the crowd -scattered pell-mell, disclosing one of the steers lying in its blood. -There were a good many cattle butchers about just then, with nothing -much to do, and hungry children at home; and so some one had knocked out -the steer--and as a first-class man can kill and dress one in a couple -of minutes, there were a good many steaks and roasts already missing. -This called for punishment, of course; and the police proceeded to -administer it by leaping from the truck and cracking at every head they -saw. There were yells of rage and pain, and the terrified people fled -into houses and stores, or scattered helter-skelter down the street. -Jurgis and his gang joined in the sport, every man singling out his -victim, and striving to bring him to bay and punch him. If he fled into -a house his pursuer would smash in the flimsy door and follow him up the -stairs, hitting every one who came within reach, and finally dragging -his squealing quarry from under a bed or a pile of old clothes in a -closet. - -Jurgis and two policemen chased some men into a bar-room. One of -them took shelter behind the bar, where a policeman cornered him and -proceeded to whack him over the back and shoulders, until he lay down -and gave a chance at his head. The others leaped a fence in the rear, -balking the second policeman, who was fat; and as he came back, furious -and cursing, a big Polish woman, the owner of the saloon, rushed in -screaming, and received a poke in the stomach that doubled her up on -the floor. Meantime Jurgis, who was of a practical temper, was helping -himself at the bar; and the first policeman, who had laid out his man, -joined him, handing out several more bottles, and filling his pockets -besides, and then, as he started to leave, cleaning off all the balance -with a sweep of his club. The din of the glass crashing to the floor -brought the fat Polish woman to her feet again, but another policeman -came up behind her and put his knee into her back and his hands over her -eyes--and then called to his companion, who went back and broke open -the cash drawer and filled his pockets with the contents. Then the three -went outside, and the man who was holding the woman gave her a shove and -dashed out himself. The gang having already got the carcass on to the -truck, the party set out at a trot, followed by screams and curses, -and a shower of bricks and stones from unseen enemies. These bricks and -stones would figure in the accounts of the "riot" which would be sent -out to a few thousand newspapers within an hour or two; but the episode -of the cash drawer would never be mentioned again, save only in the -heartbreaking legends of Packingtown. - - -It was late in the afternoon when they got back, and they dressed out -the remainder of the steer, and a couple of others that had been killed, -and then knocked off for the day. Jurgis went downtown to supper, with -three friends who had been on the other trucks, and they exchanged -reminiscences on the way. Afterward they drifted into a roulette parlor, -and Jurgis, who was never lucky at gambling, dropped about fifteen -dollars. To console himself he had to drink a good deal, and he went -back to Packingtown about two o'clock in the morning, very much the -worse for his excursion, and, it must be confessed, entirely deserving -the calamity that was in store for him. - -As he was going to the place where he slept, he met a painted-cheeked -woman in a greasy "kimono," and she put her arm about his waist to -steady him; they turned into a dark room they were passing--but scarcely -had they taken two steps before suddenly a door swung open, and a man -entered, carrying a lantern. "Who's there?" he called sharply. And -Jurgis started to mutter some reply; but at the same instant the man -raised his light, which flashed in his face, so that it was possible -to recognize him. Jurgis stood stricken dumb, and his heart gave a leap -like a mad thing. The man was Connor! - -Connor, the boss of the loading gang! The man who had seduced his -wife--who had sent him to prison, and wrecked his home, ruined his life! -He stood there, staring, with the light shining full upon him. - -Jurgis had often thought of Connor since coming back to Packingtown, but -it had been as of something far off, that no longer concerned him. -Now, however, when he saw him, alive and in the flesh, the same thing -happened to him that had happened before--a flood of rage boiled up in -him, a blind frenzy seized him. And he flung himself at the man, and -smote him between the eyes--and then, as he fell, seized him by the -throat and began to pound his head upon the stones. - -The woman began screaming, and people came rushing in. The lantern had -been upset and extinguished, and it was so dark they could not see a -thing; but they could hear Jurgis panting, and hear the thumping of -his victim's skull, and they rushed there and tried to pull him off. -Precisely as before, Jurgis came away with a piece of his enemy's flesh -between his teeth; and, as before, he went on fighting with those who -had interfered with him, until a policeman had come and beaten him into -insensibility. - - -And so Jurgis spent the balance of the night in the stockyards station -house. This time, however, he had money in his pocket, and when he came -to his senses he could get something to drink, and also a messenger -to take word of his plight to "Bush" Harper. Harper did not appear, -however, until after the prisoner, feeling very weak and ill, had been -hailed into court and remanded at five hundred dollars' bail to await -the result of his victim's injuries. Jurgis was wild about this, because -a different magistrate had chanced to be on the bench, and he had -stated that he had never been arrested before, and also that he had been -attacked first--and if only someone had been there to speak a good word -for him, he could have been let off at once. - -But Harper explained that he had been downtown, and had not got the -message. "What's happened to you?" he asked. - -"I've been doing a fellow up," said Jurgis, "and I've got to get five -hundred dollars' bail." - -"I can arrange that all right," said the other--"though it may cost you -a few dollars, of course. But what was the trouble?" - -"It was a man that did me a mean trick once," answered Jurgis. - -"Who is he?" - -"He's a foreman in Brown's or used to be. His name's Connor." - -And the other gave a start. "Connor!" he cried. "Not Phil Connor!" - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's the fellow. Why?" - -"Good God!" exclaimed the other, "then you're in for it, old man! I -can't help you!" - -"Not help me! Why not?" - -"Why, he's one of Scully's biggest men--he's a member of the War-Whoop -League, and they talked of sending him to the legislature! Phil Connor! -Great heavens!" - -Jurgis sat dumb with dismay. - -"Why, he can send you to Joliet, if he wants to!" declared the other. - -"Can't I have Scully get me off before he finds out about it?" asked -Jurgis, at length. - -"But Scully's out of town," the other answered. "I don't even know where -he is--he's run away to dodge the strike." - -That was a pretty mess, indeed. Poor Jurgis sat half-dazed. His pull had -run up against a bigger pull, and he was down and out! "But what am I -going to do?" he asked, weakly. - -"How should I know?" said the other. "I shouldn't even dare to get bail -for you--why, I might ruin myself for life!" - -Again there was silence. "Can't you do it for me," Jurgis asked, "and -pretend that you didn't know who I'd hit?" - -"But what good would that do you when you came to stand trial?" asked -Harper. Then he sat buried in thought for a minute or two. "There's -nothing--unless it's this," he said. "I could have your bail reduced; -and then if you had the money you could pay it and skip." - -"How much will it be?" Jurgis asked, after he had had this explained -more in detail. - -"I don't know," said the other. "How much do you own?" - -"I've got about three hundred dollars," was the answer. - -"Well," was Harper's reply, "I'm not sure, but I'll try and get you off -for that. I'll take the risk for friendship's sake--for I'd hate to see -you sent to state's prison for a year or two." - -And so finally Jurgis ripped out his bankbook--which was sewed up in his -trousers--and signed an order, which "Bush" Harper wrote, for all the -money to be paid out. Then the latter went and got it, and hurried to -the court, and explained to the magistrate that Jurgis was a -decent fellow and a friend of Scully's, who had been attacked by a -strike-breaker. So the bail was reduced to three hundred dollars, and -Harper went on it himself; he did not tell this to Jurgis, however--nor -did he tell him that when the time for trial came it would be an easy -matter for him to avoid the forfeiting of the bail, and pocket the three -hundred dollars as his reward for the risk of offending Mike Scully! All -that he told Jurgis was that he was now free, and that the best thing -he could do was to clear out as quickly as possible; and so Jurgis -overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, took the dollar and fourteen -cents that was left him out of all his bank account, and put it with the -two dollars and quarter that was left from his last night's celebration, -and boarded a streetcar and got off at the other end of Chicago. - - -Chapter 27 - - -Poor Jurgis was now an outcast and a tramp once more. He was -crippled--he was as literally crippled as any wild animal which has lost -its claws, or been torn out of its shell. He had been shorn, at one -cut, of all those mysterious weapons whereby he had been able to make a -living easily and to escape the consequences of his actions. He could -no longer command a job when he wanted it; he could no longer steal with -impunity--he must take his chances with the common herd. Nay worse, he -dared not mingle with the herd--he must hide himself, for he was one -marked out for destruction. His old companions would betray him, for the -sake of the influence they would gain thereby; and he would be made -to suffer, not merely for the offense he had committed, but for others -which would be laid at his door, just as had been done for some poor -devil on the occasion of that assault upon the "country customer" by him -and Duane. - -And also he labored under another handicap now. He had acquired new -standards of living, which were not easily to be altered. When he had -been out of work before, he had been content if he could sleep in a -doorway or under a truck out of the rain, and if he could get fifteen -cents a day for saloon lunches. But now he desired all sorts of other -things, and suffered because he had to do without them. He must have a -drink now and then, a drink for its own sake, and apart from the food -that came with it. The craving for it was strong enough to master every -other consideration--he would have it, though it were his last nickel -and he had to starve the balance of the day in consequence. - -Jurgis became once more a besieger of factory gates. But never since he -had been in Chicago had he stood less chance of getting a job than just -then. For one thing, there was the economic crisis, the million or two -of men who had been out of work in the spring and summer, and were not -yet all back, by any means. And then there was the strike, with seventy -thousand men and women all over the country idle for a couple of -months--twenty thousand in Chicago, and many of them now seeking work -throughout the city. It did not remedy matters that a few days later the -strike was given up and about half the strikers went back to work; for -every one taken on, there was a "scab" who gave up and fled. The ten -or fifteen thousand "green" Negroes, foreigners, and criminals were now -being turned loose to shift for themselves. Everywhere Jurgis went he -kept meeting them, and he was in an agony of fear lest some one of them -should know that he was "wanted." He would have left Chicago, only by -the time he had realized his danger he was almost penniless; and it -would be better to go to jail than to be caught out in the country in -the winter time. - -At the end of about ten days Jurgis had only a few pennies left; and he -had not yet found a job--not even a day's work at anything, not a chance -to carry a satchel. Once again, as when he had come out of the hospital, -he was bound hand and foot, and facing the grisly phantom of starvation. -Raw, naked terror possessed him, a maddening passion that would never -leave him, and that wore him down more quickly than the actual want of -food. He was going to die of hunger! The fiend reached out its scaly -arms for him--it touched him, its breath came into his face; and he -would cry out for the awfulness of it, he would wake up in the night, -shuddering, and bathed in perspiration, and start up and flee. He would -walk, begging for work, until he was exhausted; he could not remain -still--he would wander on, gaunt and haggard, gazing about him with -restless eyes. Everywhere he went, from one end of the vast city to the -other, there were hundreds of others like him; everywhere was the sight -of plenty and the merciless hand of authority waving them away. There is -one kind of prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that -he desires is outside; and there is another kind where the things are -behind the bars, and the man is outside. - -When he was down to his last quarter, Jurgis learned that before the -bakeshops closed at night they sold out what was left at half price, and -after that he would go and get two loaves of stale bread for a nickel, -and break them up and stuff his pockets with them, munching a bit from -time to time. He would not spend a penny save for this; and, after two -or three days more, he even became sparing of the bread, and would stop -and peer into the ash barrels as he walked along the streets, and now -and then rake out a bit of something, shake it free from dust, and count -himself just so many minutes further from the end. - -So for several days he had been going about, ravenous all the time, -and growing weaker and weaker, and then one morning he had a hideous -experience, that almost broke his heart. He was passing down a street -lined with warehouses, and a boss offered him a job, and then, after he -had started to work, turned him off because he was not strong enough. -And he stood by and saw another man put into his place, and then picked -up his coat, and walked off, doing all that he could to keep from -breaking down and crying like a baby. He was lost! He was doomed! There -was no hope for him! But then, with a sudden rush, his fear gave place -to rage. He fell to cursing. He would come back there after dark, and he -would show that scoundrel whether he was good for anything or not! - -He was still muttering this when suddenly, at the corner, he came upon -a green-grocery, with a tray full of cabbages in front of it. Jurgis, -after one swift glance about him, stooped and seized the biggest of -them, and darted round the corner with it. There was a hue and cry, -and a score of men and boys started in chase of him; but he came to an -alley, and then to another branching off from it and leading him into -another street, where he fell into a walk, and slipped his cabbage under -his coat and went off unsuspected in the crowd. When he had gotten -a safe distance away he sat down and devoured half the cabbage raw, -stowing the balance away in his pockets till the next day. - -Just about this time one of the Chicago newspapers, which made much of -the "common people," opened a "free-soup kitchen" for the benefit of -the unemployed. Some people said that they did this for the sake of the -advertising it gave them, and some others said that their motive was -a fear lest all their readers should be starved off; but whatever the -reason, the soup was thick and hot, and there was a bowl for every man, -all night long. When Jurgis heard of this, from a fellow "hobo," he -vowed that he would have half a dozen bowls before morning; but, as it -proved, he was lucky to get one, for there was a line of men two blocks -long before the stand, and there was just as long a line when the place -was finally closed up. - -This depot was within the danger line for Jurgis--in the "Levee" -district, where he was known; but he went there, all the same, for he -was desperate, and beginning to think of even the Bridewell as a place -of refuge. So far the weather had been fair, and he had slept out every -night in a vacant lot; but now there fell suddenly a shadow of the -advancing winter, a chill wind from the north and a driving storm of -rain. That day Jurgis bought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, and -at night he spent his last two pennies in a "stale-beer dive." This was -a place kept by a Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs of -beer that lay in barrels set outside of the saloons; and after he had -doctored it with chemicals to make it "fizz," he sold it for two cents a -can, the purchase of a can including the privilege of sleeping the night -through upon the floor, with a mass of degraded outcasts, men and women. - -All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, because he -was always contrasting them with the opportunities he had lost. For -instance, just now it was election time again--within five or six weeks -the voters of the country would select a President; and he heard the -wretches with whom he associated discussing it, and saw the streets -of the city decorated with placards and banners--and what words could -describe the pangs of grief and despair that shot through him? - -For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He had begged -all day, for his very life, and found not a soul to heed him, until -toward evening he saw an old lady getting off a streetcar and helped -her down with her umbrellas and bundles and then told her his "hard-luck -story," and after answering all her suspicious questions satisfactorily, -was taken to a restaurant and saw a quarter paid down for a meal. And so -he had soup and bread, and boiled beef and potatoes and beans, and pie -and coffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight as a football. And -then, through the rain and the darkness, far down the street he saw red -lights flaring and heard the thumping of a bass drum; and his heart gave -a leap, and he made for the place on the run--knowing without the asking -that it meant a political meeting. - -The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers termed -"apathy." For some reason the people refused to get excited over the -struggle, and it was almost impossible to get them to come to meetings, -or to make any noise when they did come. Those which had been held in -Chicago so far had proven most dismal failures, and tonight, the speaker -being no less a personage than a candidate for the vice-presidency of -the nation, the political managers had been trembling with anxiety. But -a merciful providence had sent this storm of cold rain--and now all it -was necessary to do was to set off a few fireworks, and thump awhile on -a drum, and all the homeless wretches from a mile around would pour in -and fill the hall! And then on the morrow the newspapers would have a -chance to report the tremendous ovation, and to add that it had been no -"silk-stocking" audience, either, proving clearly that the high -tariff sentiments of the distinguished candidate were pleasing to the -wage-earners of the nation. - -So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decorated with -flags and bunting; and after the chairman had made his little speech, -and the orator of the evening rose up, amid an uproar from the -band--only fancy the emotions of Jurgis upon making the discovery -that the personage was none other than the famous and eloquent Senator -Spareshanks, who had addressed the "Doyle Republican Association" at -the stockyards, and helped to elect Mike Scully's tenpin setter to the -Chicago Board of Aldermen! - -In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears into -Jurgis's eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon those golden -hours, when he, too, had a place beneath the shadow of the plum tree! -When he, too, had been of the elect, through whom the country is -governed--when he had had a bung in the campaign barrel for his own! And -this was another election in which the Republicans had all the money; -and but for that one hideous accident he might have had a share of it, -instead of being where he was! - - -The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; an -ingenious device whereby the workingman permitted the manufacturer to -charge him higher prices, in order that he might receive higher wages; -thus taking his money out of his pocket with one hand, and putting a -part of it back with the other. To the senator this unique arrangement -had somehow become identified with the higher verities of the universe. -It was because of it that Columbia was the gem of the ocean; and all her -future triumphs, her power and good repute among the nations, depended -upon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up the hands of -those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of this heroic company -was "the Grand Old Party"-- - -And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violent -start. Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperate effort -to understand what the senator was saying--to comprehend the extent of -American prosperity, the enormous expansion of American commerce, and -the Republic's future in the Pacific and in South America, and wherever -else the oppressed were groaning. The reason for it was that he wanted -to keep awake. He knew that if he allowed himself to fall asleep -he would begin to snore loudly; and so he must listen--he must be -interested! But he had eaten such a big dinner, and he was so exhausted, -and the hall was so warm, and his seat was so comfortable! The senator's -gaunt form began to grow dim and hazy, to tower before him and dance -about, with figures of exports and imports. Once his neighbor gave him -a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up with a start and tried to look -innocent; but then he was at it again, and men began to stare at him -with annoyance, and to call out in vexation. Finally one of them called -a policeman, who came and grabbed Jurgis by the collar, and jerked him -to his feet, bewildered and terrified. Some of the audience turned to -see the commotion, and Senator Spareshanks faltered in his speech; but a -voice shouted cheerily: "We're just firing a bum! Go ahead, old sport!" -And so the crowd roared, and the senator smiled genially, and went on; -and in a few seconds poor Jurgis found himself landed out in the rain, -with a kick and a string of curses. - -He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself. He was -not hurt, and he was not arrested--more than he had any right to expect. -He swore at himself and his luck for a while, and then turned his -thoughts to practical matters. He had no money, and no place to sleep; -he must begin begging again. - -He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the touch -of the icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was a lady, well -dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turned and walked beside -her. "Please, ma'am," he began, "could you lend me the price of a -night's lodging? I'm a poor working-man--" - -Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamp he had -caught sight of the lady's face. He knew her. - -It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding feast! -Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced with such a -queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster! Jurgis had only seen -her once or twice afterward, for Juozas had thrown her over for another -girl, and Alena had gone away from Packingtown, no one knew where. And -now he met her here! - -She was as much surprised as he was. "Jurgis Rudkus!" she gasped. "And -what in the world is the matter with you?" - -"I--I've had hard luck," he stammered. "I'm out of work, and I've no -home and no money. And you, Alena--are you married?" - -"No," she answered, "I'm not married, but I've got a good place." - -They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer. Finally Alena -spoke again. "Jurgis," she said, "I'd help you if I could, upon my -word I would, but it happens that I've come out without my purse, and -I honestly haven't a penny with me: I can do something better for you, -though--I can tell you how to get help. I can tell you where Marija is." - -Jurgis gave a start. "Marija!" he exclaimed. - -"Yes," said Alena; "and she'll help you. She's got a place, and she's -doing well; she'll be glad to see you." - -It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left Packingtown, -feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had been from Marija and -Elzbieta that he was escaping. But now, at the mere mention of them, his -whole being cried out with joy. He wanted to see them; he wanted to go -home! They would help him--they would be kind to him. In a flash he had -thought over the situation. He had a good excuse for running away--his -grief at the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse for not -returning--the fact that they had left Packingtown. "All right," he -said, "I'll go." - -So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, "There's no need -to give you my address, because Marija knows it." And Jurgis set out, -without further ado. He found a large brownstone house of aristocratic -appearance, and rang the basement bell. A young colored girl came to the -door, opening it about an inch, and gazing at him suspiciously. - -"What do you want?" she demanded. - -"Does Marija Berczynskas live here?" he inquired. - -"I dunno," said the girl. "What you want wid her?" - -"I want to see her," said he; "she's a relative of mine." - -The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, "Come -in." Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: "I'll go see. -What's yo' name?" - -"Tell her it's Jurgis," he answered, and the girl went upstairs. She -came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, "Dey ain't no sich -person here." - -Jurgis's heart went down into his boots. "I was told this was where she -lived!" he cried. But the girl only shook her head. "De lady says dey -ain't no sich person here," she said. - -And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. Then he -turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however, there came a -knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgis heard the shuffling -of feet, and then heard her give a cry; and the next moment she sprang -back, and past him, her eyes shining white with terror, and bounded up -the stairway, screaming at the top of her lungs: "Police! Police! We're -pinched!" - -Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated forms -rushing upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her cries had been the -signal for a wild uproar above; the house was full of people, and as he -entered the hallway he saw them rushing hither and thither, crying and -screaming with alarm. There were men and women, the latter clad for the -most part in wrappers, the former in all stages of dishabille. At one -side Jurgis caught a glimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered -chairs, and tables covered with trays and glasses. There were playing -cards scattered all over the floor--one of the tables had been upset, -and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents running out upon -the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, and two men who were -supporting her; and there were a dozen others crowding toward the front -door. - -Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon it, -causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout woman, with -painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came running down the stairs, -panting breathlessly: "To the rear! Quick!" - -She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the kitchen -she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, disclosing a -dark passageway. "Go in!" she cried to the crowd, which now amounted to -twenty or thirty, and they began to pass through. Scarcely had the last -one disappeared, however, before there were cries from in front, and -then the panic-stricken throng poured out again, exclaiming: "They're -there too! We're trapped!" - -"Upstairs!" cried the woman, and there was another rush of the mob, -women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be first. One -flight, two, three--and then there was a ladder to the roof, with a -crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man at the top, straining and -struggling to lift the trap door. It was not to be stirred, however, -and when the woman shouted up to unhook it, he answered: "It's already -unhooked. There's somebody sitting on it!" - -And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: "You might as well -quit, you people. We mean business, this time." - -So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen came -up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims. Of the latter -the men were for the most part frightened and sheepish-looking. The -women took it as a joke, as if they were used to it--though if they had -been pale, one could not have told, for the paint on their cheeks. One -black-eyed young girl perched herself upon the top of the balustrade, -and began to kick with her slippered foot at the helmets of the -policemen, until one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her -down. On the floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in the -hall, making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were noisy -and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of them, who wore a -bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a voice that drowned out all -the other sounds in the hall--and Jurgis took a glance at her, and then -gave a start, and a cry, "Marija!" - -She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half sprang -to her feet in amazement. "Jurgis!" she gasped. - -For a second or two they stood staring at each other. "How did you come -here?" Marija exclaimed. - -"I came to see you," he answered. - -"When?" - -"Just now." - -"But how did you know--who told you I was here?" - -"Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street." - -Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The rest of -the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and came closer to -him. "And you?" Jurgis asked. "You live here?" - -"Yes," said Marija, "I live here." Then suddenly came a hail from below: -"Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You'd best begin, or -you'll be sorry--it's raining outside." - -"Br-r-r!" shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the -various doors which lined the hallway. - -"Come," said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a tiny -place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a dressing stand -and some dresses hanging behind the door. There were clothes scattered -about on the floor, and hopeless confusion everywhere--boxes of rouge -and bottles of perfume mixed with hats and soiled dishes on the dresser, -and a pair of slippers and a clock and a whisky bottle on a chair. - -Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; yet she -proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the trouble to -close the door. He had by this time divined what sort of a place he was -in; and he had seen a great deal of the world since he had left home, -and was not easy to shock--and yet it gave him a painful start that -Marija should do this. They had always been decent people at home, and -it seemed to him that the memory of old times ought to have ruled her. -But then he laughed at himself for a fool. What was he, to be pretending -to decency! - -"How long have you been living here?" he asked. - -"Nearly a year," she answered. - -"Why did you come?" - -"I had to live," she said; "and I couldn't see the children starve." - -He paused for a moment, watching her. "You were out of work?" he asked, -finally. - -"I got sick," she replied, "and after that I had no money. And then -Stanislovas died--" - -"Stanislovas dead!" - -"Yes," said Marija, "I forgot. You didn't know about it." - -"How did he die?" - -"Rats killed him," she answered. - -Jurgis gave a gasp. "Rats killed him!" - -"Yes," said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes as she -spoke. "He was working in an oil factory--at least he was hired by the -men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on a long pole; and he'd -drink a little out of each can, and one day he drank too much, and fell -asleep in a corner, and got locked up in the place all night. When they -found him the rats had killed him and eaten him nearly all up." - -Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up her shoes. -There was a long silence. - -Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. "Hurry up, there," he said. - -"As quick as I can," said Marija, and she stood up and began putting on -her corsets with feverish haste. - -"Are the rest of the people alive?" asked Jurgis, finally. - -"Yes," she said. - -"Where are they?" - -"They live not far from here. They're all right now." - -"They are working?" he inquired. - -"Elzbieta is," said Marija, "when she can. I take care of them most of -the time--I'm making plenty of money now." - -Jurgis was silent for a moment. "Do they know you live here--how you -live?" he asked. - -"Elzbieta knows," answered Marija. "I couldn't lie to her. And maybe the -children have found out by this time. It's nothing to be ashamed of--we -can't help it." - -"And Tamoszius?" he asked. "Does he know?" - -Marija shrugged her shoulders. "How do I know?" she said. "I haven't -seen him for over a year. He got blood poisoning and lost one finger, -and couldn't play the violin any more; and then he went away." - -Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress. Jurgis -sat staring at her. He could hardly believe that she was the same woman -he had known in the old days; she was so quiet--so hard! It struck fear -to his heart to watch her. - -Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. "You look as if you had been -having a rough time of it yourself," she said. - -"I have," he answered. "I haven't a cent in my pockets, and nothing to -do." - -"Where have you been?" - -"All over. I've been hoboing it. Then I went back to the yards--just -before the strike." He paused for a moment, hesitating. "I asked for -you," he added. "I found you had gone away, no one knew where. Perhaps -you think I did you a dirty trick running away as I did, Marija--" - -"No," she answered, "I don't blame you. We never have--any of us. You -did your best--the job was too much for us." She paused a moment, then -added: "We were too ignorant--that was the trouble. We didn't stand any -chance. If I'd known what I know now we'd have won out." - -"You'd have come here?" said Jurgis. - -"Yes," she answered; "but that's not what I meant. I meant you--how -differently you would have behaved--about Ona." - -Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it. - -"When people are starving," the other continued, "and they have anything -with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess you realize it -now when it's too late. Ona could have taken care of us all, in the -beginning." Marija spoke without emotion, as one who had come to regard -things from the business point of view. - -"I--yes, I guess so," Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did not add -that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman's job, for the -satisfaction of knocking down "Phil" Connor a second time. - -The policeman came to the door again just then. "Come on, now," he said. -"Lively!" - -"All right," said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big enough to -be a drum major's, and full of ostrich feathers. She went out into the -hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman remaining to look under the bed -and behind the door. - -"What's going to come of this?" Jurgis asked, as they started down the -steps. - -"The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing--it happens to us every now and then. -The madame's having some sort of time with the police; I don't know -what it is, but maybe they'll come to terms before morning. Anyhow, they -won't do anything to you. They always let the men off." - -"Maybe so," he responded, "but not me--I'm afraid I'm in for it." - -"How do you mean?" - -"I'm wanted by the police," he said, lowering his voice, though of -course their conversation was in Lithuanian. "They'll send me up for a -year or two, I'm afraid." - -"Hell!" said Marija. "That's too bad. I'll see if I can't get you off." - -Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now massed, she -sought out the stout personage with the diamond earrings, and had a few -whispered words with her. The latter then approached the police sergeant -who was in charge of the raid. "Billy," she said, pointing to Jurgis, -"there's a fellow who came in to see his sister. He'd just got in the -door when you knocked. You aren't taking hoboes, are you?" - -The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. "Sorry," he said, "but the -orders are every one but the servants." - -So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodging behind -each other like sheep that have smelled a wolf. There were old men -and young men, college boys and gray-beards old enough to be their -grandfathers; some of them wore evening dress--there was no one among -them save Jurgis who showed any signs of poverty. - -When the roundup was completed, the doors were opened and the party -marched out. Three patrol wagons were drawn up at the curb, and the -whole neighborhood had turned out to see the sport; there was much -chaffing, and a universal craning of necks. The women stared about them -with defiant eyes, or laughed and joked, while the men kept their heads -bowed, and their hats pulled over their faces. They were crowded into -the patrol wagons as if into streetcars, and then off they went amid a -din of cheers. At the station house Jurgis gave a Polish name and was -put into a cell with half a dozen others; and while these sat and -talked in whispers, he lay down in a corner and gave himself up to his -thoughts. - -Jurgis had looked into the deepest reaches of the social pit, and grown -used to the sights in them. Yet when he had thought of all humanity as -vile and hideous, he had somehow always excepted his own family that he -had loved; and now this sudden horrible discovery--Marija a whore, and -Elzbieta and the children living off her shame! Jurgis might argue -with himself all he chose, that he had done worse, and was a fool -for caring--but still he could not get over the shock of that sudden -unveiling, he could not help being sunk in grief because of it. The -depths of him were troubled and shaken, memories were stirred in him -that had been sleeping so long he had counted them dead. Memories of the -old life--his old hopes and his old yearnings, his old dreams of decency -and independence! He saw Ona again, he heard her gentle voice pleading -with him. He saw little Antanas, whom he had meant to make a man. He saw -his trembling old father, who had blessed them all with his wonderful -love. He lived again through that day of horror when he had discovered -Ona's shame--God, how he had suffered, what a madman he had been! -How dreadful it had all seemed to him; and now, today, he had sat and -listened, and half agreed when Marija told him he had been a fool! -Yes--told him that he ought to have sold his wife's honor and lived by -it!--And then there was Stanislovas and his awful fate--that brief story -which Marija had narrated so calmly, with such dull indifference! The -poor little fellow, with his frostbitten fingers and his terror of the -snow--his wailing voice rang in Jurgis's ears, as he lay there in the -darkness, until the sweat started on his forehead. Now and then he -would quiver with a sudden spasm of horror, at the picture of little -Stanislovas shut up in the deserted building and fighting for his life -with the rats! - -All these emotions had become strangers to the soul of Jurgis; it was so -long since they had troubled him that he had ceased to think they might -ever trouble him again. Helpless, trapped, as he was, what good did they -do him--why should he ever have allowed them to torment him? It had been -the task of his recent life to fight them down, to crush them out of -him; never in his life would he have suffered from them again, save -that they had caught him unawares, and overwhelmed him before he could -protect himself. He heard the old voices of his soul, he saw its old -ghosts beckoning to him, stretching out their arms to him! But they were -far-off and shadowy, and the gulf between them was black and bottomless; -they would fade away into the mists of the past once more. Their voices -would die, and never again would he hear them--and so the last faint -spark of manhood in his soul would flicker out. - - -Chapter 28 - - -After breakfast Jurgis was driven to the court, which was crowded with -the prisoners and those who had come out of curiosity or in the hope -of recognizing one of the men and getting a case for blackmail. The men -were called up first, and reprimanded in a bunch, and then dismissed; -but, Jurgis, to his terror, was called separately, as being a -suspicious-looking case. It was in this very same court that he had been -tried, that time when his sentence had been "suspended"; it was the same -judge, and the same clerk. The latter now stared at Jurgis, as if he -half thought that he knew him; but the judge had no suspicions--just -then his thoughts were upon a telephone message he was expecting from a -friend of the police captain of the district, telling what disposition -he should make of the case of "Polly" Simpson, as the "madame" of the -house was known. Meantime, he listened to the story of how Jurgis had -been looking for his sister, and advised him dryly to keep his sister -in a better place; then he let him go, and proceeded to fine each of the -girls five dollars, which fines were paid in a bunch from a wad of bills -which Madame Polly extracted from her stocking. - -Jurgis waited outside and walked home with Marija. The police had left -the house, and already there were a few visitors; by evening the place -would be running again, exactly as if nothing had happened. Meantime, -Marija took Jurgis upstairs to her room, and they sat and talked. By -daylight, Jurgis was able to observe that the color on her cheeks was -not the old natural one of abounding health; her complexion was in -reality a parchment yellow, and there were black rings under her eyes. - -"Have you been sick?" he asked. - -"Sick?" she said. "Hell!" (Marija had learned to scatter her -conversation with as many oaths as a longshoreman or a mule driver.) -"How can I ever be anything but sick, at this life?" - -She fell silent for a moment, staring ahead of her gloomily. "It's -morphine," she said, at last. "I seem to take more of it every day." - -"What's that for?" he asked. - -"It's the way of it; I don't know why. If it isn't that, it's drink. If -the girls didn't booze they couldn't stand it any time at all. And the -madame always gives them dope when they first come, and they learn to -like it; or else they take it for headaches and such things, and get -the habit that way. I've got it, I know; I've tried to quit, but I never -will while I'm here." - -"How long are you going to stay?" he asked. - -"I don't know," she said. "Always, I guess. What else could I do?" - -"Don't you save any money?" - -"Save!" said Marija. "Good Lord, no! I get enough, I suppose, but it all -goes. I get a half share, two dollars and a half for each customer, and -sometimes I make twenty-five or thirty dollars a night, and you'd think -I ought to save something out of that! But then I am charged for my -room and my meals--and such prices as you never heard of; and then for -extras, and drinks--for everything I get, and some I don't. My laundry -bill is nearly twenty dollars each week alone--think of that! Yet what -can I do? I either have to stand it or quit, and it would be the same -anywhere else. It's all I can do to save the fifteen dollars I give -Elzbieta each week, so the children can go to school." - -Marija sat brooding in silence for a while; then, seeing that Jurgis was -interested, she went on: "That's the way they keep the girls--they -let them run up debts, so they can't get away. A young girl comes from -abroad, and she doesn't know a word of English, and she gets into a -place like this, and when she wants to go the madame shows her that she -is a couple of hundred dollars in debt, and takes all her clothes away, -and threatens to have her arrested if she doesn't stay and do as she's -told. So she stays, and the longer she stays, the more in debt she gets. -Often, too, they are girls that didn't know what they were coming to, -that had hired out for housework. Did you notice that little French girl -with the yellow hair, that stood next to me in the court?" - -Jurgis answered in the affirmative. - -"Well, she came to America about a year ago. She was a store clerk, and -she hired herself to a man to be sent here to work in a factory. There -were six of them, all together, and they were brought to a house just -down the street from here, and this girl was put into a room alone, and -they gave her some dope in her food, and when she came to she found that -she had been ruined. She cried, and screamed, and tore her hair, but she -had nothing but a wrapper, and couldn't get away, and they kept her half -insensible with drugs all the time, until she gave up. She never got -outside of that place for ten months, and then they sent her away, -because she didn't suit. I guess they'll put her out of here, too--she's -getting to have crazy fits, from drinking absinthe. Only one of -the girls that came out with her got away, and she jumped out of a -second-story window one night. There was a great fuss about that--maybe -you heard of it." - -"I did," said Jurgis, "I heard of it afterward." (It had happened in the -place where he and Duane had taken refuge from their "country customer." -The girl had become insane, fortunately for the police.) - -"There's lots of money in it," said Marija--"they get as much as forty -dollars a head for girls, and they bring them from all over. There are -seventeen in this place, and nine different countries among them. -In some places you might find even more. We have half a dozen French -girls--I suppose it's because the madame speaks the language. French -girls are bad, too, the worst of all, except for the Japanese. There's -a place next door that's full of Japanese women, but I wouldn't live in -the same house with one of them." - -Marija paused for a moment or two, and then she added: "Most of the -women here are pretty decent--you'd be surprised. I used to think they -did it because they liked to; but fancy a woman selling herself to -every kind of man that comes, old or young, black or white--and doing it -because she likes to!" - -"Some of them say they do," said Jurgis. - -"I know," said she; "they say anything. They're in, and they know they -can't get out. But they didn't like it when they began--you'd find -out--it's always misery! There's a little Jewish girl here who used to -run errands for a milliner, and got sick and lost her place; and she was -four days on the streets without a mouthful of food, and then she went -to a place just around the corner and offered herself, and they made her -give up her clothes before they would give her a bite to eat!" - -Marija sat for a minute or two, brooding somberly. "Tell me about -yourself, Jurgis," she said, suddenly. "Where have you been?" - -So he told her the long story of his adventures since his flight from -home; his life as a tramp, and his work in the freight tunnels, and the -accident; and then of Jack Duane, and of his political career in the -stockyards, and his downfall and subsequent failures. Marija listened -with sympathy; it was easy to believe the tale of his late starvation, -for his face showed it all. "You found me just in the nick of time," she -said. "I'll stand by you--I'll help you till you can get some work." - -"I don't like to let you--" he began. - -"Why not? Because I'm here?" - -"No, not that," he said. "But I went off and left you--" - -"Nonsense!" said Marija. "Don't think about it. I don't blame you." - -"You must be hungry," she said, after a minute or two. "You stay here to -lunch--I'll have something up in the room." - -She pressed a button, and a colored woman came to the door and took her -order. "It's nice to have somebody to wait on you," she observed, with a -laugh, as she lay back on the bed. - -As the prison breakfast had not been liberal, Jurgis had a good -appetite, and they had a little feast together, talking meanwhile -of Elzbieta and the children and old times. Shortly before they were -through, there came another colored girl, with the message that the -"madame" wanted Marija--"Lithuanian Mary," as they called her here. - -"That means you have to go," she said to Jurgis. - -So he got up, and she gave him the new address of the family, a tenement -over in the Ghetto district. "You go there," she said. "They'll be glad -to see you." - -But Jurgis stood hesitating. - -"I--I don't like to," he said. "Honest, Marija, why don't you just give -me a little money and let me look for work first?" - -"How do you need money?" was her reply. "All you want is something to -eat and a place to sleep, isn't it?" - -"Yes," he said; "but then I don't like to go there after I left -them--and while I have nothing to do, and while you--you--" - -"Go on!" said Marija, giving him a push. "What are you talking?--I won't -give you money," she added, as she followed him to the door, "because -you'll drink it up, and do yourself harm. Here's a quarter for you now, -and go along, and they'll be so glad to have you back, you won't have -time to feel ashamed. Good-by!" - - -So Jurgis went out, and walked down the street to think it over. He -decided that he would first try to get work, and so he put in the rest -of the day wandering here and there among factories and warehouses -without success. Then, when it was nearly dark, he concluded to go home, -and set out; but he came to a restaurant, and went in and spent his -quarter for a meal; and when he came out he changed his mind--the night -was pleasant, and he would sleep somewhere outside, and put in the -morrow hunting, and so have one more chance of a job. So he started away -again, when suddenly he chanced to look about him, and found that he -was walking down the same street and past the same hall where he had -listened to the political speech the night before. There was no red -fire and no band now, but there was a sign out, announcing a meeting, -and a stream of people pouring in through the entrance. In a flash -Jurgis had decided that he would chance it once more, and sit down -and rest while making up his mind what to do. There was no one taking -tickets, so it must be a free show again. - -He entered. There were no decorations in the hall this time; but there -was quite a crowd upon the platform, and almost every seat in the place -was filled. He took one of the last, far in the rear, and straightway -forgot all about his surroundings. Would Elzbieta think that he had come -to sponge off her, or would she understand that he meant to get to work -again and do his share? Would she be decent to him, or would she scold -him? If only he could get some sort of a job before he went--if that -last boss had only been willing to try him! - ---Then suddenly Jurgis looked up. A tremendous roar had burst from the -throats of the crowd, which by this time had packed the hall to the very -doors. Men and women were standing up, waving handkerchiefs, shouting, -yelling. Evidently the speaker had arrived, thought Jurgis; what fools -they were making of themselves! What were they expecting to get out -of it anyhow--what had they to do with elections, with governing the -country? Jurgis had been behind the scenes in politics. - -He went back to his thoughts, but with one further fact to reckon -with--that he was caught here. The hall was now filled to the doors; and -after the meeting it would be too late for him to go home, so he would -have to make the best of it outside. Perhaps it would be better to go -home in the morning, anyway, for the children would be at school, and -he and Elzbieta could have a quiet explanation. She always had been a -reasonable person; and he really did mean to do right. He would manage -to persuade her of it--and besides, Marija was willing, and Marija was -furnishing the money. If Elzbieta were ugly, he would tell her that in -so many words. - -So Jurgis went on meditating; until finally, when he had been an hour -or two in the hall, there began to prepare itself a repetition of the -dismal catastrophe of the night before. Speaking had been going on -all the time, and the audience was clapping its hands and shouting, -thrilling with excitement; and little by little the sounds were -beginning to blur in Jurgis's ears, and his thoughts were beginning to -run together, and his head to wobble and nod. He caught himself many -times, as usual, and made desperate resolutions; but the hall was hot -and close, and his long walk and is dinner were too much for him--in the -end his head sank forward and he went off again. - -And then again someone nudged him, and he sat up with his old terrified -start! He had been snoring again, of course! And now what? He fixed his -eyes ahead of him, with painful intensity, staring at the platform as -if nothing else ever had interested him, or ever could interest him, all -his life. He imagined the angry exclamations, the hostile glances; he -imagined the policeman striding toward him--reaching for his neck. Or -was he to have one more chance? Were they going to let him alone this -time? He sat trembling; waiting-- - -And then suddenly came a voice in his ear, a woman's voice, gentle -and sweet, "If you would try to listen, comrade, perhaps you would be -interested." - -Jurgis was more startled by that than he would have been by the touch of -a policeman. He still kept his eyes fixed ahead, and did not stir; -but his heart gave a great leap. Comrade! Who was it that called him -"comrade"? - -He waited long, long; and at last, when he was sure that he was no -longer watched, he stole a glance out of the corner of his eyes at the -woman who sat beside him. She was young and beautiful; she wore fine -clothes, and was what is called a "lady." And she called him "comrade"! - -He turned a little, carefully, so that he could see her better; then he -began to watch her, fascinated. She had apparently forgotten all -about him, and was looking toward the platform. A man was speaking -there--Jurgis heard his voice vaguely; but all his thoughts were for -this woman's face. A feeling of alarm stole over him as he stared at -her. It made his flesh creep. What was the matter with her, what could -be going on, to affect any one like that? She sat as one turned to -stone, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, so tightly that he could -see the cords standing out in her wrists. There was a look of excitement -upon her face, of tense effort, as of one struggling mightily, or -witnessing a struggle. There was a faint quivering of her nostrils; and -now and then she would moisten her lips with feverish haste. Her bosom -rose and fell as she breathed, and her excitement seemed to mount higher -and higher, and then to sink away again, like a boat tossing upon ocean -surges. What was it? What was the matter? It must be something that the -man was saying, up there on the platform. What sort of a man was he? -And what sort of thing was this, anyhow?--So all at once it occurred to -Jurgis to look at the speaker. - -It was like coming suddenly upon some wild sight of nature--a mountain -forest lashed by a tempest, a ship tossed about upon a stormy sea. -Jurgis had an unpleasant sensation, a sense of confusion, of disorder, -of wild and meaningless uproar. The man was tall and gaunt, as haggard -as his auditor himself; a thin black beard covered half of his face, -and one could see only two black hollows where the eyes were. He was -speaking rapidly, in great excitement; he used many gestures--as he spoke -he moved here and there upon the stage, reaching with his long arms as -if to seize each person in his audience. His voice was deep, like an -organ; it was some time, however, before Jurgis thought of the voice--he -was too much occupied with his eyes to think of what the man was saying. -But suddenly it seemed as if the speaker had begun pointing straight at -him, as if he had singled him out particularly for his remarks; and -so Jurgis became suddenly aware of his voice, trembling, vibrant with -emotion, with pain and longing, with a burden of things unutterable, not -to be compassed by words. To hear it was to be suddenly arrested, to be -gripped, transfixed. - -"You listen to these things," the man was saying, "and you say, 'Yes, -they are true, but they have been that way always.' Or you say, 'Maybe -it will come, but not in my time--it will not help me.' And so you -return to your daily round of toil, you go back to be ground up for -profits in the world-wide mill of economic might! To toil long hours -for another's advantage; to live in mean and squalid homes, to work in -dangerous and unhealthful places; to wrestle with the specters of hunger -and privation, to take your chances of accident, disease, and death. And -each day the struggle becomes fiercer, the pace more cruel; each day -you have to toil a little harder, and feel the iron hand of circumstance -close upon you a little tighter. Months pass, years maybe--and then you -come again; and again I am here to plead with you, to know if want and -misery have yet done their work with you, if injustice and oppression -have yet opened your eyes! I shall still be waiting--there is nothing -else that I can do. There is no wilderness where I can hide from these -things, there is no haven where I can escape them; though I travel to -the ends of the earth, I find the same accursed system--I find that all -the fair and noble impulses of humanity, the dreams of poets and the -agonies of martyrs, are shackled and bound in the service of organized -and predatory Greed! And therefore I cannot rest, I cannot be -silent; therefore I cast aside comfort and happiness, health and good -repute--and go out into the world and cry out the pain of my spirit! -Therefore I am not to be silenced by poverty and sickness, not by hatred -and obloquy, by threats and ridicule--not by prison and persecution, if -they should come--not by any power that is upon the earth or above the -earth, that was, or is, or ever can be created. If I fail tonight, I can -only try tomorrow; knowing that the fault must be mine--that if once -the vision of my soul were spoken upon earth, if once the anguish of -its defeat were uttered in human speech, it would break the stoutest -barriers of prejudice, it would shake the most sluggish soul to action! -It would abash the most cynical, it would terrify the most selfish; and -the voice of mockery would be silenced, and fraud and falsehood would -slink back into their dens, and the truth would stand forth alone! For I -speak with the voice of the millions who are voiceless! Of them that are -oppressed and have no comforter! Of the disinherited of life, for whom -there is no respite and no deliverance, to whom the world is a prison, a -dungeon of torture, a tomb! With the voice of the little child who toils -tonight in a Southern cotton mill, staggering with exhaustion, numb -with agony, and knowing no hope but the grave! Of the mother who sews by -candlelight in her tenement garret, weary and weeping, smitten with -the mortal hunger of her babes! Of the man who lies upon a bed of rags, -wrestling in his last sickness and leaving his loved ones to perish! Of -the young girl who, somewhere at this moment, is walking the streets of -this horrible city, beaten and starving, and making her choice between -the brothel and the lake! With the voice of those, whoever and wherever -they may be, who are caught beneath the wheels of the Juggernaut of -Greed! With the voice of humanity, calling for deliverance! Of the -everlasting soul of Man, arising from the dust; breaking its way out of -its prison--rending the bands of oppression and ignorance--groping its -way to the light!" - -The speaker paused. There was an instant of silence, while men caught -their breaths, and then like a single sound there came a cry from a -thousand people. Through it all Jurgis sat still, motionless and rigid, -his eyes fixed upon the speaker; he was trembling, smitten with wonder. - -Suddenly the man raised his hands, and silence fell, and he began again. - -"I plead with you," he said, "whoever you may be, provided that you care -about the truth; but most of all I plead with working-man, with those -to whom the evils I portray are not mere matters of sentiment, to be -dallied and toyed with, and then perhaps put aside and forgotten--to -whom they are the grim and relentless realities of the daily grind, the -chains upon their limbs, the lash upon their backs, the iron in their -souls. To you, working-men! To you, the toilers, who have made this -land, and have no voice in its councils! To you, whose lot it is to sow -that others may reap, to labor and obey, and ask no more than the wages -of a beast of burden, the food and shelter to keep you alive from day to -day. It is to you that I come with my message of salvation, it is to you -that I appeal. I know how much it is to ask of you--I know, for I have -been in your place, I have lived your life, and there is no man before -me here tonight who knows it better. I have known what it is to be a -street-waif, a bootblack, living upon a crust of bread and sleeping in -cellar stairways and under empty wagons. I have known what it is to dare -and to aspire, to dream mighty dreams and to see them perish--to see all -the fair flowers of my spirit trampled into the mire by the wild-beast -powers of my life. I know what is the price that a working-man pays for -knowledge--I have paid for it with food and sleep, with agony of body -and mind, with health, almost with life itself; and so, when I come to -you with a story of hope and freedom, with the vision of a new earth to -be created, of a new labor to be dared, I am not surprised that I find -you sordid and material, sluggish and incredulous. That I do not despair -is because I know also the forces that are driving behind you--because -I know the raging lash of poverty, the sting of contempt and mastership, -'the insolence of office and the spurns.' Because I feel sure that in -the crowd that has come to me tonight, no matter how many may be dull -and heedless, no matter how many may have come out of idle curiosity, or -in order to ridicule--there will be some one man whom pain and suffering -have made desperate, whom some chance vision of wrong and horror has -startled and shocked into attention. And to him my words will come like -a sudden flash of lightning to one who travels in darkness--revealing -the way before him, the perils and the obstacles--solving all problems, -making all difficulties clear! The scales will fall from his eyes, the -shackles will be torn from his limbs--he will leap up with a cry of -thankfulness, he will stride forth a free man at last! A man -delivered from his self-created slavery! A man who will never more -be trapped--whom no blandishments will cajole, whom no threats will -frighten; who from tonight on will move forward, and not backward, who -will study and understand, who will gird on his sword and take his -place in the army of his comrades and brothers. Who will carry the good -tidings to others, as I have carried them to him--priceless gift of -liberty and light that is neither mine nor his, but is the heritage of -the soul of man! Working-men, working-men--comrades! open your eyes and -look about you! You have lived so long in the toil and heat that your -senses are dulled, your souls are numbed; but realize once in your lives -this world in which you dwell--tear off the rags of its customs and -conventions--behold it as it is, in all its hideous nakedness! Realize -it, realize it! Realize that out upon the plains of Manchuria tonight -two hostile armies are facing each other--that now, while we are seated -here, a million human beings may be hurled at each other's throats, -striving with the fury of maniacs to tear each other to pieces! And this -in the twentieth century, nineteen hundred years since the Prince of -Peace was born on earth! Nineteen hundred years that his words have been -preached as divine, and here two armies of men are rending and tearing -each other like the wild beasts of the forest! Philosophers have -reasoned, prophets have denounced, poets have wept and pleaded--and -still this hideous Monster roams at large! We have schools and colleges, -newspapers and books; we have searched the heavens and the earth, we -have weighed and probed and reasoned--and all to equip men to destroy -each other! We call it War, and pass it by--but do not put me off with -platitudes and conventions--come with me, come with me--realize it! -See the bodies of men pierced by bullets, blown into pieces by bursting -shells! Hear the crunching of the bayonet, plunged into human flesh; -hear the groans and shrieks of agony, see the faces of men crazed by -pain, turned into fiends by fury and hate! Put your hand upon that piece -of flesh--it is hot and quivering--just now it was a part of a man! This -blood is still steaming--it was driven by a human heart! Almighty God! -and this goes on--it is systematic, organized, premeditated! And we know -it, and read of it, and take it for granted; our papers tell of it, and -the presses are not stopped--our churches know of it, and do not close -their doors--the people behold it, and do not rise up in horror and -revolution! - -"Or perhaps Manchuria is too far away for you--come home with me then, -come here to Chicago. Here in this city to-night ten thousand women are -shut up in foul pens, and driven by hunger to sell their bodies to live. -And we know it, we make it a jest! And these women are made in the image -of your mothers, they may be your sisters, your daughters; the child -whom you left at home tonight, whose laughing eyes will greet you in the -morning--that fate may be waiting for her! To-night in Chicago there are -ten thousand men, homeless and wretched, willing to work and begging for -a chance, yet starving, and fronting in terror the awful winter cold! -Tonight in Chicago there are a hundred thousand children wearing out -their strength and blasting their lives in the effort to earn their -bread! There are a hundred thousand mothers who are living in misery and -squalor, struggling to earn enough to feed their little ones! There are -a hundred thousand old people, cast off and helpless, waiting for death -to take them from their torments! There are a million people, men and -women and children, who share the curse of the wage-slave; who toil -every hour they can stand and see, for just enough to keep them alive; -who are condemned till the end of their days to monotony and weariness, -to hunger and misery, to heat and cold, to dirt and disease, to -ignorance and drunkenness and vice! And then turn over the page with me, -and gaze upon the other side of the picture. There are a thousand--ten -thousand, maybe--who are the masters of these slaves, who own their -toil. They do nothing to earn what they receive, they do not even have -to ask for it--it comes to them of itself, their only care is to dispose -of it. They live in palaces, they riot in luxury and extravagance--such -as no words can describe, as makes the imagination reel and stagger, -makes the soul grow sick and faint. They spend hundreds of dollars for a -pair of shoes, a handkerchief, a garter; they spend millions for horses -and automobiles and yachts, for palaces and banquets, for little shiny -stones with which to deck their bodies. Their life is a contest among -themselves for supremacy in ostentation and recklessness, in the -destroying of useful and necessary things, in the wasting of the labor -and the lives of their fellow creatures, the toil and anguish of the -nations, the sweat and tears and blood of the human race! It is all -theirs--it comes to them; just as all the springs pour into streamlets, -and the streamlets into rivers, and the rivers into the oceans--so, -automatically and inevitably, all the wealth of society comes to them. -The farmer tills the soil, the miner digs in the earth, the weaver tends -the loom, the mason carves the stone; the clever man invents, the shrewd -man directs, the wise man studies, the inspired man sings--and all the -result, the products of the labor of brain and muscle, are gathered into -one stupendous stream and poured into their laps! The whole of society -is in their grip, the whole labor of the world lies at their mercy--and -like fierce wolves they rend and destroy, like ravening vultures they -devour and tear! The whole power of mankind belongs to them, forever -and beyond recall--do what it can, strive as it will, humanity lives for -them and dies for them! They own not merely the labor of society, they -have bought the governments; and everywhere they use their raped and -stolen power to intrench themselves in their privileges, to dig wider -and deeper the channels through which the river of profits flows to -them!--And you, workingmen, workingmen! You have been brought up to -it, you plod on like beasts of burden, thinking only of the day and its -pain--yet is there a man among you who can believe that such a system -will continue forever--is there a man here in this audience tonight -so hardened and debased that he dare rise up before me and say that -he believes it can continue forever; that the product of the labor of -society, the means of existence of the human race, will always belong -to idlers and parasites, to be spent for the gratification of vanity and -lust--to be spent for any purpose whatever, to be at the disposal of any -individual will whatever--that somehow, somewhere, the labor of humanity -will not belong to humanity, to be used for the purposes of humanity, to -be controlled by the will of humanity? And if this is ever to be, how is -it to be--what power is there that will bring it about? Will it be the -task of your masters, do you think--will they write the charter of your -liberties? Will they forge you the sword of your deliverance, will they -marshal you the army and lead it to the fray? Will their wealth be spent -for the purpose--will they build colleges and churches to teach you, -will they print papers to herald your progress, and organize political -parties to guide and carry on the struggle? Can you not see that the -task is your task--yours to dream, yours to resolve, yours to execute? -That if ever it is carried out, it will be in the face of every obstacle -that wealth and mastership can oppose--in the face of ridicule and -slander, of hatred and persecution, of the bludgeon and the jail? That -it will be by the power of your naked bosoms, opposed to the rage of -oppression! By the grim and bitter teaching of blind and merciless -affliction! By the painful gropings of the untutored mind, by the feeble -stammerings of the uncultured voice! By the sad and lonely hunger of -the spirit; by seeking and striving and yearning, by heartache and -despairing, by agony and sweat of blood! It will be by money paid for -with hunger, by knowledge stolen from sleep, by thoughts communicated -under the shadow of the gallows! It will be a movement beginning in the -far-off past, a thing obscure and unhonored, a thing easy to ridicule, -easy to despise; a thing unlovely, wearing the aspect of vengeance and -hate--but to you, the working-man, the wage-slave, calling with a voice -insistent, imperious--with a voice that you cannot escape, wherever upon -the earth you may be! With the voice of all your wrongs, with the voice -of all your desires; with the voice of your duty and your hope--of -everything in the world that is worth while to you! The voice of the -poor, demanding that poverty shall cease! The voice of the oppressed, -pronouncing the doom of oppression! The voice of power, wrought out of -suffering--of resolution, crushed out of weakness--of joy and courage, -born in the bottomless pit of anguish and despair! The voice of Labor, -despised and outraged; a mighty giant, lying prostrate--mountainous, -colossal, but blinded, bound, and ignorant of his strength. And now a -dream of resistance haunts him, hope battling with fear; until suddenly -he stirs, and a fetter snaps--and a thrill shoots through him, to the -farthest ends of his huge body, and in a flash the dream becomes an act! -He starts, he lifts himself; and the bands are shattered, the burdens -roll off him--he rises--towering, gigantic; he springs to his feet, he -shouts in his newborn exultation--" - -And the speaker's voice broke suddenly, with the stress of his feelings; -he stood with his arms stretched out above him, and the power of his -vision seemed to lift him from the floor. The audience came to its feet -with a yell; men waved their arms, laughing aloud in their excitement. -And Jurgis was with them, he was shouting to tear his throat; shouting -because he could not help it, because the stress of his feeling was more -than he could bear. It was not merely the man's words, the torrent -of his eloquence. It was his presence, it was his voice: a voice with -strange intonations that rang through the chambers of the soul like the -clanging of a bell--that gripped the listener like a mighty hand about -his body, that shook him and startled him with sudden fright, with -a sense of things not of earth, of mysteries never spoken before, of -presences of awe and terror! There was an unfolding of vistas before -him, a breaking of the ground beneath him, an upheaving, a stirring, -a trembling; he felt himself suddenly a mere man no longer--there were -powers within him undreamed of, there were demon forces contending, -age-long wonders struggling to be born; and he sat oppressed with pain -and joy, while a tingling stole down into his finger tips, and his -breath came hard and fast. The sentences of this man were to Jurgis like -the crashing of thunder in his soul; a flood of emotions surged up -in him--all his old hopes and longings, his old griefs and rages and -despairs. All that he had ever felt in his whole life seemed to come -back to him at once, and with one new emotion, hardly to be described. -That he should have suffered such oppressions and such horrors was bad -enough; but that he should have been crushed and beaten by them, that he -should have submitted, and forgotten, and lived in peace--ah, truly that -was a thing not to be put into words, a thing not to be borne by a human -creature, a thing of terror and madness! "What," asks the prophet, "is -the murder of them that kill the body, to the murder of them that kill -the soul?" And Jurgis was a man whose soul had been murdered, who had -ceased to hope and to struggle--who had made terms with degradation -and despair; and now, suddenly, in one awful convulsion, the black and -hideous fact was made plain to him! There was a falling in of all the -pillars of his soul, the sky seemed to split above him--he stood there, -with his clenched hands upraised, his eyes bloodshot, and the veins -standing out purple in his face, roaring in the voice of a wild beast, -frantic, incoherent, maniacal. And when he could shout no more he still -stood there, gasping, and whispering hoarsely to himself: "By God! By -God! By God!" - - -Chapter 29 - - -The man had gone back to a seat upon the platform, and Jurgis realized -that his speech was over. The applause continued for several minutes; -and then some one started a song, and the crowd took it up, and the -place shook with it. Jurgis had never heard it, and he could not make -out the words, but the wild and wonderful spirit of it seized upon -him--it was the "Marseillaise!" As stanza after stanza of it thundered -forth, he sat with his hands clasped, trembling in every nerve. He -had never been so stirred in his life--it was a miracle that had been -wrought in him. He could not think at all, he was stunned; yet he knew -that in the mighty upheaval that had taken place in his soul, a new man -had been born. He had been torn out of the jaws of destruction, he had -been delivered from the thraldom of despair; the whole world had been -changed for him--he was free, he was free! Even if he were to suffer as -he had before, even if he were to beg and starve, nothing would be the -same to him; he would understand it, and bear it. He would no longer -be the sport of circumstances, he would be a man, with a will and a -purpose; he would have something to fight for, something to die for, -if need be! Here were men who would show him and help him; and he would -have friends and allies, he would dwell in the sight of justice, and -walk arm in arm with power. - -The audience subsided again, and Jurgis sat back. The chairman of the -meeting came forward and began to speak. His voice sounded thin and -futile after the other's, and to Jurgis it seemed a profanation. Why -should any one else speak, after that miraculous man--why should they -not all sit in silence? The chairman was explaining that a collection -would now be taken up to defray the expenses of the meeting, and for the -benefit of the campaign fund of the party. Jurgis heard; but he had not -a penny to give, and so his thoughts went elsewhere again. - -He kept his eyes fixed on the orator, who sat in an armchair, his head -leaning on his hand and his attitude indicating exhaustion. But suddenly -he stood up again, and Jurgis heard the chairman of the meeting saying -that the speaker would now answer any questions which the audience might -care to put to him. The man came forward, and some one--a woman--arose -and asked about some opinion the speaker had expressed concerning -Tolstoy. Jurgis had never heard of Tolstoy, and did not care anything -about him. Why should any one want to ask such questions, after an -address like that? The thing was not to talk, but to do; the thing was -to get bold of others and rouse them, to organize them and prepare for -the fight! But still the discussion went on, in ordinary conversational -tones, and it brought Jurgis back to the everyday world. A few minutes -ago he had felt like seizing the hand of the beautiful lady by his side, -and kissing it; he had felt like flinging his arms about the neck of the -man on the other side of him. And now he began to realize again that he -was a "hobo," that he was ragged and dirty, and smelled bad, and had no -place to sleep that night! - -And so, at last, when the meeting broke up, and the audience started to -leave, poor Jurgis was in an agony of uncertainty. He had not thought of -leaving--he had thought that the vision must last forever, that he had -found comrades and brothers. But now he would go out, and the thing -would fade away, and he would never be able to find it again! He sat in -his seat, frightened and wondering; but others in the same row wanted to -get out, and so he had to stand up and move along. As he was swept down -the aisle he looked from one person to another, wistfully; they were all -excitedly discussing the address--but there was nobody who offered to -discuss it with him. He was near enough to the door to feel the night -air, when desperation seized him. He knew nothing at all about that -speech he had heard, not even the name of the orator; and he was to go -away--no, no, it was preposterous, he must speak to some one; he must -find that man himself and tell him. He would not despise him, tramp as -he was! - -So he stepped into an empty row of seats and watched, and when the crowd -had thinned out, he started toward the platform. The speaker was gone; -but there was a stage door that stood open, with people passing in and -out, and no one on guard. Jurgis summoned up his courage and went in, -and down a hallway, and to the door of a room where many people were -crowded. No one paid any attention to him, and he pushed in, and in a -corner he saw the man he sought. The orator sat in a chair, with his -shoulders sunk together and his eyes half closed; his face was ghastly -pale, almost greenish in hue, and one arm lay limp at his side. A big -man with spectacles on stood near him, and kept pushing back the crowd, -saying, "Stand away a little, please; can't you see the comrade is worn -out?" - -So Jurgis stood watching, while five or ten minutes passed. Now and then -the man would look up, and address a word or two to those who were -near him; and, at last, on one of these occasions, his glance rested -on Jurgis. There seemed to be a slight hint of inquiry about it, and a -sudden impulse seized the other. He stepped forward. - -"I wanted to thank you, sir!" he began, in breathless haste. "I could -not go away without telling you how much--how glad I am I heard you. -I--I didn't know anything about it all--" - -The big man with the spectacles, who had moved away, came back at this -moment. "The comrade is too tired to talk to any one--" he began; but -the other held up his hand. - -"Wait," he said. "He has something to say to me." And then he looked -into Jurgis's face. "You want to know more about Socialism?" he asked. - -Jurgis started. "I--I--" he stammered. "Is it Socialism? I didn't know. -I want to know about what you spoke of--I want to help. I have been -through all that." - -"Where do you live?" asked the other. - -"I have no home," said Jurgis, "I am out of work." - -"You are a foreigner, are you not?" - -"Lithuanian, sir." - -The man thought for a moment, and then turned to his friend. "Who is -there, Walters?" he asked. "There is Ostrinski--but he is a Pole--" - -"Ostrinski speaks Lithuanian," said the other. "All right, then; would -you mind seeing if he has gone yet?" - -The other started away, and the speaker looked at Jurgis again. He had -deep, black eyes, and a face full of gentleness and pain. "You must -excuse me, comrade," he said. "I am just tired out--I have spoken every -day for the last month. I will introduce you to some one who will be -able to help you as well as I could--" - -The messenger had had to go no further than the door, he came back, -followed by a man whom he introduced to Jurgis as "Comrade Ostrinski." -Comrade Ostrinski was a little man, scarcely up to Jurgis's shoulder, -wizened and wrinkled, very ugly, and slightly lame. He had on a -long-tailed black coat, worn green at the seams and the buttonholes; his -eyes must have been weak, for he wore green spectacles that gave him -a grotesque appearance. But his handclasp was hearty, and he spoke in -Lithuanian, which warmed Jurgis to him. - -"You want to know about Socialism?" he said. "Surely. Let us go out and -take a stroll, where we can be quiet and talk some." - -And so Jurgis bade farewell to the master wizard, and went out. -Ostrinski asked where he lived, offering to walk in that direction; -and so he had to explain once more that he was without a home. At the -other's request he told his story; how he had come to America, and -what had happened to him in the stockyards, and how his family had been -broken up, and how he had become a wanderer. So much the little man -heard, and then he pressed Jurgis's arm tightly. "You have been through -the mill, comrade!" he said. "We will make a fighter out of you!" - -Then Ostrinski in turn explained his circumstances. He would have asked -Jurgis to his home--but he had only two rooms, and had no bed to offer. -He would have given up his own bed, but his wife was ill. Later on, when -he understood that otherwise Jurgis would have to sleep in a hallway, -he offered him his kitchen floor, a chance which the other was only too -glad to accept. "Perhaps tomorrow we can do better," said Ostrinski. "We -try not to let a comrade starve." - -Ostrinski's home was in the Ghetto district, where he had two rooms in -the basement of a tenement. There was a baby crying as they entered, -and he closed the door leading into the bedroom. He had three young -children, he explained, and a baby had just come. He drew up two chairs -near the kitchen stove, adding that Jurgis must excuse the disorder of -the place, since at such a time one's domestic arrangements were upset. -Half of the kitchen was given up to a workbench, which was piled with -clothing, and Ostrinski explained that he was a "pants finisher." He -brought great bundles of clothing here to his home, where he and his -wife worked on them. He made a living at it, but it was getting harder -all the time, because his eyes were failing. What would come when they -gave out he could not tell; there had been no saving anything--a man -could barely keep alive by twelve or fourteen hours' work a day. The -finishing of pants did not take much skill, and anybody could learn it, -and so the pay was forever getting less. That was the competitive wage -system; and if Jurgis wanted to understand what Socialism was, it was -there he had best begin. The workers were dependent upon a job to exist -from day to day, and so they bid against each other, and no man could -get more than the lowest man would consent to work for. And thus -the mass of the people were always in a life-and-death struggle with -poverty. That was "competition," so far as it concerned the wage-earner, -the man who had only his labor to sell; to those on top, the exploiters, -it appeared very differently, of course--there were few of them, and -they could combine and dominate, and their power would be unbreakable. -And so all over the world two classes were forming, with an unbridged -chasm between them--the capitalist class, with its enormous fortunes, -and the proletariat, bound into slavery by unseen chains. The latter -were a thousand to one in numbers, but they were ignorant and helpless, -and they would remain at the mercy of their exploiters until they were -organized--until they had become "class-conscious." It was a slow -and weary process, but it would go on--it was like the movement of a -glacier, once it was started it could never be stopped. Every -Socialist did his share, and lived upon the vision of the "good time -coming,"--when the working class should go to the polls and seize the -powers of government, and put an end to private property in the means -of production. No matter how poor a man was, or how much he suffered, he -could never be really unhappy while he knew of that future; even if he -did not live to see it himself, his children would, and, to a Socialist, -the victory of his class was his victory. Also he had always the -progress to encourage him; here in Chicago, for instance, the movement -was growing by leaps and bounds. Chicago was the industrial center -of the country, and nowhere else were the unions so strong; but their -organizations did the workers little good, for the employers were -organized, also; and so the strikes generally failed, and as fast as the -unions were broken up the men were coming over to the Socialists. - -Ostrinski explained the organization of the party, the machinery by -which the proletariat was educating itself. There were "locals" in every -big city and town, and they were being organized rapidly in the smaller -places; a local had anywhere from six to a thousand members, and there -were fourteen hundred of them in all, with a total of about twenty-five -thousand members, who paid dues to support the organization. "Local Cook -County," as the city organization was called, had eighty branch locals, -and it alone was spending several thousand dollars in the campaign. It -published a weekly in English, and one each in Bohemian and German; also -there was a monthly published in Chicago, and a cooperative publishing -house, that issued a million and a half of Socialist books and pamphlets -every year. All this was the growth of the last few years--there had -been almost nothing of it when Ostrinski first came to Chicago. - -Ostrinski was a Pole, about fifty years of age. He had lived in Silesia, -a member of a despised and persecuted race, and had taken part in the -proletarian movement in the early seventies, when Bismarck, having -conquered France, had turned his policy of blood and iron upon the -"International." Ostrinski himself had twice been in jail, but he had -been young then, and had not cared. He had had more of his share of the -fight, though, for just when Socialism had broken all its barriers and -become the great political force of the empire, he had come to America, -and begun all over again. In America every one had laughed at the mere -idea of Socialism then--in America all men were free. As if political -liberty made wage slavery any the more tolerable! said Ostrinski. - -The little tailor sat tilted back in his stiff kitchen chair, with his -feet stretched out upon the empty stove, and speaking in low whispers, -so as not to waken those in the next room. To Jurgis he seemed a -scarcely less wonderful person than the speaker at the meeting; he was -poor, the lowest of the low, hunger-driven and miserable--and yet how -much he knew, how much he had dared and achieved, what a hero he had -been! There were others like him, too--thousands like him, and all of -them workingmen! That all this wonderful machinery of progress had been -created by his fellows--Jurgis could not believe it, it seemed too good -to be true. - -That was always the way, said Ostrinski; when a man was first converted -to Socialism he was like a crazy person--he could not understand how -others could fail to see it, and he expected to convert all the world -the first week. After a while he would realize how hard a task it was; -and then it would be fortunate that other new hands kept coming, to save -him from settling down into a rut. Just now Jurgis would have plenty of -chance to vent his excitement, for a presidential campaign was on, and -everybody was talking politics. Ostrinski would take him to the next -meeting of the branch local, and introduce him, and he might join the -party. The dues were five cents a week, but any one who could not afford -this might be excused from paying. The Socialist party was a really -democratic political organization--it was controlled absolutely by -its own membership, and had no bosses. All of these things Ostrinski -explained, as also the principles of the party. You might say that there -was really but one Socialist principle--that of "no compromise," which -was the essence of the proletarian movement all over the world. When a -Socialist was elected to office he voted with old party legislators for -any measure that was likely to be of help to the working class, but -he never forgot that these concessions, whatever they might be, were -trifles compared with the great purpose--the organizing of the working -class for the revolution. So far, the rule in America had been that -one Socialist made another Socialist once every two years; and if -they should maintain the same rate they would carry the country in -1912--though not all of them expected to succeed as quickly as that. - -The Socialists were organized in every civilized nation; it was an -international political party, said Ostrinski, the greatest the world -had ever known. It numbered thirty million of adherents, and it cast -eight million votes. It had started its first newspaper in Japan, and -elected its first deputy in Argentina; in France it named members of -cabinets, and in Italy and Australia it held the balance of power and -turned out ministries. In Germany, where its vote was more than a third -of the total vote of the empire, all other parties and powers had united -to fight it. It would not do, Ostrinski explained, for the proletariat -of one nation to achieve the victory, for that nation would be crushed -by the military power of the others; and so the Socialist movement was a -world movement, an organization of all mankind to establish liberty and -fraternity. It was the new religion of humanity--or you might say it was -the fulfillment of the old religion, since it implied but the literal -application of all the teachings of Christ. - - -Until long after midnight Jurgis sat lost in the conversation of his -new acquaintance. It was a most wonderful experience to him--an almost -supernatural experience. It was like encountering an inhabitant of -the fourth dimension of space, a being who was free from all one's -own limitations. For four years, now, Jurgis had been wondering and -blundering in the depths of a wilderness; and here, suddenly, a hand -reached down and seized him, and lifted him out of it, and set him upon -a mountain-top, from which he could survey it all--could see the paths -from which he had wandered, the morasses into which he had stumbled, the -hiding places of the beasts of prey that had fallen upon him. There -were his Packingtown experiences, for instance--what was there about -Packingtown that Ostrinski could not explain! To Jurgis the packers had -been equivalent to fate; Ostrinski showed him that they were the Beef -Trust. They were a gigantic combination of capital, which had crushed -all opposition, and overthrown the laws of the land, and was preying -upon the people. Jurgis recollected how, when he had first come to -Packingtown, he had stood and watched the hog-killing, and thought how -cruel and savage it was, and come away congratulating himself that he -was not a hog; now his new acquaintance showed him that a hog was just -what he had been--one of the packers' hogs. What they wanted from a hog -was all the profits that could be got out of him; and that was what they -wanted from the workingman, and also that was what they wanted from -the public. What the hog thought of it, and what he suffered, were -not considered; and no more was it with labor, and no more with the -purchaser of meat. That was true everywhere in the world, but it was -especially true in Packingtown; there seemed to be something about the -work of slaughtering that tended to ruthlessness and ferocity--it was -literally the fact that in the methods of the packers a hundred human -lives did not balance a penny of profit. When Jurgis had made himself -familiar with the Socialist literature, as he would very quickly, he -would get glimpses of the Beef Trust from all sorts of aspects, and he -would find it everywhere the same; it was the incarnation of blind and -insensate Greed. It was a monster devouring with a thousand mouths, -trampling with a thousand hoofs; it was the Great Butcher--it was the -spirit of Capitalism made flesh. Upon the ocean of commerce it sailed -as a pirate ship; it had hoisted the black flag and declared war upon -civilization. Bribery and corruption were its everyday methods. In -Chicago the city government was simply one of its branch offices; it -stole billions of gallons of city water openly, it dictated to the -courts the sentences of disorderly strikers, it forbade the mayor to -enforce the building laws against it. In the national capital it had -power to prevent inspection of its product, and to falsify government -reports; it violated the rebate laws, and when an investigation was -threatened it burned its books and sent its criminal agents out of the -country. In the commercial world it was a Juggernaut car; it wiped out -thousands of businesses every year, it drove men to madness and suicide. -It had forced the price of cattle so low as to destroy the stock-raising -industry, an occupation upon which whole states existed; it had ruined -thousands of butchers who had refused to handle its products. It divided -the country into districts, and fixed the price of meat in all of them; -and it owned all the refrigerator cars, and levied an enormous tribute -upon all poultry and eggs and fruit and vegetables. With the millions -of dollars a week that poured in upon it, it was reaching out for -the control of other interests, railroads and trolley lines, gas and -electric light franchises--it already owned the leather and the grain -business of the country. The people were tremendously stirred up over -its encroachments, but nobody had any remedy to suggest; it was the task -of Socialists to teach and organize them, and prepare them for the time -when they were to seize the huge machine called the Beef Trust, and use -it to produce food for human beings and not to heap up fortunes for a -band of pirates. It was long after midnight when Jurgis lay down upon -the floor of Ostrinski's kitchen; and yet it was an hour before he -could get to sleep, for the glory of that joyful vision of the people of -Packingtown marching in and taking possession of the Union Stockyards! - - -Chapter 30 - - -Jurgis had breakfast with Ostrinski and his family, and then he went -home to Elzbieta. He was no longer shy about it--when he went in, -instead of saying all the things he had been planning to say, he started -to tell Elzbieta about the revolution! At first she thought he was out -of his mind, and it was hours before she could really feel certain that -he was himself. When, however, she had satisfied herself that he was -sane upon all subjects except politics, she troubled herself no -further about it. Jurgis was destined to find that Elzbieta's armor was -absolutely impervious to Socialism. Her soul had been baked hard in the -fire of adversity, and there was no altering it now; life to her was the -hunt for daily bread, and ideas existed for her only as they bore upon -that. All that interested her in regard to this new frenzy which had -seized hold of her son-in-law was whether or not it had a tendency to -make him sober and industrious; and when she found he intended to look -for work and to contribute his share to the family fund, she gave him -full rein to convince her of anything. A wonderfully wise little woman -was Elzbieta; she could think as quickly as a hunted rabbit, and in half -an hour she had chosen her life-attitude to the Socialist movement. -She agreed in everything with Jurgis, except the need of his paying his -dues; and she would even go to a meeting with him now and then, and sit -and plan her next day's dinner amid the storm. - -For a week after he became a convert Jurgis continued to wander about -all day, looking for work; until at last he met with a strange fortune. -He was passing one of Chicago's innumerable small hotels, and after some -hesitation he concluded to go in. A man he took for the proprietor was -standing in the lobby, and he went up to him and tackled him for a job. - -"What can you do?" the man asked. - -"Anything, sir," said Jurgis, and added quickly: "I've been out of work -for a long time, sir. I'm an honest man, and I'm strong and willing--" - -The other was eying him narrowly. "Do you drink?" he asked. - -"No, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Well, I've been employing a man as a porter, and he drinks. I've -discharged him seven times now, and I've about made up my mind that's -enough. Would you be a porter?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"It's hard work. You'll have to clean floors and wash spittoons and fill -lamps and handle trunks--" - -"I'm willing, sir." - -"All right. I'll pay you thirty a month and board, and you can begin -now, if you feel like it. You can put on the other fellow's rig." - -And so Jurgis fell to work, and toiled like a Trojan till night. Then -he went and told Elzbieta, and also, late as it was, he paid a visit to -Ostrinski to let him know of his good fortune. Here he received a great -surprise, for when he was describing the location of the hotel Ostrinski -interrupted suddenly, "Not Hinds's!" - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's the name." - -To which the other replied, "Then you've got the best boss in -Chicago--he's a state organizer of our party, and one of our best-known -speakers!" - -So the next morning Jurgis went to his employer and told him; and the -man seized him by the hand and shook it. "By Jove!" he cried, "that lets -me out. I didn't sleep all last night because I had discharged a good -Socialist!" - -So, after that, Jurgis was known to his "boss" as "Comrade Jurgis," and -in return he was expected to call him "Comrade Hinds." "Tommy" Hinds, -as he was known to his intimates, was a squat little man, with broad -shoulders and a florid face, decorated with gray side whiskers. -He was the kindest-hearted man that ever lived, and the -liveliest--inexhaustible in his enthusiasm, and talking Socialism all -day and all night. He was a great fellow to jolly along a crowd, and -would keep a meeting in an uproar; when once he got really waked up, the -torrent of his eloquence could be compared with nothing save Niagara. - -Tommy Hinds had begun life as a blacksmith's helper, and had run away -to join the Union army, where he had made his first acquaintance with -"graft," in the shape of rotten muskets and shoddy blankets. To a -musket that broke in a crisis he always attributed the death of his only -brother, and upon worthless blankets he blamed all the agonies of his -own old age. Whenever it rained, the rheumatism would get into his -joints, and then he would screw up his face and mutter: "Capitalism, my -boy, capitalism! 'Ecrasez l'infame!'" He had one unfailing remedy for -all the evils of this world, and he preached it to every one; no matter -whether the person's trouble was failure in business, or dyspepsia, or -a quarrelsome mother-in-law, a twinkle would come into his eyes and he -would say, "You know what to do about it--vote the Socialist ticket!" - -Tommy Hinds had set out upon the trail of the Octopus as soon as the war -was over. He had gone into business, and found himself in competition -with the fortunes of those who had been stealing while he had been -fighting. The city government was in their hands and the railroads were -in league with them, and honest business was driven to the wall; and -so Hinds had put all his savings into Chicago real estate, and set out -singlehanded to dam the river of graft. He had been a reform member -of the city council, he had been a Greenbacker, a Labor Unionist, a -Populist, a Bryanite--and after thirty years of fighting, the year 1896 -had served to convince him that the power of concentrated wealth could -never be controlled, but could only be destroyed. He had published a -pamphlet about it, and set out to organize a party of his own, when a -stray Socialist leaflet had revealed to him that others had been -ahead of him. Now for eight years he had been fighting for the -party, anywhere, everywhere--whether it was a G.A.R. reunion, or a -hotel-keepers' convention, or an Afro-American business-men's banquet, or -a Bible society picnic, Tommy Hinds would manage to get himself invited -to explain the relations of Socialism to the subject in hand. After that -he would start off upon a tour of his own, ending at some place between -New York and Oregon; and when he came back from there, he would go out -to organize new locals for the state committee; and finally he would -come home to rest--and talk Socialism in Chicago. Hinds's hotel was a -very hot-bed of the propaganda; all the employees were party men, and if -they were not when they came, they were quite certain to be before they -went away. The proprietor would get into a discussion with some one in -the lobby, and as the conversation grew animated, others would gather -about to listen, until finally every one in the place would be crowded -into a group, and a regular debate would be under way. This went on -every night--when Tommy Hinds was not there to do it, his clerk did it; -and when his clerk was away campaigning, the assistant attended to it, -while Mrs. Hinds sat behind the desk and did the work. The clerk was an -old crony of the proprietor's, an awkward, rawboned giant of a man, with -a lean, sallow face, a broad mouth, and whiskers under his chin, -the very type and body of a prairie farmer. He had been that all his -life--he had fought the railroads in Kansas for fifty years, a Granger, -a Farmers' Alliance man, a "middle-of-the-road" Populist. Finally, Tommy -Hinds had revealed to him the wonderful idea of using the trusts instead -of destroying them, and he had sold his farm and come to Chicago. - -That was Amos Struver; and then there was Harry Adams, the assistant -clerk, a pale, scholarly-looking man, who came from Massachusetts, of -Pilgrim stock. Adams had been a cotton operative in Fall River, and the -continued depression in the industry had worn him and his family out, -and he had emigrated to South Carolina. In Massachusetts the percentage -of white illiteracy is eight-tenths of one per cent, while in South -Carolina it is thirteen and six-tenths per cent; also in South Carolina -there is a property qualification for voters--and for these and other -reasons child labor is the rule, and so the cotton mills were driving -those of Massachusetts out of the business. Adams did not know this, he -only knew that the Southern mills were running; but when he got there -he found that if he was to live, all his family would have to work, and -from six o'clock at night to six o'clock in the morning. So he had set -to work to organize the mill hands, after the fashion in Massachusetts, -and had been discharged; but he had gotten other work, and stuck at it, -and at last there had been a strike for shorter hours, and Harry Adams -had attempted to address a street meeting, which was the end of him. -In the states of the far South the labor of convicts is leased to -contractors, and when there are not convicts enough they have to be -supplied. Harry Adams was sent up by a judge who was a cousin of the -mill owner with whose business he had interfered; and though the life -had nearly killed him, he had been wise enough not to murmur, and at -the end of his term he and his family had left the state of South -Carolina--hell's back yard, as he called it. He had no money for -carfare, but it was harvest-time, and they walked one day and worked -the next; and so Adams got at last to Chicago, and joined the Socialist -party. He was a studious man, reserved, and nothing of an orator; but -he always had a pile of books under his desk in the hotel, and articles -from his pen were beginning to attract attention in the party press. - -Contrary to what one would have expected, all this radicalism did not -hurt the hotel business; the radicals flocked to it, and the commercial -travelers all found it diverting. Of late, also, the hotel had become a -favorite stopping place for Western cattlemen. Now that the Beef Trust -had adopted the trick of raising prices to induce enormous shipments of -cattle, and then dropping them again and scooping in all they needed, -a stock raiser was very apt to find himself in Chicago without money -enough to pay his freight bill; and so he had to go to a cheap hotel, -and it was no drawback to him if there was an agitator talking in the -lobby. These Western fellows were just "meat" for Tommy Hinds--he -would get a dozen of them around him and paint little pictures of "the -System." Of course, it was not a week before he had heard Jurgis's -story, and after that he would not have let his new porter go for the -world. "See here," he would say, in the middle of an argument, "I've got -a fellow right here in my place who's worked there and seen every bit of -it!" And then Jurgis would drop his work, whatever it was, and come, and -the other would say, "Comrade Jurgis, just tell these gentlemen what you -saw on the killing-beds." At first this request caused poor Jurgis the -most acute agony, and it was like pulling teeth to get him to talk; but -gradually he found out what was wanted, and in the end he learned to -stand up and speak his piece with enthusiasm. His employer would sit by -and encourage him with exclamations and shakes of the head; when Jurgis -would give the formula for "potted ham," or tell about the condemned -hogs that were dropped into the "destructors" at the top and immediately -taken out again at the bottom, to be shipped into another state and made -into lard, Tommy Hinds would bang his knee and cry, "Do you think a man -could make up a thing like that out of his head?" - -And then the hotel-keeper would go on to show how the Socialists had the -only real remedy for such evils, how they alone "meant business" with -the Beef Trust. And when, in answer to this, the victim would say that -the whole country was getting stirred up, that the newspapers were full -of denunciations of it, and the government taking action against it, -Tommy Hinds had a knock-out blow all ready. "Yes," he would say, "all -that is true--but what do you suppose is the reason for it? Are you -foolish enough to believe that it's done for the public? There are -other trusts in the country just as illegal and extortionate as the Beef -Trust: there is the Coal Trust, that freezes the poor in winter--there -is the Steel Trust, that doubles the price of every nail in your -shoes--there is the Oil Trust, that keeps you from reading at night--and -why do you suppose it is that all the fury of the press and the -government is directed against the Beef Trust?" And when to this the -victim would reply that there was clamor enough over the Oil Trust, the -other would continue: "Ten years ago Henry D. Lloyd told all the truth -about the Standard Oil Company in his Wealth versus Commonwealth; and -the book was allowed to die, and you hardly ever hear of it. And now, at -last, two magazines have the courage to tackle 'Standard Oil' again, and -what happens? The newspapers ridicule the authors, the churches defend -the criminals, and the government--does nothing. And now, why is it all -so different with the Beef Trust?" - -Here the other would generally admit that he was "stuck"; and Tommy -Hinds would explain to him, and it was fun to see his eyes open. "If you -were a Socialist," the hotel-keeper would say, "you would understand that -the power which really governs the United States today is the Railroad -Trust. It is the Railroad Trust that runs your state government, -wherever you live, and that runs the United States Senate. And all of -the trusts that I have named are railroad trusts--save only the Beef -Trust! The Beef Trust has defied the railroads--it is plundering them -day by day through the Private Car; and so the public is roused to -fury, and the papers clamor for action, and the government goes on the -war-path! And you poor common people watch and applaud the job, and -think it's all done for you, and never dream that it is really the grand -climax of the century-long battle of commercial competition--the final -death grapple between the chiefs of the Beef Trust and 'Standard Oil,' -for the prize of the mastery and ownership of the United States of -America!" - - -Such was the new home in which Jurgis lived and worked, and in which his -education was completed. Perhaps you would imagine that he did not do -much work there, but that would be a great mistake. He would have cut -off one hand for Tommy Hinds; and to keep Hinds's hotel a thing of -beauty was his joy in life. That he had a score of Socialist arguments -chasing through his brain in the meantime did not interfere with -this; on the contrary, Jurgis scrubbed the spittoons and polished -the banisters all the more vehemently because at the same time he was -wrestling inwardly with an imaginary recalcitrant. It would be pleasant -to record that he swore off drinking immediately, and all the rest -of his bad habits with it; but that would hardly be exact. These -revolutionists were not angels; they were men, and men who had come up -from the social pit, and with the mire of it smeared over them. Some of -them drank, and some of them swore, and some of them ate pie with their -knives; there was only one difference between them and all the rest of -the populace--that they were men with a hope, with a cause to fight -for and suffer for. There came times to Jurgis when the vision seemed -far-off and pale, and a glass of beer loomed large in comparison; but -if the glass led to another glass, and to too many glasses, he had -something to spur him to remorse and resolution on the morrow. It was -so evidently a wicked thing to spend one's pennies for drink, when the -working class was wandering in darkness, and waiting to be delivered; -the price of a glass of beer would buy fifty copies of a leaflet, and -one could hand these out to the unregenerate, and then get drunk upon -the thought of the good that was being accomplished. That was the way -the movement had been made, and it was the only way it would progress; -it availed nothing to know of it, without fighting for it--it was a -thing for all, not for a few! A corollary of this proposition of course -was, that any one who refused to receive the new gospel was personally -responsible for keeping Jurgis from his heart's desire; and this, alas, -made him uncomfortable as an acquaintance. He met some neighbors with -whom Elzbieta had made friends in her neighborhood, and he set out to -make Socialists of them by wholesale, and several times he all but got -into a fight. - -It was all so painfully obvious to Jurgis! It was so incomprehensible -how a man could fail to see it! Here were all the opportunities of the -country, the land, and the buildings upon the land, the railroads, the -mines, the factories, and the stores, all in the hands of a few private -individuals, called capitalists, for whom the people were obliged to -work for wages. The whole balance of what the people produced went to -heap up the fortunes of these capitalists, to heap, and heap again, and -yet again--and that in spite of the fact that they, and every one about -them, lived in unthinkable luxury! And was it not plain that if the -people cut off the share of those who merely "owned," the share of those -who worked would be much greater? That was as plain as two and two makes -four; and it was the whole of it, absolutely the whole of it; and yet -there were people who could not see it, who would argue about everything -else in the world. They would tell you that governments could not manage -things as economically as private individuals; they would repeat and -repeat that, and think they were saying something! They could not see -that "economical" management by masters meant simply that they, the -people, were worked harder and ground closer and paid less! They were -wage-earners and servants, at the mercy of exploiters whose one thought -was to get as much out of them as possible; and they were taking -an interest in the process, were anxious lest it should not be done -thoroughly enough! Was it not honestly a trial to listen to an argument -such as that? - -And yet there were things even worse. You would begin talking to some -poor devil who had worked in one shop for the last thirty years, and -had never been able to save a penny; who left home every morning at six -o'clock, to go and tend a machine, and come back at night too tired to -take his clothes off; who had never had a week's vacation in his life, -had never traveled, never had an adventure, never learned anything, -never hoped anything--and when you started to tell him about -Socialism he would sniff and say, "I'm not interested in that--I'm an -individualist!" And then he would go on to tell you that Socialism was -"paternalism," and that if it ever had its way the world would stop -progressing. It was enough to make a mule laugh, to hear arguments like -that; and yet it was no laughing matter, as you found out--for how many -millions of such poor deluded wretches there were, whose lives had been -so stunted by capitalism that they no longer knew what freedom was! And -they really thought that it was "individualism" for tens of thousands -of them to herd together and obey the orders of a steel magnate, and -produce hundreds of millions of dollars of wealth for him, and then let -him give them libraries; while for them to take the industry, and run it -to suit themselves, and build their own libraries--that would have been -"Paternalism"! - -Sometimes the agony of such things as this was almost more than Jurgis -could bear; yet there was no way of escape from it, there was nothing -to do but to dig away at the base of this mountain of ignorance and -prejudice. You must keep at the poor fellow; you must hold your temper, -and argue with him, and watch for your chance to stick an idea or -two into his head. And the rest of the time you must sharpen up your -weapons--you must think out new replies to his objections, and provide -yourself with new facts to prove to him the folly of his ways. - -So Jurgis acquired the reading habit. He would carry in his pocket a -tract or a pamphlet which some one had loaned him, and whenever he had -an idle moment during the day he would plod through a paragraph, and -then think about it while he worked. Also he read the newspapers, and -asked questions about them. One of the other porters at Hinds's was a -sharp little Irishman, who knew everything that Jurgis wanted to know; -and while they were busy he would explain to him the geography of -America, and its history, its constitution and its laws; also he gave -him an idea of the business system of the country, the great railroads -and corporations, and who owned them, and the labor unions, and the big -strikes, and the men who had led them. Then at night, when he could get -off, Jurgis would attend the Socialist meetings. During the campaign one -was not dependent upon the street corner affairs, where the weather -and the quality of the orator were equally uncertain; there were -hall meetings every night, and one could hear speakers of national -prominence. These discussed the political situation from every point of -view, and all that troubled Jurgis was the impossibility of carrying off -but a small part of the treasures they offered him. - -There was a man who was known in the party as the "Little Giant." The -Lord had used up so much material in the making of his head that there -had not been enough to complete his legs; but he got about on the -platform, and when he shook his raven whiskers the pillars of capitalism -rocked. He had written a veritable encyclopedia upon the subject, a book -that was nearly as big as himself--And then there was a young -author, who came from California, and had been a salmon fisher, an -oyster-pirate, a longshoreman, a sailor; who had tramped the country and -been sent to jail, had lived in the Whitechapel slums, and been to the -Klondike in search of gold. All these things he pictured in his books, -and because he was a man of genius he forced the world to hear him. Now -he was famous, but wherever he went he still preached the gospel of -the poor. And then there was one who was known at the "millionaire -Socialist." He had made a fortune in business, and spent nearly all of -it in building up a magazine, which the post office department had tried -to suppress, and had driven to Canada. He was a quiet-mannered man, whom -you would have taken for anything in the world but a Socialist agitator. -His speech was simple and informal--he could not understand why any -one should get excited about these things. It was a process of economic -evolution, he said, and he exhibited its laws and methods. Life was a -struggle for existence, and the strong overcame the weak, and in turn -were overcome by the strongest. Those who lost in the struggle were -generally exterminated; but now and then they had been known to save -themselves by combination--which was a new and higher kind of strength. -It was so that the gregarious animals had overcome the predaceous; it -was so, in human history, that the people had mastered the kings. The -workers were simply the citizens of industry, and the Socialist movement -was the expression of their will to survive. The inevitability of the -revolution depended upon this fact, that they had no choice but to unite -or be exterminated; this fact, grim and inexorable, depended upon no -human will, it was the law of the economic process, of which the editor -showed the details with the most marvelous precision. - -And later on came the evening of the great meeting of the campaign, when -Jurgis heard the two standard-bearers of his party. Ten years before -there had been in Chicago a strike of a hundred and fifty thousand -railroad employees, and thugs had been hired by the railroads to commit -violence, and the President of the United States had sent in troops -to break the strike, by flinging the officers of the union into jail -without trial. The president of the union came out of his cell a ruined -man; but also he came out a Socialist; and now for just ten years he had -been traveling up and down the country, standing face to face with the -people, and pleading with them for justice. He was a man of electric -presence, tall and gaunt, with a face worn thin by struggle and -suffering. The fury of outraged manhood gleamed in it--and the tears of -suffering little children pleaded in his voice. When he spoke he paced -the stage, lithe and eager, like a panther. He leaned over, reaching out -for his audience; he pointed into their souls with an insistent finger. -His voice was husky from much speaking, but the great auditorium was as -still as death, and every one heard him. - -And then, as Jurgis came out from this meeting, some one handed him -a paper which he carried home with him and read; and so he became -acquainted with the "Appeal to Reason." About twelve years previously a -Colorado real-estate speculator had made up his mind that it was wrong -to gamble in the necessities of life of human beings: and so he had -retired and begun the publication of a Socialist weekly. There had come -a time when he had to set his own type, but he had held on and won out, -and now his publication was an institution. It used a carload of paper -every week, and the mail trains would be hours loading up at the depot -of the little Kansas town. It was a four-page weekly, which sold for -less than half a cent a copy; its regular subscription list was a -quarter of a million, and it went to every crossroads post office in -America. - -The "Appeal" was a "propaganda" paper. It had a manner all its own--it -was full of ginger and spice, of Western slang and hustle: It collected -news of the doings of the "plutes," and served it up for the benefit -of the "American working-mule." It would have columns of the deadly -parallel--the million dollars' worth of diamonds, or the fancy -pet-poodle establishment of a society dame, beside the fate of Mrs. -Murphy of San Francisco, who had starved to death on the streets, or of -John Robinson, just out of the hospital, who had hanged himself in New -York because he could not find work. It collected the stories of graft -and misery from the daily press, and made a little pungent paragraphs -out of them. "Three banks of Bungtown, South Dakota, failed, and -more savings of the workers swallowed up!" "The mayor of Sandy Creek, -Oklahoma, has skipped with a hundred thousand dollars. That's the kind -of rulers the old partyites give you!" "The president of the Florida -Flying Machine Company is in jail for bigamy. He was a prominent -opponent of Socialism, which he said would break up the home!" The -"Appeal" had what it called its "Army," about thirty thousand of the -faithful, who did things for it; and it was always exhorting the "Army" -to keep its dander up, and occasionally encouraging it with a prize -competition, for anything from a gold watch to a private yacht or an -eighty-acre farm. Its office helpers were all known to the "Army" by -quaint titles--"Inky Ike," "the Bald-headed Man," "the Redheaded Girl," -"the Bulldog," "the Office Goat," and "the One Hoss." - -But sometimes, again, the "Appeal" would be desperately serious. It sent -a correspondent to Colorado, and printed pages describing the overthrow -of American institutions in that state. In a certain city of the country -it had over forty of its "Army" in the headquarters of the Telegraph -Trust, and no message of importance to Socialists ever went through that -a copy of it did not go to the "Appeal." It would print great broadsides -during the campaign; one copy that came to Jurgis was a manifesto -addressed to striking workingmen, of which nearly a million copies had -been distributed in the industrial centers, wherever the employers' -associations had been carrying out their "open shop" program. "You have -lost the strike!" it was headed. "And now what are you going to do about -it?" It was what is called an "incendiary" appeal--it was written by a -man into whose soul the iron had entered. When this edition appeared, -twenty thousand copies were sent to the stockyards district; and they -were taken out and stowed away in the rear of a little cigar store, and -every evening, and on Sundays, the members of the Packingtown locals -would get armfuls and distribute them on the streets and in the houses. -The people of Packingtown had lost their strike, if ever a people had, -and so they read these papers gladly, and twenty thousand were hardly -enough to go round. Jurgis had resolved not to go near his old home -again, but when he heard of this it was too much for him, and every -night for a week he would get on the car and ride out to the stockyards, -and help to undo his work of the previous year, when he had sent Mike -Scully's ten-pin setter to the city Board of Aldermen. - -It was quite marvelous to see what a difference twelve months had -made in Packingtown--the eyes of the people were getting opened! The -Socialists were literally sweeping everything before them that election, -and Scully and the Cook County machine were at their wits' end for an -"issue." At the very close of the campaign they bethought themselves of -the fact that the strike had been broken by Negroes, and so they sent -for a South Carolina fire-eater, the "pitchfork senator," as he was -called, a man who took off his coat when he talked to workingmen, -and damned and swore like a Hessian. This meeting they advertised -extensively, and the Socialists advertised it too--with the result -that about a thousand of them were on hand that evening. The "pitchfork -senator" stood their fusillade of questions for about an hour, and then -went home in disgust, and the balance of the meeting was a strictly -party affair. Jurgis, who had insisted upon coming, had the time of -his life that night; he danced about and waved his arms in his -excitement--and at the very climax he broke loose from his friends, -and got out into the aisle, and proceeded to make a speech himself! The -senator had been denying that the Democratic party was corrupt; it -was always the Republicans who bought the votes, he said--and here was -Jurgis shouting furiously, "It's a lie! It's a lie!" After which he went -on to tell them how he knew it--that he knew it because he had bought -them himself! And he would have told the "pitchfork senator" all his -experiences, had not Harry Adams and a friend grabbed him about the neck -and shoved him into a seat. - - -Chapter 31 - - -One of the first things that Jurgis had done after he got a job was to -go and see Marija. She came down into the basement of the house to meet -him, and he stood by the door with his hat in his hand, saying, "I've -got work now, and so you can leave here." - -But Marija only shook her head. There was nothing else for her to -do, she said, and nobody to employ her. She could not keep her past a -secret--girls had tried it, and they were always found out. There were -thousands of men who came to this place, and sooner or later she would -meet one of them. "And besides," Marija added, "I can't do anything. I'm -no good--I take dope. What could you do with me?" - -"Can't you stop?" Jurgis cried. - -"No," she answered, "I'll never stop. What's the use of talking about -it--I'll stay here till I die, I guess. It's all I'm fit for." And that -was all that he could get her to say--there was no use trying. When -he told her he would not let Elzbieta take her money, she answered -indifferently: "Then it'll be wasted here--that's all." Her eyelids -looked heavy and her face was red and swollen; he saw that he was -annoying her, that she only wanted him to go away. So he went, -disappointed and sad. - -Poor Jurgis was not very happy in his home-life. Elzbieta was sick a -good deal now, and the boys were wild and unruly, and very much the -worse for their life upon the streets. But he stuck by the family -nevertheless, for they reminded him of his old happiness; and when -things went wrong he could solace himself with a plunge into the -Socialist movement. Since his life had been caught up into the current -of this great stream, things which had before been the whole of life -to him came to seem of relatively slight importance; his interests were -elsewhere, in the world of ideas. His outward life was commonplace and -uninteresting; he was just a hotel-porter, and expected to remain one -while he lived; but meantime, in the realm of thought, his life was a -perpetual adventure. There was so much to know--so many wonders to -be discovered! Never in all his life did Jurgis forget the day before -election, when there came a telephone message from a friend of Harry -Adams, asking him to bring Jurgis to see him that night; and Jurgis -went, and met one of the minds of the movement. - -The invitation was from a man named Fisher, a Chicago millionaire who -had given up his life to settlement work, and had a little home in the -heart of the city's slums. He did not belong to the party, but he was -in sympathy with it; and he said that he was to have as his guest that -night the editor of a big Eastern magazine, who wrote against Socialism, -but really did not know what it was. The millionaire suggested that -Adams bring Jurgis along, and then start up the subject of "pure food," -in which the editor was interested. - -Young Fisher's home was a little two-story brick house, dingy and -weather-beaten outside, but attractive within. The room that Jurgis saw -was half lined with books, and upon the walls were many pictures, dimly -visible in the soft, yellow light; it was a cold, rainy night, so a -log fire was crackling in the open hearth. Seven or eight people were -gathered about it when Adams and his friend arrived, and Jurgis saw to -his dismay that three of them were ladies. He had never talked to people -of this sort before, and he fell into an agony of embarrassment. He -stood in the doorway clutching his hat tightly in his hands, and made a -deep bow to each of the persons as he was introduced; then, when he was -asked to have a seat, he took a chair in a dark corner, and sat down -upon the edge of it, and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with -his sleeve. He was terrified lest they should expect him to talk. - -There was the host himself, a tall, athletic young man, clad in evening -dress, as also was the editor, a dyspeptic-looking gentleman named -Maynard. There was the former's frail young wife, and also an elderly -lady, who taught kindergarten in the settlement, and a young college -student, a beautiful girl with an intense and earnest face. She only -spoke once or twice while Jurgis was there--the rest of the time she sat -by the table in the center of the room, resting her chin in her hands -and drinking in the conversation. There were two other men, whom young -Fisher had introduced to Jurgis as Mr. Lucas and Mr. Schliemann; he -heard them address Adams as "Comrade," and so he knew that they were -Socialists. - -The one called Lucas was a mild and meek-looking little gentleman of -clerical aspect; he had been an itinerant evangelist, it transpired, -and had seen the light and become a prophet of the new dispensation. -He traveled all over the country, living like the apostles of old, upon -hospitality, and preaching upon street-corners when there was no hall. -The other man had been in the midst of a discussion with the editor when -Adams and Jurgis came in; and at the suggestion of the host they resumed -it after the interruption. Jurgis was soon sitting spellbound, thinking -that here was surely the strangest man that had ever lived in the world. - -Nicholas Schliemann was a Swede, a tall, gaunt person, with hairy hands -and bristling yellow beard; he was a university man, and had been a -professor of philosophy--until, as he said, he had found that he was -selling his character as well as his time. Instead he had come to -America, where he lived in a garret room in this slum district, and made -volcanic energy take the place of fire. He studied the composition of -food-stuffs, and knew exactly how many proteids and carbohydrates his -body needed; and by scientific chewing he said that he tripled the value -of all he ate, so that it cost him eleven cents a day. About the first -of July he would leave Chicago for his vacation, on foot; and when he -struck the harvest fields he would set to work for two dollars and a -half a day, and come home when he had another year's supply--a hundred -and twenty-five dollars. That was the nearest approach to independence -a man could make "under capitalism," he explained; he would never marry, -for no sane man would allow himself to fall in love until after the -revolution. - -He sat in a big arm-chair, with his legs crossed, and his head so far in -the shadow that one saw only two glowing lights, reflected from the fire -on the hearth. He spoke simply, and utterly without emotion; with the -manner of a teacher setting forth to a group of scholars an axiom in -geometry, he would enunciate such propositions as made the hair of -an ordinary person rise on end. And when the auditor had asserted -his non-comprehension, he would proceed to elucidate by some new -proposition, yet more appalling. To Jurgis the Herr Dr. Schliemann -assumed the proportions of a thunderstorm or an earthquake. And yet, -strange as it might seem, there was a subtle bond between them, and he -could follow the argument nearly all the time. He was carried over the -difficult places in spite of himself; and he went plunging away in mad -career--a very Mazeppa-ride upon the wild horse Speculation. - -Nicholas Schliemann was familiar with all the universe, and with man -as a small part of it. He understood human institutions, and blew them -about like soap bubbles. It was surprising that so much destructiveness -could be contained in one human mind. Was it government? The purpose -of government was the guarding of property-rights, the perpetuation -of ancient force and modern fraud. Or was it marriage? Marriage -and prostitution were two sides of one shield, the predatory man's -exploitation of the sex-pleasure. The difference between them was a -difference of class. If a woman had money she might dictate her own -terms: equality, a life contract, and the legitimacy--that is, the -property-rights--of her children. If she had no money, she was a -proletarian, and sold herself for an existence. And then the subject -became Religion, which was the Archfiend's deadliest weapon. Government -oppressed the body of the wage-slave, but Religion oppressed his mind, -and poisoned the stream of progress at its source. The working-man was -to fix his hopes upon a future life, while his pockets were picked in -this one; he was brought up to frugality, humility, obedience--in short -to all the pseudo-virtues of capitalism. The destiny of civilization -would be decided in one final death struggle between the Red -International and the Black, between Socialism and the Roman Catholic -Church; while here at home, "the stygian midnight of American -evangelicalism--" - -And here the ex-preacher entered the field, and there was a lively -tussle. "Comrade" Lucas was not what is called an educated man; he knew -only the Bible, but it was the Bible interpreted by real experience. And -what was the use, he asked, of confusing Religion with men's perversions -of it? That the church was in the hands of the merchants at the moment -was obvious enough; but already there were signs of rebellion, and if -Comrade Schliemann could come back a few years from now-- - -"Ah, yes," said the other, "of course, I have no doubt that in a hundred -years the Vatican will be denying that it ever opposed Socialism, just -as at present it denies that it ever tortured Galileo." - -"I am not defending the Vatican," exclaimed Lucas, vehemently. "I am -defending the word of God--which is one long cry of the human spirit for -deliverance from the sway of oppression. Take the twenty-fourth chapter -of the Book of Job, which I am accustomed to quote in my addresses as -'the Bible upon the Beef Trust'; or take the words of Isaiah--or of the -Master himself! Not the elegant prince of our debauched and vicious art, -not the jeweled idol of our society churches--but the Jesus of the awful -reality, the man of sorrow and pain, the outcast, despised of the world, -who had nowhere to lay his head--" - -"I will grant you Jesus," interrupted the other. - -"Well, then," cried Lucas, "and why should Jesus have nothing to do with -his church--why should his words and his life be of no authority among -those who profess to adore him? Here is a man who was the world's first -revolutionist, the true founder of the Socialist movement; a man whose -whole being was one flame of hatred for wealth, and all that wealth -stands for,--for the pride of wealth, and the luxury of wealth, and the -tyranny of wealth; who was himself a beggar and a tramp, a man of the -people, an associate of saloon-keepers and women of the town; who again -and again, in the most explicit language, denounced wealth and -the holding of wealth: 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures on -earth!'--'Sell that ye have and give alms!'--'Blessed are ye poor, for -yours is the kingdom of Heaven!'--'Woe unto you that are rich, for ye -have received your consolation!'--'Verily, I say unto you, that a rich -man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of Heaven!' Who denounced in -unmeasured terms the exploiters of his own time: 'Woe unto you, scribes -and pharisees, hypocrites!'--'Woe unto you also, you lawyers!'--'Ye -serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of -hell?' Who drove out the business men and brokers from the temple with a -whip! Who was crucified--think of it--for an incendiary and a disturber -of the social order! And this man they have made into the high priest of -property and smug respectability, a divine sanction of all the horrors -and abominations of modern commercial civilization! Jeweled images are -made of him, sensual priests burn incense to him, and modern pirates of -industry bring their dollars, wrung from the toil of helpless women -and children, and build temples to him, and sit in cushioned seats and -listen to his teachings expounded by doctors of dusty divinity--" - -"Bravo!" cried Schliemann, laughing. But the other was in full -career--he had talked this subject every day for five years, and had -never yet let himself be stopped. "This Jesus of Nazareth!" he cried. -"This class-conscious working-man! This union carpenter! This agitator, -law-breaker, firebrand, anarchist! He, the sovereign lord and master -of a world which grinds the bodies and souls of human beings into -dollars--if he could come into the world this day and see the things -that men have made in his name, would it not blast his soul with horror? -Would he not go mad at the sight of it, he the Prince of Mercy and Love! -That dreadful night when he lay in the Garden of Gethsemane and writhed -in agony until he sweat blood--do you think that he saw anything worse -than he might see tonight upon the plains of Manchuria, where men march -out with a jeweled image of him before them, to do wholesale murder for -the benefit of foul monsters of sensuality and cruelty? Do you not know -that if he were in St. Petersburg now, he would take the whip with which -he drove out the bankers from his temple--" - -Here the speaker paused an instant for breath. "No, comrade," said the -other, dryly, "for he was a practical man. He would take pretty little -imitation lemons, such as are now being shipped into Russia, handy for -carrying in the pockets, and strong enough to blow a whole temple out of -sight." - -Lucas waited until the company had stopped laughing over this; then -he began again: "But look at it from the point of view of practical -politics, comrade. Here is an historical figure whom all men reverence -and love, whom some regard as divine; and who was one of us--who lived -our life, and taught our doctrine. And now shall we leave him in the -hands of his enemies--shall we allow them to stifle and stultify his -example? We have his words, which no one can deny; and shall we not -quote them to the people, and prove to them what he was, and what he -taught, and what he did? No, no, a thousand times no!--we shall use his -authority to turn out the knaves and sluggards from his ministry, and we -shall yet rouse the people to action!--" - -Lucas halted again; and the other stretched out his hand to a paper on -the table. "Here, comrade," he said, with a laugh, "here is a place for -you to begin. A bishop whose wife has just been robbed of fifty thousand -dollars' worth of diamonds! And a most unctuous and oily of bishops! -An eminent and scholarly bishop! A philanthropist and friend of labor -bishop--a Civic Federation decoy duck for the chloroforming of the -wage-working-man!" - -To this little passage of arms the rest of the company sat as -spectators. But now Mr. Maynard, the editor, took occasion to remark, -somewhat naively, that he had always understood that Socialists had a -cut-and-dried program for the future of civilization; whereas here were -two active members of the party, who, from what he could make out, were -agreed about nothing at all. Would the two, for his enlightenment, try -to ascertain just what they had in common, and why they belonged to the -same party? This resulted, after much debating, in the formulating of -two carefully worded propositions: First, that a Socialist believes in -the common ownership and democratic management of the means of producing -the necessities of life; and, second, that a Socialist believes that -the means by which this is to be brought about is the class conscious -political organization of the wage-earners. Thus far they were at -one; but no farther. To Lucas, the religious zealot, the co-operative -commonwealth was the New Jerusalem, the kingdom of Heaven, which is -"within you." To the other, Socialism was simply a necessary step toward -a far-distant goal, a step to be tolerated with impatience. Schliemann -called himself a "philosophic anarchist"; and he explained that an -anarchist was one who believed that the end of human existence was the -free development of every personality, unrestricted by laws save those -of its own being. Since the same kind of match would light every one's -fire and the same-shaped loaf of bread would fill every one's stomach, -it would be perfectly feasible to submit industry to the control of a -majority vote. There was only one earth, and the quantity of material -things was limited. Of intellectual and moral things, on the other hand, -there was no limit, and one could have more without another's -having less; hence "Communism in material production, anarchism in -intellectual," was the formula of modern proletarian thought. As soon -as the birth agony was over, and the wounds of society had been healed, -there would be established a simple system whereby each man was credited -with his labor and debited with his purchases; and after that the -processes of production, exchange, and consumption would go on -automatically, and without our being conscious of them, any more than -a man is conscious of the beating of his heart. And then, explained -Schliemann, society would break up into independent, self-governing -communities of mutually congenial persons; examples of which at present -were clubs, churches, and political parties. After the revolution, all -the intellectual, artistic, and spiritual activities of men would be -cared for by such "free associations"; romantic novelists would be -supported by those who liked to read romantic novels, and impressionist -painters would be supported by those who liked to look at impressionist -pictures--and the same with preachers and scientists, editors and actors -and musicians. If any one wanted to work or paint or pray, and could -find no one to maintain him, he could support himself by working part of -the time. That was the case at present, the only difference being that -the competitive wage system compelled a man to work all the time to -live, while, after the abolition of privilege and exploitation, any -one would be able to support himself by an hour's work a day. Also the -artist's audience of the present was a small minority of people, all -debased and vulgarized by the effort it had cost them to win in the -commercial battle, of the intellectual and artistic activities which -would result when the whole of mankind was set free from the nightmare -of competition, we could at present form no conception whatever. - -And then the editor wanted to know upon what ground Dr. Schliemann -asserted that it might be possible for a society to exist upon an hour's -toil by each of its members. "Just what," answered the other, "would be -the productive capacity of society if the present resources of science -were utilized, we have no means of ascertaining; but we may be sure it -would exceed anything that would sound reasonable to minds inured to -the ferocious barbarities of capitalism. After the triumph of the -international proletariat, war would of course be inconceivable; and -who can figure the cost of war to humanity--not merely the value of the -lives and the material that it destroys, not merely the cost of keeping -millions of men in idleness, of arming and equipping them for battle -and parade, but the drain upon the vital energies of society by the -war attitude and the war terror, the brutality and ignorance, the -drunkenness, prostitution, and crime it entails, the industrial -impotence and the moral deadness? Do you think that it would be too much -to say that two hours of the working time of every efficient member of a -community goes to feed the red fiend of war?" - -And then Schliemann went on to outline some of the wastes of -competition: the losses of industrial warfare; the ceaseless worry and -friction; the vices--such as drink, for instance, the use of which had -nearly doubled in twenty years, as a consequence of the intensification -of the economic struggle; the idle and unproductive members of the -community, the frivolous rich and the pauperized poor; the law and the -whole machinery of repression; the wastes of social ostentation, the -milliners and tailors, the hairdressers, dancing masters, chefs and -lackeys. "You understand," he said, "that in a society dominated by -the fact of commercial competition, money is necessarily the test of -prowess, and wastefulness the sole criterion of power. So we have, -at the present moment, a society with, say, thirty per cent of the -population occupied in producing useless articles, and one per cent -occupied in destroying them. And this is not all; for the servants -and panders of the parasites are also parasites, the milliners and the -jewelers and the lackeys have also to be supported by the useful members -of the community. And bear in mind also that this monstrous disease -affects not merely the idlers and their menials, its poison penetrates -the whole social body. Beneath the hundred thousand women of the elite -are a million middle-class women, miserable because they are not of the -elite, and trying to appear of it in public; and beneath them, in turn, -are five million farmers' wives reading 'fashion papers' and trimming -bonnets, and shop-girls and serving-maids selling themselves into -brothels for cheap jewelry and imitation seal-skin robes. And then -consider that, added to this competition in display, you have, like -oil on the flames, a whole system of competition in selling! You have -manufacturers contriving tens of thousands of catchpenny devices, -storekeepers displaying them, and newspapers and magazines filled up -with advertisements of them!" - -"And don't forget the wastes of fraud," put in young Fisher. - -"When one comes to the ultra-modern profession of advertising," -responded Schliemann--"the science of persuading people to buy what they -do not want--he is in the very center of the ghastly charnel house -of capitalist destructiveness, and he scarcely knows which of a dozen -horrors to point out first. But consider the waste in time and energy -incidental to making ten thousand varieties of a thing for purposes -of ostentation and snobbishness, where one variety would do for use! -Consider all the waste incidental to the manufacture of cheap qualities -of goods, of goods made to sell and deceive the ignorant; consider the -wastes of adulteration,--the shoddy clothing, the cotton blankets, the -unstable tenements, the ground-cork life-preservers, the adulterated -milk, the aniline soda water, the potato-flour sausages--" - -"And consider the moral aspects of the thing," put in the ex-preacher. - -"Precisely," said Schliemann; "the low knavery and the ferocious cruelty -incidental to them, the plotting and the lying and the bribing, the -blustering and bragging, the screaming egotism, the hurrying and -worrying. Of course, imitation and adulteration are the essence of -competition--they are but another form of the phrase 'to buy in the -cheapest market and sell in the dearest.' A government official has -stated that the nation suffers a loss of a billion and a quarter dollars -a year through adulterated foods; which means, of course, not only -materials wasted that might have been useful outside of the human -stomach, but doctors and nurses for people who would otherwise have -been well, and undertakers for the whole human race ten or twenty years -before the proper time. Then again, consider the waste of time and -energy required to sell these things in a dozen stores, where one would -do. There are a million or two of business firms in the country, -and five or ten times as many clerks; and consider the handling and -rehandling, the accounting and reaccounting, the planning and worrying, -the balancing of petty profit and loss. Consider the whole machinery -of the civil law made necessary by these processes; the libraries of -ponderous tomes, the courts and juries to interpret them, the lawyers -studying to circumvent them, the pettifogging and chicanery, the hatreds -and lies! Consider the wastes incidental to the blind and haphazard -production of commodities--the factories closed, the workers idle, -the goods spoiling in storage; consider the activities of the stock -manipulator, the paralyzing of whole industries, the overstimulation of -others, for speculative purposes; the assignments and bank failures, -the crises and panics, the deserted towns and the starving populations! -Consider the energies wasted in the seeking of markets, the sterile -trades, such as drummer, solicitor, bill-poster, advertising agent. -Consider the wastes incidental to the crowding into cities, made -necessary by competition and by monopoly railroad rates; consider -the slums, the bad air, the disease and the waste of vital energies; -consider the office buildings, the waste of time and material in the -piling of story upon story, and the burrowing underground! Then take -the whole business of insurance, the enormous mass of administrative and -clerical labor it involves, and all utter waste--" - -"I do not follow that," said the editor. "The Cooperative Commonwealth -is a universal automatic insurance company and savings bank for all its -members. Capital being the property of all, injury to it is shared -by all and made up by all. The bank is the universal government -credit-account, the ledger in which every individual's earnings and -spendings are balanced. There is also a universal government bulletin, -in which are listed and precisely described everything which the -commonwealth has for sale. As no one makes any profit by the sale, there -is no longer any stimulus to extravagance, and no misrepresentation; no -cheating, no adulteration or imitation, no bribery or 'grafting.'" - -"How is the price of an article determined?" - -"The price is the labor it has cost to make and deliver it, and it is -determined by the first principles of arithmetic. The million workers in -the nation's wheat fields have worked a hundred days each, and the total -product of the labor is a billion bushels, so the value of a bushel of -wheat is the tenth part of a farm labor-day. If we employ an arbitrary -symbol, and pay, say, five dollars a day for farm work, then the cost of -a bushel of wheat is fifty cents." - -"You say 'for farm work,'" said Mr. Maynard. "Then labor is not to be -paid alike?" - -"Manifestly not, since some work is easy and some hard, and we should -have millions of rural mail carriers, and no coal miners. Of course the -wages may be left the same, and the hours varied; one or the other will -have to be varied continually, according as a greater or less number of -workers is needed in any particular industry. That is precisely what is -done at present, except that the transfer of the workers is accomplished -blindly and imperfectly, by rumors and advertisements, instead of -instantly and completely, by a universal government bulletin." - -"How about those occupations in which time is difficult to calculate? -What is the labor cost of a book?" - -"Obviously it is the labor cost of the paper, printing, and binding of -it--about a fifth of its present cost." - -"And the author?" - -"I have already said that the state could not control intellectual -production. The state might say that it had taken a year to write the -book, and the author might say it had taken thirty. Goethe said that -every bon mot of his had cost a purse of gold. What I outline here is -a national, or rather international, system for the providing of the -material needs of men. Since a man has intellectual needs also, he will -work longer, earn more, and provide for them to his own taste and in his -own way. I live on the same earth as the majority, I wear the same kind -of shoes and sleep in the same kind of bed; but I do not think the same -kind of thoughts, and I do not wish to pay for such thinkers as the -majority selects. I wish such things to be left to free effort, as -at present. If people want to listen to a certain preacher, they get -together and contribute what they please, and pay for a church and -support the preacher, and then listen to him; I, who do not want to -listen to him, stay away, and it costs me nothing. In the same way there -are magazines about Egyptian coins, and Catholic saints, and flying -machines, and athletic records, and I know nothing about any of them. -On the other hand, if wage slavery were abolished, and I could earn some -spare money without paying tribute to an exploiting capitalist, -then there would be a magazine for the purpose of interpreting -and popularizing the gospel of Friedrich Nietzsche, the prophet of -Evolution, and also of Horace Fletcher, the inventor of the noble -science of clean eating; and incidentally, perhaps, for the discouraging -of long skirts, and the scientific breeding of men and women, and the -establishing of divorce by mutual consent." - -Dr. Schliemann paused for a moment. "That was a lecture," he said with a -laugh, "and yet I am only begun!" - -"What else is there?" asked Maynard. - -"I have pointed out some of the negative wastes of competition," -answered the other. "I have hardly mentioned the positive economies -of co-operation. Allowing five to a family, there are fifteen million -families in this country; and at least ten million of these live -separately, the domestic drudge being either the wife or a wage slave. -Now set aside the modern system of pneumatic house-cleaning, and the -economies of co-operative cooking; and consider one single item, the -washing of dishes. Surely it is moderate to say that the dish-washing -for a family of five takes half an hour a day; with ten hours as a day's -work, it takes, therefore, half a million able-bodied persons--mostly -women to do the dish-washing of the country. And note that this is most -filthy and deadening and brutalizing work; that it is a cause of anemia, -nervousness, ugliness, and ill-temper; of prostitution, suicide, and -insanity; of drunken husbands and degenerate children--for all of which -things the community has naturally to pay. And now consider that in each -of my little free communities there would be a machine which would wash -and dry the dishes, and do it, not merely to the eye and the touch, -but scientifically--sterilizing them--and do it at a saving of all the -drudgery and nine-tenths of the time! All of these things you may -find in the books of Mrs. Gilman; and then take Kropotkin's Fields, -Factories, and Workshops, and read about the new science of agriculture, -which has been built up in the last ten years; by which, with made soils -and intensive culture, a gardener can raise ten or twelve crops in a -season, and two hundred tons of vegetables upon a single acre; by which -the population of the whole globe could be supported on the soil now -cultivated in the United States alone! It is impossible to apply such -methods now, owing to the ignorance and poverty of our scattered farming -population; but imagine the problem of providing the food supply of our -nation once taken in hand systematically and rationally, by scientists! -All the poor and rocky land set apart for a national timber reserve, in -which our children play, and our young men hunt, and our poets dwell! -The most favorable climate and soil for each product selected; the -exact requirements of the community known, and the acreage figured -accordingly; the most improved machinery employed, under the direction -of expert agricultural chemists! I was brought up on a farm, and I know -the awful deadliness of farm work; and I like to picture it all as -it will be after the revolution. To picture the great potato-planting -machine, drawn by four horses, or an electric motor, ploughing the -furrow, cutting and dropping and covering the potatoes, and planting a -score of acres a day! To picture the great potato-digging machine, -run by electricity, perhaps, and moving across a thousand-acre field, -scooping up earth and potatoes, and dropping the latter into sacks! To -every other kind of vegetable and fruit handled in the same way--apples -and oranges picked by machinery, cows milked by electricity--things -which are already done, as you may know. To picture the harvest fields -of the future, to which millions of happy men and women come for a -summer holiday, brought by special trains, the exactly needful number to -each place! And to contrast all this with our present agonizing system -of independent small farming,--a stunted, haggard, ignorant man, mated -with a yellow, lean, and sad-eyed drudge, and toiling from four o'clock -in the morning until nine at night, working the children as soon as they -are able to walk, scratching the soil with its primitive tools, and shut -out from all knowledge and hope, from all their benefits of science and -invention, and all the joys of the spirit--held to a bare existence -by competition in labor, and boasting of his freedom because he is too -blind to see his chains!" - -Dr. Schliemann paused a moment. "And then," he continued, "place -beside this fact of an unlimited food supply, the newest discovery of -physiologists, that most of the ills of the human system are due to -overfeeding! And then again, it has been proven that meat is unnecessary -as a food; and meat is obviously more difficult to produce than -vegetable food, less pleasant to prepare and handle, and more likely -to be unclean. But what of that, so long as it tickles the palate more -strongly?" - -"How would Socialism change that?" asked the girl-student, quickly. It -was the first time she had spoken. - -"So long as we have wage slavery," answered Schliemann, "it matters not -in the least how debasing and repulsive a task may be, it is easy to -find people to perform it. But just as soon as labor is set free, then -the price of such work will begin to rise. So one by one the old, dingy, -and unsanitary factories will come down--it will be cheaper to build -new; and so the steamships will be provided with stoking machinery, and -so the dangerous trades will be made safe, or substitutes will be found -for their products. In exactly the same way, as the citizens of -our Industrial Republic become refined, year by year the cost of -slaughterhouse products will increase; until eventually those who want -to eat meat will have to do their own killing--and how long do you think -the custom would survive then?--To go on to another item--one of the -necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy is political -corruption; and one of the consequences of civic administration by -ignorant and vicious politicians, is that preventable diseases kill off -half our population. And even if science were allowed to try, it could -do little, because the majority of human beings are not yet human beings -at all, but simply machines for the creating of wealth for others. They -are penned up in filthy houses and left to rot and stew in misery, and -the conditions of their life make them ill faster than all the doctors -in the world could heal them; and so, of course, they remain as centers -of contagion, poisoning the lives of all of us, and making happiness -impossible for even the most selfish. For this reason I would seriously -maintain that all the medical and surgical discoveries that science can -make in the future will be of less importance than the application of -the knowledge we already possess, when the disinherited of the earth -have established their right to a human existence." - -And here the Herr Doctor relapsed into silence again. Jurgis had noticed -that the beautiful young girl who sat by the center-table was listening -with something of the same look that he himself had worn, the time when -he had first discovered Socialism. Jurgis would have liked to talk to -her, he felt sure that she would have understood him. Later on in the -evening, when the group broke up, he heard Mrs. Fisher say to her, in -a low voice, "I wonder if Mr. Maynard will still write the same things -about Socialism"; to which she answered, "I don't know--but if he does -we shall know that he is a knave!" - - -And only a few hours after this came election day--when the long -campaign was over, and the whole country seemed to stand still and hold -its breath, awaiting the issue. Jurgis and the rest of the staff of -Hinds's Hotel could hardly stop to finish their dinner, before they -hurried off to the big hall which the party had hired for that evening. - -But already there were people waiting, and already the telegraph -instrument on the stage had begun clicking off the returns. When the -final accounts were made up, the Socialist vote proved to be over four -hundred thousand--an increase of something like three hundred and fifty -per cent in four years. And that was doing well; but the party was -dependent for its early returns upon messages from the locals, and -naturally those locals which had been most successful were the ones -which felt most like reporting; and so that night every one in the hall -believed that the vote was going to be six, or seven, or even eight -hundred thousand. Just such an incredible increase had actually been -made in Chicago, and in the state; the vote of the city had been 6,700 -in 1900, and now it was 47,000; that of Illinois had been 9,600, and -now it was 69,000! So, as the evening waxed, and the crowd piled in, the -meeting was a sight to be seen. Bulletins would be read, and the people -would shout themselves hoarse--and then some one would make a speech, -and there would be more shouting; and then a brief silence, and more -bulletins. There would come messages from the secretaries of neighboring -states, reporting their achievements; the vote of Indiana had gone from -2,300 to 12,000, of Wisconsin from 7,000 to 28,000; of Ohio from 4,800 -to 36,000! There were telegrams to the national office from enthusiastic -individuals in little towns which had made amazing and unprecedented -increases in a single year: Benedict, Kansas, from 26 to 260; Henderson, -Kentucky, from 19 to 111; Holland, Michigan, from 14 to 208; Cleo, -Oklahoma, from 0 to 104; Martin's Ferry, Ohio, from 0 to 296--and many -more of the same kind. There were literally hundreds of such towns; -there would be reports from half a dozen of them in a single batch of -telegrams. And the men who read the despatches off to the audience were -old campaigners, who had been to the places and helped to make the -vote, and could make appropriate comments: Quincy, Illinois, from 189 to -831--that was where the mayor had arrested a Socialist speaker! Crawford -County, Kansas, from 285 to 1,975; that was the home of the "Appeal -to Reason"! Battle Creek, Michigan, from 4,261 to 10,184; that was the -answer of labor to the Citizens' Alliance Movement! - -And then there were official returns from the various precincts and -wards of the city itself! Whether it was a factory district or one of -the "silk-stocking" wards seemed to make no particular difference in the -increase; but one of the things which surprised the party leaders -most was the tremendous vote that came rolling in from the stockyards. -Packingtown comprised three wards of the city, and the vote in the -spring of 1903 had been 500, and in the fall of the same year, 1,600. -Now, only one year later, it was over 6,300--and the Democratic vote -only 8,800! There were other wards in which the Democratic vote had -been actually surpassed, and in two districts, members of the state -legislature had been elected. Thus Chicago now led the country; it had -set a new standard for the party, it had shown the workingmen the way! - ---So spoke an orator upon the platform; and two thousand pairs of eyes -were fixed upon him, and two thousand voices were cheering his every -sentence. The orator had been the head of the city's relief bureau in -the stockyards, until the sight of misery and corruption had made him -sick. He was young, hungry-looking, full of fire; and as he swung his -long arms and beat up the crowd, to Jurgis he seemed the very spirit of -the revolution. "Organize! Organize! Organize!"--that was his cry. He -was afraid of this tremendous vote, which his party had not expected, -and which it had not earned. "These men are not Socialists!" he cried. -"This election will pass, and the excitement will die, and people will -forget about it; and if you forget about it, too, if you sink back and -rest upon your oars, we shall lose this vote that we have polled to-day, -and our enemies will laugh us to scorn! It rests with you to take your -resolution--now, in the flush of victory, to find these men who have -voted for us, and bring them to our meetings, and organize them and bind -them to us! We shall not find all our campaigns as easy as this one. -Everywhere in the country tonight the old party politicians are studying -this vote, and setting their sails by it; and nowhere will they be -quicker or more cunning than here in our own city. Fifty thousand -Socialist votes in Chicago means a municipal-ownership Democracy in the -spring! And then they will fool the voters once more, and all the powers -of plunder and corruption will be swept into office again! But whatever -they may do when they get in, there is one thing they will not do, and -that will be the thing for which they were elected! They will not give -the people of our city municipal ownership--they will not mean to do it, -they will not try to do it; all that they will do is give our party -in Chicago the greatest opportunity that has ever come to Socialism -in America! We shall have the sham reformers self-stultified and -self-convicted; we shall have the radical Democracy left without a lie -with which to cover its nakedness! And then will begin the rush that -will never be checked, the tide that will never turn till it has reached -its flood--that will be irresistible, overwhelming--the rallying of the -outraged workingmen of Chicago to our standard! And we shall organize -them, we shall drill them, we shall marshal them for the victory! We -shall bear down the opposition, we shall sweep if before us--and Chicago -will be ours! Chicago will be ours! 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If you - don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are - payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois - Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each - date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) - your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. - -WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? -The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, -scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty -free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution -you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg -Association / Illinois Benedictine College". - -This "Small Print!" by Charles B. Kramer, Attorney -Internet (72600.2026@compuserve.com); TEL: (212-254-5093) -*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - -The Jungle -by -Upton Sinclair -(1906) - - - - - -Chapter 1 - - -It was four o'clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began -to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the -exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon -Marija's broad shoulders--it was her task to see that all things went -in due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly -hither and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and -exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to -see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. -She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at -the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that -personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had -flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, proceeded to tell -him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not understand, -and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of her in altitude, -the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to attempt to speak; -and the result had been a furious altercation, which, continuing all the -way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of urchins to the cortege -at each side street for half a mile. - -This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door. -The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull -"broom, broom" of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied -with each other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics. Seeing the -throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the ancestors -of her coachman, and, springing from the moving carriage, plunged in and -proceeded to clear a way to the hall. Once within, she turned and began -to push the other way, roaring, meantime, "Eik! Eik! Uzdaryk-duris!" -in tones which made the orchestral uproar sound like fairy music. - -"Z. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and -Liquors. Union Headquarters"--that was the way the signs ran. The reader, -who perhaps has never held much converse in the language of far-off -Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the place was the rear -room of a saloon in that part of Chicago known as "back of the yards." -This information is definite and suited to the matter of fact; but how -pitifully inadequate it would have seemed to one who understood that it -was also the supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of God's gentlest -creatures, the scene of the wedding feast and the joy-transfiguration -of little Ona Lukoszaite! - -She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from -pushing through the crowd, and in her happiness painful to look upon. -There was a light of wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and her -otherwise wan little face was flushed. She wore a muslin dress, -conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders. -There were five pink paper roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright -green rose leaves. There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, -and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together feverishly. -It was almost too much for her--you could see the pain of too great emotion -in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was so young--not quite -sixteen--and small for her age, a mere child; and she had just been -married--and married to Jurgis,* (*Pronounced Yoorghis) of all men, -to Jurgis Rudkus, he with the white flower in the buttonhole of his new -black suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands. - -Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with beetling -brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his ears--in short, -they were one of those incongruous and impossible married couples with which -Mother Nature so often wills to confound all prophets, before and after. -Jurgis could take up a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and -carry it into a car without a stagger, or even a thought; and now he stood -in a far corner, frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his -lips with his tongue each time before he could answer the congratulations -of his friends. - -Gradually there was effected a separation between the spectators and the -guests--a separation at least sufficiently complete for working purposes. -There was no time during the festivities which ensued when there were not -groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners; and if any one of -these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked sufficiently hungry, -a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the feast. It was one of -the laws of the veselija that no one goes hungry; and, while a rule made -in the forests of Lithuania is hard to apply in the stockyards district of -Chicago, with its quarter of a million inhabitants, still they did their -best, and the children who ran in from the street, and even the dogs, went -out again happier. A charming informality was one of the characteristics -of this celebration. The men wore their hats, or, if they wished, they -took them off, and their coats with them; they ate when and where they -pleased, and moved as often as they pleased. There were to be speeches -and singing, but no one had to listen who did not care to; if he wished, -meantime, to speak or sing himself, he was perfectly free. The resulting -medley of sound distracted no one, save possibly alone the babies, of which -there were present a number equal to the total possessed by all the guests -invited. There was no other place for the babies to be, and so part of -the preparations for the evening consisted of a collection of cribs and -carriages in one corner. In these the babies slept, three or four together, -or wakened together, as the case might be. Those who were still older, -and could reach the tables, marched about munching contentedly at meat bones -and bologna sausages. - - -The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save for -a calendar. a picture of a race horse, and a family tree in a gilded frame. -To the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few loafers in the -doorway, and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a presiding genius clad -in soiled white, with waxed black mustaches and a carefully oiled curl -plastered against one side of his forehead. In the opposite corner are -two tables, filling a third of the room and laden with dishes and cold -viands, which a few of the hungrier guests are already munching. At the -head, where sits the bride, is a snow-white cake, with an Eiffel tower of -constructed decoration, with sugar roses and two angels upon it, and a -generous sprinkling of pink and green and yellow candies. Beyond opens -a door into the kitchen, where there is a glimpse to be had of a range with -much steam ascending from it, and many women, old and young, rushing hither -and thither. In the corner to the left are the three musicians, upon a -little platform, toiling heroically to make some impression upon the hubbub; -also the babies, similarly occupied, and an open window whence the populace -imbibes the sights and sounds and odors. - -Suddenly some of the steam begins to advance, and, peering through it, -you discern Aunt Elizabeth, Ona's stepmother--Teta Elzbieta, as they call -her--bearing aloft a great platter of stewed duck. Behind her is Kotrina, -making her way cautiously, staggering beneath a similar burden; and half a -minute later there appears old Grandmother Majauszkiene, with a big yellow -bowl of smoking potatoes, nearly as big as herself. So, bit by bit, the -feast takes form--there is a ham and a dish of sauerkraut, boiled rice, -macaroni, bologna sausages, great piles of penny buns, bowls of milk, and -foaming pitchers of beer. There is also, not six feet from your back, -the bar, where you may order all you please and do not have to pay for it. -"Eiksz! Graicziau!" screams Marija Berczynskas, and falls to work herself-- -for there is more upon the stove inside that will be spoiled if it be -not eaten. - -So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the guests -take their places. The young men, who for the most part have been huddled -near the door, summon their resolution and advance; and the shrinking -Jurgis is poked and scolded by the old folks until he consents to seat -himself at the right hand of the bride. The two bridesmaids, whose -insignia of office are paper wreaths, come next, and after them the rest -of the guests, old and young, boys and girls. The spirit of the occasion -takes hold of the stately bartender, who condescends to a plate of stewed -duck; even the fat policeman--whose duty it will be, later in the evening, -to break up the fights--draws up a chair to the foot of the table. And the -children shout and the babies yell, and every one laughs and sings and -chatters--while above all the deafening clamor Cousin Marija shouts orders -to the musicians. - -The musicians--how shall one begin to describe them? All this time they -have been there, playing in a mad frenzy--all of this scene must be read, -or said, or sung, to music. It is the music which makes it what it is; -it is the music which changes the place from the rear room of a saloon -in back of the yards to a fairy place, a wonderland, a little comer of -the high mansions of the sky. - -The little person who leads this trio is an inspired man. His fiddle is -out of tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an inspired -man--the hands of the muses have been laid upon him. He plays like one -possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can feel them in -the air round about him, capering frenetically; with their invisible feet -they set the pace, and the hair of the leader of the orchestra rises on end, -and his eyeballs start from their sockets, as he toils to keep up with them. - -Tamoszius Kuszleika is his name, and he has taught himself to play the -violin by practicing all night, after working all day on the "killing beds." -He is in his shirt sleeves, with a vest figured with faded gold horseshoes, -and a pink-striped shirt, suggestive of peppermint candy. A pair of -military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to give that -suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band. He is only about -five feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight inches short -of the ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or rather you -would wonder, if the excitement of being in his presence left you time to -think of such things. - -For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is inspired--you might -almost say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his -head, he sways and swings to and fro; he has a wizened-up little face, -irresistibly comical; and, when he executes a turn or a flourish, his brows -knit and his lips work and his eyelids wink--the very ends of his necktie -bristle out. And every now and then he turns upon his companions, nodding, -signaling, beckoning frantically--with every inch of him appealing, -imploring, in behalf of the muses and their call. - -For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of the -orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with black- -rimmed spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven mule; -he responds to the whip but feebly, and then always falls back into his -old rut. The third man is very fat, with a round, red, sentimental nose, -and he plays with his eyes turned up to the sky and a look of infinite -yearning. He is playing a bass part upon his cello, and so the excitement -is nothing to him; no matter what happens in the treble, it is his task to -saw out one long-drawn and lugubrious note after another, from four o'clock -in the afternoon until nearly the same hour next morning, for his third of -the total income of one dollar per hour. - -Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika -has risen in his excitement; a minute or two more and you see that he is -beginning to edge over toward the tables. His nostrils are dilated and -his breath comes fast--his demons are driving him. He nods and shakes -his head at his companions, jerking at them with his violin, until at last -the long form of the second violinist also rises up. In the end all three -of them begin advancing, step by step, upon the banqueters, Valentinavyczia, -he cellist, bumping along with his instrument between notes. Finally all -three are gathered at the foot of the tables, and there Tamoszius mounts -upon a stool. - -Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are -eating, some are laughing and talking--but you will make a great mistake -if you think there is one of them who does not hear him. His notes are -never true, and his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and -scratches on the high; but these things they heed no more than they heed -the dirt and noise and squalor about them--it is out of this material that -they have to build their lives, with it that they have to utter their souls. -And this is their utterance; merry and boisterous, or mournful and wailing, -or passionate and rebellious, this music is their music, music of home. -It stretches out its arms to them, they have only to give themselves up. -Chicago and its saloons and its slums fade away--there are green meadows -and sunlit rivers, mighty forests and snowclad hills. They behold home -landscapes and childhood scenes returning; old loves and friendships begin -to waken, old joys and griefs to laugh and weep. Some fall back and close -their eyes, some beat upon the table. Now and then one leaps up with a cry -and calls for this song or that; and then the fire leaps brighter in -Tamoszius' eyes, and he flings up his fiddle and shouts to his companions, -and away they go in mad career. The company takes up the choruses, and men -and women cry out like all possessed; some leap to their feet and stamp upon -the floor, lifting their glasses and pledging each other. Before long it -occurs to some one to demand an old wedding song, which celebrates the -beauty of the bride and the joys of love. In the excitement of this -masterpiece Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, -making his way toward the head, where sits the bride. There is not a foot -of space between the chairs of the guests, and Tamoszius is so short that -he pokes them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the low notes; -but still he presses in, and insists relentlessly that his companions -must follow. During their progress, needless to say, the sounds of the -cello are pretty well extinguished; but at last the three are at the head, -and Tamoszius takes his station at the right hand of the bride and begins -to pour out his soul in melting strains. - -Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little -something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her; but, for -the most part, she sits gazing with the same fearful eyes of wonder. -Teta Elzbieta is all in a flutter, like a hummingbird; her sisters, too, -keep running up behind her, whispering, breathless. But Ona seems -scarcely to hear them--the music keeps calling, and the far-off look -comes back, and she sits with her hands pressed together over her heart. -Then the tears begin to come into her eyes; and as she is ashamed to wipe -them away, and ashamed to let them run down her cheeks, she turns and -shakes her head a little, and then flushes red when she sees that Jurgis -is watching her. When in the end Tamoszius Kuszleika has reached her side, -and is waving his magic wand above her, Ona's cheeks are scarlet, and she -looks as if she would have to get up and run away. - -In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Berczynskas, whom the -muses suddenly visit. Marija is fond of a song, a song of lovers' parting; -she wishes to hear it, and, as the musicians do not know it, she has risen, -and is proceeding to teach them. Marija is short, but powerful in build. -She works in a canning factory, and all day long she handles cans of beef -that weigh fourteen pounds. She has a broad Slavic face, with prominent -red cheeks. When she opens her mouth, it is tragical, but you cannot help -thinking of a horse. She wears a blue flannel shirt-waist, which is now -rolled up at the sleeves, disclosing her brawny arms; she has a carving -fork in her hand, with which she pounds on the table to mark the time. -As she roars her song, in a voice of which it is enough to say that it -leaves no portion of the room vacant, the three musicians follow her, -laboriously and note by note, but averaging one note behind; thus they -toil through stanza after stanza of a lovesick swain's lamentation: -- - - "Sudiev' kvietkeli, tu brangiausis; - Sudiev' ir laime, man biednam, - Matau--paskyre teip Aukszcziausis, - Jog vargt ant svieto reik vienam!" - -When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas -rises to his feet. Grandfather Anthony, Jurgis' father, is not more than -sixty years of age, but you would think that he was eighty. He has been -only six months in America, and the change has not done him good. In his -manhood he worked in a cotton mill, but then a coughing fell upon him, -and he had to leave; out in the country the trouble disappeared, but he -has been working in the pickle rooms at Durham's, and the breathing of -the cold, damp air all day has brought it back. Now as he rises he is -seized with a coughing fit, and holds himself by his chair and turns away -his wan and battered face until it passes. - -Generally it is the custom for the speech at a veselija to be taken out -of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days Dede -Antanas used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love letters -of his friends. Now it is understood that he has composed an original -speech of congratulation and benediction, and this is one of the events -of the day. Even the boys, who are romping about the room, draw near and -listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons in their eyes. -It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become possessed of the idea -that he has not much longer to stay with his children. His speech leaves -them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps -a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and hearty, is moved -to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and then to go on -and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers congratulations -and prophecies of happiness upon the bride and groom, proceeding to -particulars which greatly delight the young men, but which cause Ona -to blush more furiously than ever. Jokubas possesses what his wife -complacently describes as "poetiszka vaidintuve"--a poetical imagination. - -Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no -pretense of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men -gather about the bar; some wander about, laughing and singing; here and -there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime indifference -to the others and to the orchestra as well. Everybody is more or less -restless--one would guess that something is on their minds. And so it -proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to finish, before -the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, and the chairs and -the babies piled out of the way, and the real celebration of the evening -begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing himself with a pot -of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up, reviews the scene; -he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin, then tucks it -carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an elaborate flourish, -and finally smites the sounding strings and closes his eyes, and floats -away in spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz. His companion follows, -but with his eyes open, watching where he treads, so to speak; and finally -Valentinavyczia, after waiting for a little and beating with his foot to -get the time, casts up his eyes to the ceiling and begins to saw--"Broom! -broom! broom!" - -The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. -Apparently nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any -consequence--there is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just -as before they sang. Most of them prefer the "two-step," especially -the young, with whom it is the fashion. The older people have dances -from home, strange and complicated steps which they execute with grave -solemnity. Some do not dance anything at all, but simply hold each other's -hands and allow the undisciplined joy of motion to express itself with -their feet. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas and his wife, Lucija, who -together keep the delicatessen store, and consume nearly as much as they -sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the middle of the floor, -holding each other fast in their arms, rocking slowly from side to side and -grinning seraphically, a picture of toothless and perspiring ecstasy. - -Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail -of home--an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored -handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons. All these -things are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to -speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing. The girls wear -ready-made dresses or shirt waists, and some of them look quite pretty. -Some of the young men you would take to be Americans, of the type of -clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats in the room. Each of -these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing. Some hold -each other tightly, some at a cautious distance. Some hold their hands -out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some dance springily, -some glide softly, some move with grave dignity. There are boisterous -couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one out of -their way. There are nervous couples, whom these frighten, and who cry, -"Nusfok! Kas yra?" at them as they pass. Each couple is paired for the -evening--you will never see them change about. There is Alena Jasaityte, -for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas Raczius, to whom -she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the evening, and she would be really -beautiful if she were not so proud. She wears a white shirtwaist, which -represents, perhaps, half a week's labor painting cans. She holds her skirt -with her hand as she dances, with stately precision, after the manner of the -grandes dames. Juozas is driving one of Durham's wagons, and is making big -wages. He affects a "tough" aspect, wearing his hat on one side and keeping -a cigarette in his mouth all the evening. Then there is Jadvyga Marcinkus, -who is also beautiful, but humble. Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then -she has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and -so she does not spend her wages for shirtwaists. Jadvyga is small and -delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little -knot and tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white dress which -she has made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is -high-waisted--almost under her arms, and not very becoming,--but that -does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas. She is small, -while he is big and powerful; she nestles in his arms as if she would hide -herself from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder. He in turn has -clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; and so -she dances, and will dance the entire evening, and would dance forever, -in ecstasy of bliss. You would smile, perhaps, to see them--but you would -not smile if you knew all the story. This is the fifth year, now, that -Jadvyga has been engaged to Mikolas, and her heart is sick. They would -have been married in the beginning, only Mikolas has a father who is drunk -all day, and he is the only other man in a large family. Even so they might -have managed it (for Mikolas is a skilled man) but for cruel accidents which -have almost taken the heart out of them. He is a beef-boner, and that is -a dangerous trade, especially when you are on piecework and trying to earn -a bride. Your hands are slippery, and your knife is slippery, and you are -toiling like mad, when somebody happens to speak to you, or you strike a -bone. Then your hand slips up on the blade, and there is a fearful gash. -And that would not be so bad, only for the deadly contagion. The cut may -heal, but you never can tell. Twice now; within the last three years, -Mikolas has been lying at home with blood poisoning--once for three months -and once for nearly seven. The last time, too, he lost his job, and that -meant six weeks more of standing at the doors of the packing houses, at six -o'clock on bitter winter mornings, with a foot of snow on the ground and -more in the air. There are learned people who can tell you out of the -statistics that beef-boners make forty cents an hour, but, perhaps, these -people have never looked into a beef-boner's hands. - -When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they -must, now and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently. -They never seem to tire; and there is no place for them to sit down if -they did. It is only for a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up -again, in spite of all the protests of the other two. This time it -is another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. Those who prefer to, -go on with the two-step, but the majority go through an intricate series -of motions, resembling more fancy skating than a dance. The climax of -it is a furious prestissimo, at which the couples seize hands and begin -a mad whirling. This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room -joins in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies -quite dazzling to look upon. But the sight of sights at this moment -is Tamoszius Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, -but Tamoszius has no mercy. The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he -bends over like a cyclist on the last lap of a race. His body shakes and -throbs like a runaway steam engine, and the ear cannot follow the flying -showers of notes--there is a pale blue mist where you look to see his -bowing arm. With a most wonderful rush he comes to the end of the tune, -and flings up his hands and staggers back exhausted; and with a final -shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling here and there, bringing -up against the walls of the room. - -After this there is beer for every one, the musicians included, and the -revelers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the -evening, which is the acziavimas. The acziavimas is a ceremony which, -once begun, will continue for three or four hours, and it involves one -uninterrupted dance. The guests form a great ring, locking hands, and, -when the music starts up, begin to move around in a circle. In the center -stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the enclosure and -dance with her. Each dances for several minutes--as long as he pleases; -it is a very merry proceeding, with laughter and singing, and when the -guest has finished, he finds himself face to face with Teta Elzbieta, -who holds the hat. Into it he drops a sum of money--a dollar, or perhaps -five dollars, according to his power, and his estimate of the value of -the privilege. The guests are expected to pay for this entertainment; -if they be proper guests, they will see that there is a neat sum left over -for the bride and bridegroom to start life upon. - -Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of this entertainment. -They will certainly be over two hundred dollars and maybe three hundred; -and three hundred dollars is more than the year's income of many a person -in this room. There are able-bodied men here who work from early morning -until late at night, in ice-cold cellars with a quarter of an inch of -water on the floor--men who for six or seven months in the year never -see the sunlight from Sunday afternoon till the next Sunday morning-- -and who cannot earn three hundred dollars in a year. There are little -children here, scarce in their teens, who can hardly see the top of the -work benches--whose parents have lied to get them their places--and who -do not make the half of three hundred dollars a year, and perhaps not -even the third of it. And then to spend such a sum, all in a single day -of your life, at a wedding feast! (For obviously it is the same thing, -whether you spend it at once for your own wedding, or in a long time, -at the weddings of all your friends.) - -It is very imprudent, it is tragic--but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by -bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this they -cling with all the power of their souls--they cannot give up the -veselija! To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to -acknowledge defeat--and the difference between these two things is what -keeps the world going. The veselija has come down to them from a far-off -time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave and -gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could break -his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; provided that once in -his lifetime he might testify to the fact that life, with all its cares -and its terrors, is no such great thing after all, but merely a bubble -upon the surface of a river, a thing that one may toss about and play -with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a thing that one may quaff, -like a goblet of rare red wine. Thus having known himself for the master -of things, a man could go back to his toil and live upon the memory all -his days. - - -Endlessly the dancers swung round and round--when they were dizzy they -swung the other way. Hour after hour this had continued--the darkness -had fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. -The musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and played only -one tune, wearily, ploddingly. There were twenty bars or so of it, and -when they came to the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or -so they would fail to begin again, but instead would sink back exhausted; -a circumstance which invariably brought on a painful and terrifying scene, -that made the fat policeman stir uneasily in his sleeping place behind -the door. - -It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those hungry souls who -cling with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse. All day long -she had been in a state of wonderful exaltation; and now it was leaving-- -and she would not let it go. Her soul cried out in the words of Faust, -"Stay, thou art fair!" Whether it was by beer, or by shouting, or by music, -or by motion, she meant that it should not go. And she would go back to -the chase of it--and no sooner be fairly started than her chariot would -be thrown off the track, so to speak, by the stupidity of those thrice -accursed musicians. Each time, Marija would emit a howl and fly at them, -shaking her fists in their faces, stamping upon the floor, purple and -incoherent with rage. In vain the frightened Tamoszius would attempt -to speak, to plead the limitations of the flesh; in vain would the puffing -and breathless ponas Jokubas insist, in vain would Teta Elzbieta implore. -"Szalin!" Marija would scream. "Palauk! isz kelio! What are you paid for, -children of hell?" And so, in sheer terror, the orchestra would strike up -again, and Marija would return to her place and take up her task. - -She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her -excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired--the soul -of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers--what had once -been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, pulling -one way and pushing the other. shouting, stamping, singing, a very volcano -of energy. Now and then some one coming in or out would leave the door -open, and the night air was chill; Marija as she passed would stretch out -her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam would go the door! Once this -procedure was the cause of a calamity of which Sebastijonas Szedvilas was -the hapless victim. Little Sebastijonas, aged three, had been wandering -about oblivious to all things, holding turned up over his mouth a bottle -of liquid known as "pop," pink-colored, ice-cold, and delicious. Passing -through the doorway the door smote him full, and the shriek which followed -brought the dancing to a halt. Marija, who threatened horrid murder a -hundred times a day, and would weep over the injury of a fly, seized -little Sebastijonas in her arms and bid fair to smother him with kisses. -There was a long rest for the orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while -Marija was making her peace with her victim, seating him upon the bar, -and standing beside him and holding to his lips a foaming schooner of beer. - -In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an -anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of -the more intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them. -The veselija is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore only the -more binding upon all. Every one's share was different--and yet every one -knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a little more. -Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all this was changing; -it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in the air that one -breathed here--it was affecting all the young men at once. They would -come in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner, and then sneak off. -One would throw another's hat out of the window, and both would go out to -get it, and neither could be seen again. Or now and then half a dozen of -them would get together and march out openly, staring at you, and making fun -of you to your face. Still others, worse yet, would crowd about the bar, -and at the expense of the host drink themselves sodden, paying not the -least attention to any one, and leaving it to be thought that either they -had danced with the bride already, or meant to later on. - -All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with -dismay. So long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! -Ona stood by, her eyes wide with terror. Those frightful bills--how they -had haunted her, each item gnawing at her soul all day and spoiling her -rest at night. How often she had named them over one by one and figured -on them as she went to work--fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two -dollars and a quarter for the ducks, twelve dollars for the musicians, -five dollars at the church, and a blessing of the Virgin besides--and so -on without an end! Worst of all was the frightful bill that was still -to come from Graiczunas for the beer and liquor that might be consumed. -One could never get in advance more than a guess as to this from a -saloonkeeper--and then, when the time came he always came to you scratching -his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but that he had done his -best--your guests had gotten so very drunk. By him you were sure to be -cheated unmercifully, and that even though you thought yourself the dearest -of the hundreds of friends he had. He would begin to serve your guests -out of a keg that was half full, and finish with one that was half empty, -and then you would be charged for two kegs of beer. He would agree to -serve a certain quality at a certain price, and when the time came you -and your friends would be drinking some horrible poison that could not be -described. You might complain, but you would get nothing for your pains -but a ruined evening; while, as for going to law about it, you might as -well go to heaven at once. The saloonkeeper stood in with all the big -politics men in the district; and when you had once found out what it -meant to get into trouble with such people, you would know enough to pay -what you were told to pay and shut up. - -What made all this the more painful was that it was so hard on the few -that had really done their best. There was poor old ponas Jokubas, for -instance--he had already given five dollars, and did not every one know -that Jokubas Szedvilas had just mortgaged his delicatessen store for two -hundred dollars to meet several months' overdue rent? And then there was -withered old poni Aniele--who was a widow, and had three children, and the -rheumatism besides, and did washing for the tradespeople on Halsted Street -at prices it would break your heart to hear named. Aniele had given the -entire profit of her chickens for several months. Eight of them she owned, -and she kept them in a little place fenced around on her backstairs. -All day long the children of Aniele were raking in the dump for food for -these chickens; and sometimes, when the competition there was too fierce, -you might see them on Halsted Street walking close to the gutters, and with -their mother following to see that no one robbed them of their finds. -Money could not tell the value of these chickens to old Mrs. Jukniene-- -she valued them differently, for she had a feeling that she was getting -something for nothing by means of them--that with them she was getting the -better of a world that was getting the better of her in so many other ways. -So she watched them every hour of the day, and had learned to see like an -owl at night to watch them then. One of them had been stolen long ago, -and not a month passed that some one did not try to steal another. As the -frustrating of this one attempt involved a score of false alarms, it will -be understood what a tribute old Mrs. Jukniene brought, just because Teta -Elzbieta had once loaned her some money for a few days and saved her from -being turned out of her house. - -More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about these -things was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the conversation, -who were themselves among the guilty--and surely that was a thing to try -the patience of a saint. Finally there came Jurgis, urged by some one, -and the story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in silence, with his -great black eyebrows knitted. Now and then there would come a gleam -underneath them and he would glance about the room. Perhaps he would have -liked to go at some of those fellows with his big clenched fists; but then, -doubtless, he realized how little good it would do him. No bill would be -any less for turning out any one at this time; and then there would be the -scandal--and Jurgis wanted nothing except to get away with Ona and to let -the world go its own way. So his hands relaxed and he merely said quietly: -"It is done, and there is no use in weeping, Teta Elzbieta." Then his look -turned toward Ona, who stood close to his side, and he saw the wide look -of terror in her eyes. "Little one," he said, in a low voice, "do not -worry--it will not matter to us. We will pay them all somehow. I will -work harder." That was always what Jurgis said. Ona had grown used to -it as the solution of all difficulties--"I will work harder!" He had -said that in Lithuania when one official had taken his passport from him, -and another had arrested him for being without it, and the two had divided -a third of his belongings. He had said it again in New York, when the -smooth-spoken agent had taken them in hand and made them pay such high -prices, and almost prevented their leaving his place, in spite of their -paying. Now he said it a third time, and Ona drew a deep breath; it was -so wonderful to have a husband, just like a grown woman--and a husband who -could solve all problems, and who was so big and strong! - -The last sob of little Sebastijonas has been stifled, and the orchestra -has once more been reminded of its duty. The ceremony begins again--but -there are few now left to dance with, and so very soon the collection is -over and promiscuous dances once more begin. It is now after midnight, -however, and things are not as they were before. The dancers are dull -and heavy--most of them have been drinking hard, and have long ago passed -the stage of exhilaration. They dance in monotonous measure, round after -round, hour after hour, with eyes fixed upon vacancy, as if they were -only half conscious, in a constantly growing stupor. The men grasp the -women very tightly, but there will be half an hour together when neither -will see the other's face. Some couples do not care to dance, and have -retired to the corners, where they sit with their arms enlaced. Others, -who have been drinking still more, wander about the room, bumping into -everything; some are in groups of two or three, singing, each group -its own song. As time goes on there is a variety of drunkenness, among -the younger men especially. Some stagger about in each other's arms, -whispering maudlin words--others start quarrels upon the slightest pretext, -and come to blows and have to be pulled apart. Now the fat policeman wakens -definitely, and feels of his club to see that it is ready for business. -He has to be prompt--for these two-o'clock-in-the-morning fights, if they -once get out of hand, are like a forest fire, and may mean the whole -reserves at the station. The thing to do is to crack every fighting head -that you see, before there are so many fighting heads that you cannot -crack any of them. There is but scant account kept of cracked heads in -back of the yards, for men who have to crack the heads of animals all day -seem to get into the habit, and to practice on their friends, and even on -their families, between times. This makes it a cause for congratulation -that by modern methods a very few men can do the painfully necessary work -of head-cracking for the whole of the cultured world. - -There is no fight that night--perhaps because Jurgis, too, is watchful-- -even more so than the policeman. Jurgis has drunk a great deal, as any -one naturally would on an occasion when it all has to be paid for, whether -it is drunk or not; but he is a very steady man, and does not easily lose -his temper. Only once there is a tight shave--and that is the fault of -Marija Berczynskas. Marija has apparently concluded about two hours ago -that if the altar in the corner, with the deity in soiled white, be not -the true home of the muses, it is, at any rate, the nearest substitute on -earth attainable. And Marija is just fighting drunk when there come to her -ears the facts about the villains who have not paid that night. Marija goes -on the warpath straight off, without even the preliminary of a good cursing, -and when she is pulled off it is with the coat collars of two villains in -her hands. Fortunately, the policeman is disposed to be reasonable, and so -it is not Marija who is flung out of the place. - -All this interrupts the music for not more than a minute or two. Then again -the merciless tune begins--the tune that has been played for the last -half-hour without one single change. It is an American tune this time, -one which they have picked up on the streets; all seem to know the words -of it--or, at any rate, the first line of it, which they hum to themselves, -over and over again without rest: "In the good old summertime--in the good -old summertime! In the good old summertime--in the good old summertime!" -There seems to be something hypnotic about this, with its endlessly -recurring dominant. It has put a stupor upon every one who hears it, -as well as upon the men who are playing it. No one can get away from it, -or even think of getting away from it; it is three o'clock in the morning, -and they have danced out all their joy, and danced out all their strength, -and all the strength that unlimited drink can lend them--and still there -is no one among them who has the power to think of stopping. Promptly at -seven o'clock this same Monday morning they will every one of them have to -be in their places at Durham's or Brown's or Jones's, each in his working -clothes. If one of them be a minute late, he will be docked an hour's pay, -and if he be many minutes late, he will be apt to find his brass check -turned to the wall, which will send him out to join the hungry mob that -waits every morning at the gates of the packing houses, from six o'clock -until nearly half-past eight. There is no exception to this rule, not even -little Ona--who has asked for a holiday the day after her wedding day, -a holiday without pay, and been refused. While there are so many who are -anxious to work as you wish, there is no occasion for incommoding yourself -with those who must work otherwise. - -Little Ona is nearly ready to faint--and half in a stupor herself, because -of the heavy scent in the room. She has not taken a drop, but every one -else there is literally burning alcohol, as the lamps are burning oil; -some of the men who are sound asleep in their chairs or on the floor are -reeking of it so that you cannot go near them. Now and then Jurgis gazes -at her hungrily--he has long since forgotten his shyness; but then the -crowd is there, and he still waits and watches the door, where a carriage -is supposed to come. It does not, and finally he will wait no longer, -but comes up to Ona, who turns white and trembles. He puts her shawl about -her and then his own coat. They live only two blocks away, and Jurgis does -not care about the carriage. - -There is almost no farewell--the dancers do not notice them, and all of the -children and many of the old folks have fallen asleep of sheer exhaustion. -Dede Antanas is asleep, and so are the Szedvilases, husband and wife, -the former snoring in octaves. There is Teta Elzbieta, and Marija, sobbing -loudly; and then there is only the silent night, with the stars beginning -to pale a little in the east. Jurgis, without a word, lifts Ona in his -arms, and strides out with her, and she sinks her head upon his shoulder -with a moan. When he reaches home he is not sure whether she has fainted -or is asleep, but when he has to hold her with one hand while he unlocks -the door, he sees that she has opened her eyes. - -"You shall not go to Brown's today, little one," he whispers, as he climbs -the stairs; and she catches his arm in terror, gasping: "No! No! I dare -not! It will ruin us!" - -But he answers her again: "Leave it to me; leave it to me. I will earn -more money--I will work harder." - - - -Chapter 2 - - -Jurgis talked lightly about work, because he was young. They told him -stories about the breaking down of men, there in the stockyards of -Chicago, and of what had happened to them afterward--stories to make -your flesh creep, but Jurgis would only laugh. He had only been there -four months, and he was young, and a giant besides. There was too much -health in him. He could not even imagine how it would feel to be beaten. -"That is well enough for men like you," he would say, "silpnas, puny -fellows--but my back is broad." - -Jurgis was like a boy, a boy from the country. He was the sort of man the -bosses like to get hold of, the sort they make it a grievance they cannot -get hold of. When he was told to go to a certain place, he would go there -on the run. When he had nothing to do for the moment, he would stand round -fidgeting, dancing, with the overflow of energy that was in him. If he -were working in a line of men, the line always moved too slowly for him, -and you could pick him out by his impatience and restlessness. That was -why he had been picked out on one important occasion; for Jurgis had stood -outside of Brown and Company's "Central Time Station" not more than half -an hour, the second day of his arrival in Chicago, before he had been -beckoned by one of the bosses. Of this he was very proud, and it made him -more disposed than ever to laugh at the pessimists. In vain would they all -tell him that there were men in that crowd from which he had been chosen -who had stood there a month--yes, many months--and not been chosen yet. -"Yes," he would say, "but what sort of men? Broken-down tramps and good- -for-nothings, fellows who have spent all their money drinking, and want to -get more for it. Do you want me to believe that with these arms"--and he -would clench his fists and hold them up in the air, so that you might see -the rolling muscles--that with these arms people will ever let me starve?" - -"It is plain," they would answer to this, "that you have come from the -country, and from very far in the country." And this was the fact, -for Jurgis had never seen a city, and scarcely even a fair-sized town, -until he had set out to make his fortune in the world and earn his right -to Ona. His father, and his father's father before him, and as many -ancestors back as legend could go, had lived in that part of Lithuania -known as Brelovicz, the Imperial Forest. This is a great tract of a -hundred thousand acres, which from time immemorial has been a hunting -preserve of the nobility. There are a very few peasants settled in it, -holding title from ancient times; and one of these was Antanas Rudkus, -who had been reared himself, and had reared his children in turn, upon -half a dozen acres of cleared land in the midst of a wilderness. There had -been one son besides Jurgis, and one sister. The former had been drafted -into the army; that had been over ten years ago, but since that day nothing -had ever been heard of him. The sister was married, and her husband had -bought the place when old Antanas had decided to go with his son. - -It was nearly a year and a half ago that Jurgis had met Ona, at a horse -fair a hundred miles from home. Jurgis had never expected to get married-- -he had laughed at it as a foolish trap for a man to walk into; but here, -without ever having spoken a word to her, with no more than the exchange -of half a dozen smiles, he found himself, purple in the face with -embarrassment and terror, asking her parents to sell her to him for his -wife--and offering his father's two horses he had been sent to the fair -to sell. But Ona's father proved as a rock--the girl was yet a child, -and he was a rich man, and his daughter was not to be had in that way. -So Jurgis went home with a heavy heart, and that spring and summer toiled -and tried hard to forget. In the fall, after the harvest was over, he saw -that it would not do, and tramped the full fortnight's journey that lay -between him and Ona. - -He found an unexpected state of affairs--for the girl's father had died, -and his estate was tied up with creditors; Jurgis' heart leaped as he -realized that now the prize was within his reach. There was Elzbieta -Lukoszaite, Teta, or Aunt, as they called her, Ona's stepmother, and there -were her six children, of all ages. There was also her brother Jonas, -a dried-up little man who had worked upon the farm. They were people of -great consequence, as it seemed to Jurgis, fresh out of the woods; Ona -knew how to read, and knew many other things that he did not know, and now -the farm had been sold, and the whole family was adrift--all they owned in -the world being about seven hundred rubles which is half as many dollars. -They would have had three times that, but it had gone to court, and the -judge had decided against them, and it had cost the balance to get him to -change his decision. - -Ona might have married and left them, but she would not, for she loved -Teta Elzbieta. It was Jonas who suggested that they all go to America, -where a friend of his had gotten rich. He would work, for his part, -and the women would work, and some of the children, doubtless--they -would live somehow. Jurgis, too, had heard of America. That was -a country where, they said, a man might earn three rubles a day; -and Jurgis figured what three rubles a day would mean, with prices as -they were where he lived, and decided forthwith that he would go to -America and marry, and be a rich man in the bargain. In that country, -rich or poor, a man was free, it was said; he did not have to go into -the army, he did not have to pay out his money to rascally officials-- -he might do as he pleased, and count himself as good as any other man. -So America was a place of which lovers and young people dreamed. If one -could only manage to get the price of a passage, he could count his -troubles at an end. - -It was arranged that they should leave the following spring, and meantime -Jurgis sold himself to a contractor for a certain time, and tramped nearly -four hundred miles from home with a gang of men to work upon a railroad -in Smolensk. This was a fearful experience, with filth and bad food -and cruelty and overwork; but Jurgis stood it and came out in fine trim, -and with eighty rubles sewed up in his coat. He did not drink or fight, -because he was thinking all the time of Ona; and for the rest, he was -a quiet, steady man, who did what he was told to, did not lose his temper -often, and when he did lose it made the offender anxious that he should -not lose it again. When they paid him off he dodged the company gamblers -and dramshops, and so they tried to kill him; but he escaped, and tramped -it home, working at odd jobs, and sleeping always with one eye open. - -So in the summer time they had all set out for America. At the last -moment there joined them Marija Berczynskas, who was a cousin of Ona's. -Marija was an orphan, and had worked since childhood for a rich farmer -of Vilna, who beat her regularly. It was only at the age of twenty -that it had occurred to Marija to try her strength, when she had risen -up and nearly murdered the man, and then come away. - -There were twelve in all in the party, five adults and six children-- -and Ona, who was a little of both. They had a hard time on the passage; -there was an agent who helped them, but he proved a scoundrel, and got -them into a trap with some officials, and cost them a good deal of their -precious money, which they clung to with such horrible fear. This happened -to them again in New York--for, of course, they knew nothing about the -country, and had no one to tell them, and it was easy for a man in a blue -uniform to lead them away, and to take them to a hotel and keep them there, -and make them pay enormous charges to get away. The law says that the -rate card shall be on the door of a hotel, but it does not say that it -shall be in Lithuanian. - - -It was in the stockyards that Jonas' friend had gotten rich, and so to -Chicago the party was bound. They knew that one word, Chicago and that -was all they needed to know, at least, until they reached the city. -Then, tumbled out of the cars without ceremony, they were no better off -than before; they stood staring down the vista of Dearborn Street, with -its big black buildings towering in the distance, unable to realize that -they had arrived, and why, when they said "Chicago," people no longer -pointed in some direction, but instead looked perplexed, or laughed, -or went on without paying any attention. They were pitiable in their -helplessness; above all things they stood in deadly terror of any sort -of person in official uniform, and so whenever they saw a policeman they -would cross the street and hurry by. For the whole of the first day -they wandered about in the midst of deafening confusion, utterly lost; -and it was only at night that, cowering in the doorway of a house, -they were finally discovered and taken by a policeman to the station. -In the morning an interpreter was found, and they were taken and put upon -a car, and taught a new word--"stockyards." Their delight at discovering -that they were to get out of this adventure without losing another share -of their possessions it would not be possible to describe. - -They sat and stared out of the window. They were on a street which seemed -to run on forever, mile after mile--thirty-four of them, if they had known -it--and each side of it one uninterrupted row of wretched little two-story -frame buildings. Down every side street they could see, it was the same-- -never a hill and never a hollow, but always the same endless vista of ugly -and dirty little wooden buildings. Here and there would be a bridge -crossing a filthy creek, with hard-baked mud shores and dingy sheds and -docks along it; here and there would be a railroad crossing, with a tangle -of switches, and locomotives puffing, and rattling freight cars filing by; -here and there would be a great factory, a dingy building with innumerable -windows in it, and immense volumes of smoke pouring from the chimneys, -darkening the air above and making filthy the earth beneath. But after -each of these interruptions, the desolate procession would begin again--the -procession of dreary little buildings. - -A full hour before the party reached the city they had begun to note the -perplexing changes in the atmosphere. It grew darker all the time, and -upon the earth the grass seemed to grow less green. Every minute, as the -train sped on, the colors of things became dingier; the fields were grown -parched and yellow, the landscape hideous and bare. And along with the -thickening smoke they began to notice another circumstance, a strange, -pungent odor. They were not sure that it was unpleasant, this odor; -some might have called it sickening, but their taste in odors was not -developed, and they were only sure that it was curious. Now, sitting in -the trolley car, they realized that they were on their way to the home -of it--that they had traveled all the way from Lithuania to it. It was -now no longer something far off and faint, that you caught in whiffs; -you could literally taste it, as well as smell it--you could take hold -of it, almost, and examine it at your leisure. They were divided in their -opinions about it. It was an elemental odor, raw and crude; it was rich, -almost rancid, sensual, and strong. There were some who drank it in as if -it were an intoxicant; there were others who put their handkerchiefs to -their faces. The new emigrants were still tasting it, lost in wonder, -when suddenly the car came to a halt, and the door was flung open, and a -voice shouted--"Stockyards!" - -They were left standing upon the corner, staring; down a side street -there were two rows of brick houses, and between them a vista: half a -dozen chimneys, tall as the tallest of buildings, touching the very -sky--and leaping from them half a dozen columns of smoke, thick, oily, -and black as night. It might have come from the center of the world, -this smoke, where the fires of the ages still smolder. It came as if -self-impelled, driving all before it, a perpetual explosion. It was -inexhaustible; one stared, waiting to see it stop, but still the great -streams rolled out. They spread in vast clouds overhead, writhing, curling; -then, uniting in one giant river, they streamed away down the sky, -stretching a black pall as far as the eye could reach. - -Then the party became aware of another strange thing. This, too, like -the color, was a thing elemental; it was a sound, a sound made up of ten -thousand little sounds. You scarcely noticed it at first--it sunk into -your consciousness, a vague disturbance, a trouble. It was like the -murmuring of the bees in the spring, the whisperings of the forest; it -suggested endless activity, the rumblings of a world in motion. It was -only by an effort that one could realize that it was made by animals, -that it was the distant lowing of ten thousand cattle, the distant -grunting of ten thousand swine. - -They would have liked to follow it up, but, alas, they had no time for -adventures just then. The policeman on the corner was beginning to -watch them; and so, as usual, they started up the street. Scarcely had -they gone a block, however, before Jonas was heard to give a cry, and began -pointing excitedly across the street. Before they could gather the meaning -of his breathless ejaculations he had bounded away, and they saw him enter -a shop, over which was a sign: "J. Szedvilas, Delicatessen." When he came -out again it was in company with a very stout gentleman in shirt sleeves -and an apron, clasping Jonas by both hands and laughing hilariously. -Then Teta Elzbieta recollected suddenly that Szedvilas had been the name -of the mythical friend who had made his fortune in America. To find that -he had been making it in the delicatessen business was an extraordinary -piece of good fortune at this juncture; though it was well on in the -morning, they had not breakfasted, and the children were beginning to -whimper. - -Thus was the happy ending to a woeful voyage. The two families literally -fell upon each other's necks--for it had been years since Jokubas Szedvilas -had met a man from his part of Lithuania. Before half the day they were -lifelong friends. Jokubas understood all the pitfalls of this new world, -and could explain all of its mysteries; he could tell them the things -they ought to have done in the different emergencies--and what was still -more to the point, he could tell them what to do now. He would take them -to poni Aniele, who kept a boardinghouse the other side of the yards; -old Mrs. Jukniene, he explained, had not what one would call choice -accommodations, but they might do for the moment. To this Teta Elzbieta -hastened to respond that nothing could be too cheap to suit them just -then; for they were quite terrified over the sums they had had to expend. -A very few days of practical experience in this land of high wages had -been sufficient to make clear to them the cruel fact that it was also a -land of high prices, and that in it the poor man was almost as poor as in -any other corner of the earth; and so there vanished in a night all the -wonderful dreams of wealth that had been haunting Jurgis. What had made -the discovery all the more painful was that they were spending, at American -prices, money which they had earned at home rates of wages--and so were -really being cheated by the world! The last two days they had all but -starved themselves--it made them quite sick to pay the prices that the -railroad people asked them for food. - -Yet, when they saw the home of the Widow Jukniene they could not but -recoil, even so. ln all their journey they had seen nothing so bad -as this. Poni Aniele had a four-room flat in one of that wilderness of -two-story frame tenements that lie "back of the yards." There were four -such flats in each building, and each of the four was a "boardinghouse" -for the occupancy of foreigners--Lithuanians, Poles, Slovaks, or Bohemians. -Some of these places were kept by private persons, some were cooperative. -There would be an average of half a dozen boarders to each room--sometimes -there were thirteen or fourteen to one room, fifty or sixty to a flat. -Each one of the occupants furnished his own accommodations--that is, -a mattress and some bedding. The mattresses would be spread upon the -floor in rows--and there would be nothing else in the place except a stove. -It was by no means unusual for two men to own the same mattress in common, -one working by day and using it by night, and the other working at night -and using it in the daytime. Very frequently a lodging house keeper would -rent the same beds to double shifts of men. - -Mrs. Jukniene was a wizened-up little woman, with a wrinkled face. -Her home was unthinkably filthy; you could not enter by the front -door at all, owing to the mattresses, and when you tried to go up the -backstairs you found that she had walled up most of the porch with old -boards to make a place to keep her chickens. It was a standing jest of -the boarders that Aniele cleaned house by letting the chickens loose in -the rooms. Undoubtedly this did keep down the vermin, but it seemed -probable, in view of all the circumstances, that the old lady regarded it -rather as feeding the chickens than as cleaning the rooms. The truth was -that she had definitely given up the idea of cleaning anything, under -pressure of an attack of rheumatism, which had kept her doubled up in -one corner of her room for over a week; during which time eleven of her -boarders, heavily in her debt, had concluded to try their chances of -employment in Kansas City. This was July, and the fields were green. -One never saw the fields, nor any green thing whatever, in Packingtown; -but one could go out on the road and "hobo it," as the men phrased it, -and see the country, and have a long rest, and an easy time riding on -the freight cars. - - -Such was the home to which the new arrivals were welcomed. There was -nothing better to be had--they might not do so well by looking further, -for Mrs. Jukniene had at least kept one room for herself and her three -little children, and now offered to share this with the women and the -girls of the party. They could get bedding at a secondhand store, she -explained; and they would not need any, while the weather was so hot-- -doubtless they would all sleep on the sidewalk such nights as this, as did -nearly all of her guests. "Tomorrow," Jurgis said, when they were left -alone, "tomorrow I will get a job, and perhaps Jonas will get one also; -and then we can get a place of our own." - -Later that afternoon he and Ona went out to take a walk and look about them, -to see more of this district which was to be their home. In back of the -yards the dreary two-story frame houses were scattered farther apart, -and there were great spaces bare--that seemingly had been overlooked by the -great sore of a city as it spread itself over the surface of the prairie. -These bare places were grown up with dingy, yellow weeds, hiding -innumerable tomato cans; innumerable children played upon them, chasing -one another here and there, screaming and fighting. The most uncanny -thing about this neighborhood was the number of the children; you thought -there must be a school just out, and it was only after long acquaintance -that you were able to realize that there was no school, but that these -were the children of the neighborhood--that there were so many children -to the block in Packingtown that nowhere on its streets could a horse and -buggy move faster than a walk! - -It could not move faster anyhow, on account of the state of the streets. -Those through which Jurgis and Ona were walking resembled streets less -than they did a miniature topographical map. The roadway was commonly -several feet lower than the level of the houses, which were sometimes -joined by high board walks; there were no pavements--there were mountains -and valleys and rivers, gullies and ditches, and great hollows full of -stinking green water. In these pools the children played, and rolled -about in the mud of the streets; here and there one noticed them digging -in it, after trophies which they had stumbled on. One wondered about this, -as also about the swarms of flies which hung about the scene, literally -blackening the air, and the strange, fetid odor which assailed one's -nostrils, a ghastly odor, of all the dead things of the universe. -It impelled the visitor to questions and then the residents would explain, -quietly, that all this was "made" land, and that it had been "made" by -using it as a dumping ground for the city garbage. After a few years the -unpleasant effect of this would pass away, it was said; but meantime, -in hot weather--and especially when it rained--the flies were apt to -be annoying. Was it not unhealthful? the stranger would ask, and the -residents would answer, "Perhaps; but there is no telling." - -A little way farther on, and Jurgis and Ona, staring open-eyed and -wondering, came to the place where this "made" ground was in process -of making. Here was a great hole, perhaps two city blocks square, -and with long files of garbage wagons creeping into it. The place had -an odor for which there are no polite words; and it was sprinkled over -with children, who raked in it from dawn till dark. Sometimes visitors -from the packing houses would wander out to see this "dump," and they -would stand by and debate as to whether the children were eating the food -they got, or merely collecting it for the chickens at home. Apparently -none of them ever went down to find out. - -Beyond this dump there stood a great brickyard, with smoking chimneys. -First they took out the soil to make bricks, and then they filled it -up again with garbage, which seemed to Jurgis and Ona a felicitous -arrangement, characteristic of an enterprising country like America. -A little way beyond was another great hole, which they had emptied and -not yet filled up. This held water, and all summer it stood there, -with the near-by soil draining into it, festering and stewing in the sun; -and then, when winter came, somebody cut the ice on it, and sold it to -the people of the city. This, too, seemed to the newcomers an economical -arrangement; for they did not read the newspapers, and their heads were -not full of troublesome thoughts about "germs." - -They stood there while the sun went down upon this scene, and the sky -in the west turned blood-red, and the tops of the houses shone like fire. -Jurgis and Ona were not thinking of the sunset, however--their backs -were turned to it, and all their thoughts were of Packingtown, which -they could see so plainly in the distance. The line of the buildings -stood clear-cut and black against the sky; here and there out of the -mass rose the great chimneys, with the river of smoke streaming away to -the end of the world. It was a study in colors now, this smoke; in the -sunset light it was black and brown and gray and purple. All the sordid -suggestions of the place were gone--in the twilight it was a vision of -power. To the two who stood watching while the darkness swallowed it up, -it seemed a dream of wonder, with its talc of human energy, of things being -done, of employment for thousands upon thousands of men, of opportunity -and freedom, of life and love and joy. When they came away, arm in arm, -Jurgis was saying, "Tomorrow I shall go there and get a job!" - - - -Chapter 3 - - -In his capacity as delicatessen vender, Jokubas Szedvilas had many -acquaintances. Among these was one of the special policemen employed -by Durham, whose duty it frequently was to pick out men for employment. -Jokubas had never tried it, but he expressed a certainty that he could -get some of his friends a job through this man. It was agreed, after -consultation, that he should make the effort with old Antanas and -with Jonas. Jurgis was confident of his ability to get work for himself, -unassisted by any one. As we have said before, he was not mistaken -in this. He had gone to Brown's and stood there not more than half -an hour before one of the bosses noticed his form towering above -the rest, and signaled to him. The colloquy which followed was brief -and to the point: - -"Speak English?" - -"No; Lit-uanian." (Jurgis had studied this word carefully.) - -"Job?" - -"Je." (A nod.) - -"Worked here before?" - -"No 'stand." - -(Signals and gesticulations on the part of the boss. Vigorous -shakes of the head by Jurgis.) - -"Shovel guts?" - -"No 'stand." (More shakes of the head.) - -"Zarnos. Pagaiksztis. Szluofa!" (Imitative motions.) - -"Je." - -"See door. Durys?" (Pointing.) - -"Je." - -"To-morrow, seven o'clock. Understand? Rytoj! Prieszpietys! Septyni!" - -"Dekui, tamistai!" (Thank you, sir.) And that was all. Jurgis turned -away, and then in a sudden rush the full realization of his triumph -swept over him, and he gave a yell and a jump, and started off on a run. -He had a job! He had a job! And he went all the way home as if upon -wings, and burst into the house like a cyclone, to the rage of the -numerous lodgers who had just turned in for their daily sleep. - -Meantime Jokubas had been to see his friend the policeman, and received -encouragement, so it was a happy party. There being no more to be done -that day, the shop was left under the care of Lucija, and her husband -sallied forth to show his friends the sights of Packingtown. Jokubas did -this with the air of a country gentleman escorting a party of visitors -over his estate; he was an old-time resident, and all these wonders had -grown up under his eyes, and he had a personal pride in them. The packers -might own the land, but he claimed the landscape, and there was no one to -say nay to this. - - -They passed down the busy street that led to the yards. It was still -early morning, and everything was at its high tide of activity. -A steady stream of employees was pouring through the gate--employees -of the higher sort, at this hour, clerks and stenographers and such. -For the women there were waiting big two-horse wagons, which set off -at a gallop as fast as they were filled. In the distance there was heard -again the lowing of the cattle, a sound as of a far-off ocean calling. -They followed it, this time, as eager as children in sight of a circus -menagerie--which, indeed, the scene a good deal resembled. They crossed -the railroad tracks, and then on each side of the street were the pens -full of cattle; they would have stopped to look, but Jokubas hurried -them on, to where there was a stairway and a raised gallery, from which -everything could be seen. Here they stood, staring, breathless with wonder. - -There is over a square mile of space in the yards, and more than half -of it is occupied by cattle pens; north and south as far as the eye can -reach there stretches a sea of pens. And they were all filled--so many -cattle no one had ever dreamed existed in the world. Red cattle, black, -white, and yellow cattle; old cattle and young cattle; great bellowing -bulls and little calves not an hour born; meek-eyed milch cows and fierce, -long-horned Texas steers. The sound of them here was as of all the -barnyards of the universe; and as for counting them--it would have taken -all day simply to count the pens. Here and there ran long alleys, blocked -at intervals by gates; and Jokubas told them that the number of these gates -was twenty-five thousand. Jokubas had recently been reading a newspaper -article which was full of statistics such as that, and he was very proud -as he repeated them and made his guests cry out with wonder. Jurgis too -had a little of this sense of pride. Had he not just gotten a job, and -become a sharer in all this activity, a cog in this marvelous machine? -Here and there about the alleys galloped men upon horseback, booted, -and carrying long whips; they were very busy, calling to each other, -and to those who were driving the cattle. They were drovers and stock -raisers, who had come from far states, and brokers and commission -merchants, and buyers for all the big packing houses. - -Here and there they would stop to inspect a bunch of cattle, and there -would be a parley, brief and businesslike. The buyer would nod or drop -his whip, and that would mean a bargain; and he would note it in his -little book, along with hundreds of others he had made that morning. -Then Jokubas pointed out the place where the cattle were driven to be -weighed, upon a great scale that would weigh a hundred thousand pounds at -once and record it automatically. It was near to the east entrance that -they stood, and all along this east side of the yards ran the railroad -tracks, into which the cars were run, loaded with cattle. All night long -this had been going on, and now the pens were full; by tonight they would -all be empty, and the same thing would be done again. - -"And what will become of all these creatures?" cried Teta Elzbieta. - -"By tonight," Jokubas answered, "they will all be killed and cut up; -and over there on the other side of the packing houses are more -railroad tracks, where the cars come to take them away." - -There were two hundred and fifty miles of track within the yards, their -guide went on to tell them. They brought about ten thousand head of -cattle every day, and as many hogs, and half as many sheep--which meant -some eight or ten million live creatures turned into food every year. -One stood and watched, and little by little caught the drift of the tide, -as it set in the direction of the packing houses. There were groups of -cattle being driven to the chutes, which were roadways about fifteen feet -wide, raised high above the pens. In these chutes the stream of animals -was continuous; it was quite uncanny to watch them, pressing on to their -fate, all unsuspicious a very river of death. Our friends were not -poetical, and the sight suggested to them no metaphors of human destiny; -they thought only of the wonderful efficiency of it all. The chutes into -which the hogs went climbed high up--to the very top of the distant -buildings; and Jokubas explained that the hogs went up by the power of -their own legs, and then their weight carried them back through all the -processes necessary to make them into pork. - -"They don't waste anything here," said the guide, and then he laughed -and added a witticism, which he was pleased that his unsophisticated -friends should take to be his own: "They use everything about the hog -except the squeal." In front of Brown's General Office building there -grows a tiny plot of grass, and this, you may learn, is the only bit -of green thing in Packingtown; likewise this jest about the hog and his -squeal, the stock in trade of all the guides, is the one gleam of humor -that you will find there. - -After they had seen enough of the pens, the party went up the street, -to the mass of buildings which occupy the center of the yards. These -buildings, made of brick and stained with innumerable layers of -Packingtown smoke, were painted all over with advertising signs, from -which the visitor realized suddenly that he had come to the home of many -of the torments of his life. It was here that they made those products -with the wonders of which they pestered him so--by placards that defaced -the landscape when he traveled, and by staring advertisements in the -newspapers and magazines--by silly little jingles that he could not get -out of his mind, and gaudy pictures that lurked for him around every -street corner. Here was where they made Brown's Imperial Hams and Bacon, -Brown's Dressed Beef, Brown's Excelsior Sausages! Here was the -headquarters of Durham's Pure Leaf Lard, of Durham's Breakfast Bacon, -Durham's Canned Beef, Potted Ham, Deviled Chicken, Peerless Fertilizer! - -Entering one of the Durham buildings, they found a number of other visitors -waiting; and before long there came a guide, to escort them through the -place. They make a great feature of showing strangers through the packing -plants, for it is a good advertisement. But Ponas Jokubas whispered -maliciously that the visitors did not see any more than the packers -wanted them to. They climbed a long series of stairways outside of the -building, to the top of its five or six stories. Here was the chute, -with its river of hogs, all patiently toiling upward; there was a place -for them to rest to cool off, and then through another passageway they -went into a room from which there is no returning for hogs. - -It was a long, narrow room, with a gallery along it for visitors. At the -head there was a great iron wheel, about twenty feet in circumference, -with rings here and there along its edge. Upon both sides of this wheel -there was a narrow space, into which came the hogs at the end of their -journey; in the midst of them stood a great burly Negro, bare-armed and -bare-chested. He was resting for the moment, for the wheel had stopped -while men were cleaning up. In a minute or two, however, it began slowly -to revolve, and then the men upon each side of it sprang to work. They had -chains which they fastened about the leg of the nearest hog, and the other -end of the chain they hooked into one of the rings upon the wheel. So, as -the wheel turned, a hog was suddenly jerked off his feet and borne aloft. - -At the same instant the car was assailed by a most terrifying shriek; -the visitors started in alarm, the women turned pale and shrank back. -The shriek was followed by another, louder and yet more agonizing-- -for once started upon that journey, the hog never came back; at the -top of the wheel he was shunted off upon a trolley, and went sailing -down the room. And meantime another was swung up, and then another, -and another, until there was a double line of them, each dangling by -a foot and kicking in frenzy--and squealing. The uproar was appalling, -perilous to the eardrums; one feared there was too much sound for the room -to hold--that the walls must give way or the ceiling crack. There were -high squeals and low squeals, grunts, and wails of agony; there would -come a momentary lull, and then a fresh outburst, louder than ever, -surging up to a deafening climax. It was too much for some of the -visitors--the men would look at each other, laughing nervously, and the -women would stand with hands clenched, and the blood rushing to their -faces, and the tears starting in their eyes. - -Meantime, heedless of all these things, the men upon the floor were going -about their work. Neither squeals of hogs nor tears of visitors made any -difference to them; one by one they hooked up the hogs, and one by one -with a swift stroke they slit their throats. There was a long line of hogs, -with squeals and lifeblood ebbing away together; until at last each started -again, and vanished with a splash into a huge vat of boiling water. - -It was all so very businesslike that one watched it fascinated. It was -porkmaking by machinery, porkmaking by applied mathematics. And yet -somehow the most matter-of-fact person could not help thinking of the -hogs; they were so innocent, they came so very trustingly; and they were -so very human in their protests--and so perfectly within their rights! -They had done nothing to deserve it; and it was adding insult to injury, -as the thing was done here, swinging them up in this cold-blooded, -impersonal way, without a pretense of apology, without the homage of -a tear. Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; but this slaughtering -machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some horrible crime -committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of sight and -of memory. - -One could not stand and watch very long without becoming philosophical, -without beginning to deal in symbols and similes, and to hear the hog -squeal of the universe. Was it permitted to believe that there was -nowhere upon the earth, or above the earth, a heaven for hogs, where -they were requited for all this suffering? Each one of these hogs was a -separate creature. Some were white hogs, some were black; some were brown, -some were spotted; some were old, some young; some were long and lean, -some were monstrous. And each of them had an individuality of his own, -a will of his own, a hope and a heart's desire; each was full of self- -confidence, of self-importance, and a sense of dignity. And trusting and -strong in faith he had gone about his business, the while a black shadow -hung over him and a horrid Fate waited in his pathway. Now suddenly -it had swooped upon him, and had seized him by the leg. Relentless, -remorseless, it was; all his protests, his screams, were nothing to it-- -it did its cruel will with him, as if his wishes, his feelings, had simply -no existence at all; it cut his throat and watched him gasp out his life. -And now was one to believe that there was nowhere a god of hogs, to whom -this hog personality was precious, to whom these hog squeals and agonies -had a meaning? Who would take this hog into his arms and comfort him, -reward him for his work well done, and show him the meaning of his -sacrifice? Perhaps some glimpse of all this was in the thoughts of our -humble-minded Jurgis, as he turned to go on with the rest of the party, -and muttered: "Dieve--but I'm glad I'm not a hog!" - -The carcass hog was scooped out of the vat by machinery, and then it -fell to the second floor, passing on the way through a wonderful machine -with numerous scrapers, which adjusted themselves to the size and shape -of the animal, and sent it out at the other end with nearly all of its -bristles removed. It was then again strung up by machinery, and sent -upon another trolley ride; this time passing between two lines of men, -who sat upon a raised platform, each doing a certain single thing to -the carcass as it came to him. One scraped the outside of a leg; -another scraped the inside of the same leg. One with a swift stroke cut -the throat; another with two swift strokes severed the head, which fell -to the floor and vanished through a hole. Another made a slit down -the body; a second opened the body wider; a third with a saw cut the -breastbone; a fourth loosened the entrails; a fifth pulled them out-- -and they also slid through a hole in the floor. There were men to scrape -each side and men to scrape the back; there were men to clean the carcass -inside, to trim it and wash it. Looking down this room, one saw, creeping -slowly, a line of dangling hogs a hundred yards in length; and for every -yard there was a man, working as if a demon were after him. At the end of -this hog's progress every inch of the carcass had been gone over several -times; and then it was rolled into the chilling room, where it stayed for -twenty-four hours, and where a stranger might lose himself in a forest of -freezing hogs. - -Before the carcass was admitted here, however, it had to pass a government -inspector, who sat in the doorway and felt of the glands in the neck for -tuberculosis. This government inspector did not have the manner of a man -who was worked to death; he was apparently not haunted by a fear that the -hog might get by him before he had finished his testing. If you were a -sociable person, he was quite willing to enter into conversation with you, -and to explain to you the deadly nature of the ptomaines which are found in -tubercular pork; and while he was talking with you you could hardly be so -ungrateful as to notice that a dozen carcasses were passing him untouched. -This inspector wore a blue uniform, with brass buttons, and he gave an -atmosphere of authority to the scene, and, as it were, put the stamp of -official approval upon the things which were done in Durham's. - -Jurgis went down the line with the rest of the visitors, staring -openmouthed, lost in wonder. He had dressed hogs himself in the forest -of Lithuania; but he had never expected to live to see one hog dressed -by several hundred men. It was like a wonderful poem to him, and he took -it all in guilelessly--even to the conspicuous signs demanding immaculate -cleanliness of the employees. Jurgis was vexed when the cynical Jokubas -translated these signs with sarcastic comments, offering to take them to -the secret rooms where the spoiled meats went to be doctored. - -The party descended to the next floor, where the various waste materials -were treated. Here came the entrails, to be scraped and washed clean for -sausage casings; men and women worked here in the midst of a sickening -stench, which caused the visitors to hasten by, gasping. To another room -came all the scraps to be "tanked," which meant boiling and pumping off -the grease to make soap and lard; below they took out the refuse, and this, -too, was a region in which the visitors did not linger. In still other -places men were engaged in cutting up the carcasses that had been through -the chilling rooms. First there were the "splitters," the most expert -workmen in the plant, who earned as high as fifty cents an hour, and did -not a thing all day except chop hogs down the middle. Then there were -"cleaver men," great giants with muscles of iron; each had two men to -attend him--to slide the half carcass in front of him on the table, -and hold it while he chopped it, and then turn each piece so that he might -chop it once more. His cleaver had a blade about two feet long, and he -never made but one cut; he made it so neatly, too, that his implement -did not smite through and dull itself--there was just enough force for a -perfect cut, and no more. So through various yawning holes there slipped -to the floor below--to one room hams, to another forequarters, to another -sides of pork. One might go down to this floor and see the pickling rooms, -where the hams were put into vats, and the great smoke rooms, with their -airtight iron doors. In other rooms they prepared salt pork--there were -whole cellars full of it, built up in great towers to the ceiling. In yet -other rooms they were putting up meats in boxes and barrels, and wrapping -hams and bacon in oiled paper, sealing and labeling and sewing them. -From the doors of these rooms went men with loaded trucks, to the platform -where freight cars were waiting to be filled; and one went out there and -realized with a start that he had come at last to the ground floor of this -enormous building. - -Then the party went across the street to where they did the killing of -beef--where every hour they turned four or five hundred cattle into meat. -Unlike the place they had left, all this work was done on one floor; -and instead of there being one line of carcasses which moved to the -workmen, there were fifteen or twenty lines, and the men moved from one -to another of these. This made a scene of intense activity, a picture of -human power wonderful to watch. It was all in one great room, like a -circus amphitheater, with a gallery for visitors running over the center. - -Along one side of the room ran a narrow gallery, a few feet from -the floor; into which gallery the cattle were driven by men with goads -which gave them electric shocks. Once crowded in here, the creatures -were prisoned, each in a separate pen, by gates that shut, leaving them -no room to turn around; and while they stood bellowing and plunging, -over the top of the pen there leaned one of the "knockers," armed with -a sledge hammer, and watching for a chance to deal a blow. The room -echoed with the thuds in quick succession, and the stamping and kicking -of the steers. The instant the animal had fallen, the "knocker" passed -on to another; while a second man raised a lever, and the side of the -pen was raised, and the animal, still kicking and struggling, slid out -to the "killing bed." Here a man put shackles about one leg, and pressed -another lever, and the body was jerked up into the air. There were -fifteen or twenty such pens, and it was a matter of only a couple of -minutes to knock fifteen or twenty cattle and roll them out. Then once -more the gates were opened, and another lot rushed in; and so out of -each pen there rolled a steady stream of carcasses, which the men upon -the killing beds had to get out of the way. - -The manner in which they did this was something to be seen and never -forgotten. They worked with furious intensity, literally upon the run-- -at a pace with which there is nothing to be compared except a football -game. It was all highly specialized labor, each man having his task -to do; generally this would consist of only two or three specific cuts, -and he would pass down the line of fifteen or twenty carcasses, making -these cuts upon each. First there came the "butcher," to bleed them; -this meant one swift stroke, so swift that you could not see it--only the -flash of the knife; and before you could realize it, the man had darted -on to the next line, and a stream of bright red was pouring out upon the -floor. This floor was half an inch deep with blood, in spite of the best -efforts of men who kept shoveling it through holes; it must have made -the floor slippery, but no one could have guessed this by watching the -men at work. - -The carcass hung for a few minutes to bleed; there was no time lost, -however, for there were several hanging in each line, and one was always -ready. It was let down to the ground, and there came the "headsman," -whose task it was to sever the head, with two or three swift strokes. -Then came the "floorsman," to make the first cut in the skin; and then -another to finish ripping the skin down the center; and then half a dozen -more in swift succession, to finish the skinning. After they were through, -the carcass was again swung up; and while a man with a stick examined the -skin, to make sure that it had not been cut, and another rolled it tip -and tumbled it through one of the inevitable holes in the floor, the beef -proceeded on its journey. There were men to cut it, and men to split it, -and men to gut it and scrape it clean inside. There were some with hose -which threw jets of boiling water upon it, and others who removed the feet -and added the final touches. In the end, as with the hogs, the finished -beef was run into the chilling room, to hang its appointed time. - -The visitors were taken there and shown them, all neatly hung in rows, -labeled conspicuously with the tags of the government inspectors--and -some, which had been killed by a special process, marked with the sign -of the kosher rabbi, certifying that it was fit for sale to the orthodox. -And then the visitors were taken to the other parts of the building, -to see what became of each particle of the waste material that had -vanished through the floor; and to the pickling rooms, and the salting -rooms, the canning rooms, and the packing rooms, where choice meat was -prepared for shipping in refrigerator cars, destined to be eaten in all -the four corners of civilization. Afterward they went outside, wandering -about among the mazes of buildings in which was done the work auxiliary -to this great industry. There was scarcely a thing needed in the business -that Durham and Company did not make for themselves. There was a great -steam power plant and an electricity plant. There was a barrel factory, -and a boiler-repair shop. There was a building to which the grease was -piped, and made into soap and lard; and then there was a factory for -making lard cans, and another for making soap boxes. There was a building -in which the bristles were cleaned and dried, for the making of hair -cushions and such things; there was a building where the skins were dried -and tanned, there was another where heads and feet were made into glue, -and another where bones were made into fertilizer. No tiniest particle -of organic matter was wasted in Durham's. Out of the horns of the -cattle they made combs, buttons, hairpins, and imitation ivory; out of -the shinbones and other big bones they cut knife and toothbrush handles, -and mouthpieces for pipes; out of the hoofs they cut hairpins and -buttons, before they made the rest into glue. From such things as feet, -knuckles, hide clippings, and sinews came such strange and unlikely -products as gelatin, isinglass, and phosphorus, bone black, shoe blacking, -and bone oil. They had curled-hair works for the cattle tails, and a -"wool pullery" for the sheepskins; they made pepsin from the stomachs -of the pigs, and albumen from the blood, and violin strings from the -ill-smelling entrails. When there was nothing else to be done with -a thing, they first put it into a tank and got out of it all the tallow -and grease, and then they made it into fertilizer. All these industries -were gathered into buildings near by, connected by galleries and -railroads with the main establishment; and it was estimated that they -had handled nearly a quarter of a billion of animals since the founding -of the plant by the elder Durham a generation and more ago. If you -counted with it the other big plants--and they were now really all -one--it was, so Jokubas informed them, the greatest aggregation of labor -and capital ever gathered in one place. It employed thirty thousand men; -it suppported directly two hundred and fifty thousand people in its -neighborhood, and indirectly it supported half a million. It sent its -products to every country in the civilized world, and it furnished the -food for no less than thirty million people! - -To all of these things our friends would listen openmouthed--it seemed -to them impossible of belief that anything so stupendous could have been -devised by mortal man. That was why to Jurgis it seemed almost profanity -to speak about the place as did Jokubas, skeptically; it was a thing as -tremendous as the universe--the laws and ways of its working no more than -the universe to be questioned or understood. All that a mere man could do, -it seemed to Jurgis, was to take a thing like this as he found it, and do -as he was told; to be given a place in it and a share in its wonderful -activities was a blessing to be grateful for, as one was grateful for the -sunshine and the rain. Jurgis was even glad that he had not seen the -place before meeting with his triumph, for he felt that the size of it -would have overwhelmed him. But now he had been admitted--he was a part -of it all! He had the feeling that this whole huge establishment had -taken him under its protection, and had become responsible for his welfare. -So guileless was he, and ignorant of the nature of business, that he did -not even realize that he had become an employee of Brown's, and that Brown -and Durham were supposed by all the world to be deadly rivals--were even -required to be deadly rivals by the law of the land, and ordered to try -to ruin each other under penalty of fine and imprisonment! - - - -Chapter 4 - - -Promptly at seven the next morning Jurgis reported for work. He came to -the door that had been pointed out to him, and there he waited for nearly -two hours. The boss had meant for him to enter, but had not said this, -and so it was only when on his way out to hire another man that he came -upon Jurgis. He gave him a good cursing, but as Jurgis did not understand -a word of it he did not object. He followed the boss, who showed him -where to put his street clothes, and waited while he donned the working -clothes he had bought in a secondhand shop and brought with him in a -bundle; then he led him to the "killing beds." The work which Jurgis was -to do here was very simple, and it took him but a few minutes to learn it. -He was provided with a stiff besom, such as is used by street sweepers, -and it was his place to follow down the line the man who drew out the -smoking entrails from the carcass of the steer; this mass was to be swept -into a trap, which was then closed, so that no one might slip into it. -As Jurgis came in, the first cattle of the morning were just making their -appearance; and so, with scarcely time to look about him, and none to -speak to any one, he fell to work. It was a sweltering day in July, -and the place ran with steaming hot blood--one waded in it on the floor. -The stench was almost overpowering, but to Jurgis it was nothing. His -whole soul was dancing with joy--he was at work at last! He was at work -and earning money! All day long he was figuring to himself. He was paid -the fabulous sum of seventeen and a half cents an hour; and as it proved -a rush day and he worked until nearly seven o'clock in the evening, he went -home to the family with the tidings that he had earned more than a dollar -and a half in a single day! - -At home, also, there was more good news; so much of it at once that there -was quite a celebration in Aniele's hall bedroom. Jonas had been to have -an interview with the special policeman to whom Szedvilas had introduced -him, and had been taken to see several of the bosses, with the result that -one had promised him a job the beginning of the next week. And then there -was Marija Berczynskas, who, fired with jealousy by the success of Jurgis, -had set out upon her own responsibility to get a place. Marija had nothing -to take with her save her two brawny arms and the word "job," laboriously -learned; but with these she had marched about Packingtown all day, entering -every door where there were signs of activity. Out of some she had been -ordered with curses; but Marija was not afraid of man or devil, and asked -every one she saw--visitors and strangers, or workpeople like herself, -and once or twice even high and lofty office personages, who stared at -her as if they thought she was crazy. In the end, however, she had reaped -her reward. In one of the smaller plants she had stumbled upon a room -where scores of women and girls were sitting at long tables preparing -smoked beef in cans; and wandering through room after room, Marija came -at last to the place where the sealed cans were being painted and labeled, -and here she had the good fortune to encounter the "forelady." Marija did -not understand then, as she was destined to understand later, what there -was attractive to a "forelady" about the combination of a face full of -boundless good nature and the muscles of a dray horse; but the woman had -told her to come the next day and she would perhaps give her a chance to -learn the trade of painting cans. The painting of cans being skilled -piecework, and paying as much as two dollars a day, Marija burst in upon -the family with the yell of a Comanche Indian, and fell to capering about -the room so as to frighten the baby almost into convulsions. - -Better luck than all this could hardly have been hoped for; there was only -one of them left to seek a place. Jurgis was determined that Teta Elzbieta -should stay at home to keep house, and that Ona should help her. He would -not have Ona working--he was not that sort of a man, he said, and she was -not that sort of a woman. It would be a strange thing if a man like him -could not support the family, with the help of the board of Jonas and -Marija. He would not even hear of letting the children go to work--there -were schools here in America for children, Jurgis had heard, to which -they could go for nothing. That the priest would object to these schools -was something of which he had as yet no idea, and for the present his mind -was made up that the children of Teta Elzbieta should have as fair a chance -as any other children. The oldest of them, little Stanislovas, was but -thirteen, and small for his age at that; and while the oldest son of -Szedvilas was only twelve, and had worked for over a year at Jones's, Jurgis -would have it that Stanislovas should learn to speak English, and grow up -to be a skilled man. - -So there was only old Dede Antanas; Jurgis would have had him rest too, -but he was forced to acknowledge that this was not possible, and, besides, -the old man would not hear it spoken of--it was his whim to insist that -he was as lively as any boy. He had come to America as full of hope as -the best of them; and now he was the chief problem that worried his son. -For every one that Jurgis spoke to assured him that it was a waste of time -to seek employment for the old man in Packingtown. Szedvilas told him -that the packers did not even keep the men who had grown old in their -own service--to say nothing of taking on new ones. And not only was it -the rule here, it was the rule everywhere in America, so far as he knew. -To satisfy Jurgis he had asked the policeman, and brought back the message -that the thing was not to be thought of. They had not told this to old -Anthony, who had consequently spent the two days wandering about from -one part of the yards to another, and had now come home to hear about -the triumph of the others, smiling bravely and saying that it would be -his turn another day. - -Their good luck, they felt, had given them the right to think about -a home; and sitting out on the doorstep that summer evening, they held -consultation about it, and Jurgis took occasion to broach a weighty -subject. Passing down the avenue to work that morning he had seen two -boys leaving an advertisement from house to house; and seeing that there -were pictures upon it, Jurgis had asked for one, and had rolled it up and -tucked it into his shirt. At noontime a man with whom he had been talking -had read it to him and told him a little about it, with the result that -Jurgis had conceived a wild idea. - -He brought out the placard, which was quite a work of art. It was nearly -two feet long, printed on calendered paper, with a selection of colors so -bright that they shone even in the moonlight. The center of the placard -was occupied by a house, brilliantly painted, new, and dazzling. The roof -of it was of a purple hue, and trimmed with gold; the house itself was -silvery, and the doors and windows red. It was a two-story building, with -a porch in front, and a very fancy scrollwork around the edges; it was -complete in every tiniest detail, even the doorknob, and there was a -hammock on the porch and white lace curtains in the windows. Underneath -this, in one corner, was a picture of a husband and wife in loving embrace; -in the opposite corner was a cradle, with fluffy curtains drawn over it, -and a smiling cherub hovering upon silver-colored wings. For fear that -the significance of all this should be lost, there was a label, in Polish, -Lithuanian, and German--"Dom. Namai. Heim." "Why pay rent?" the -linguistic circular went on to demand. "Why not own your own home? -Do you know that you can buy one for less than your rent? We have built -thousands of homes which are now occupied by happy families."--So it became -eloquent, picturing the blissfulness of married life in a house with -nothing to pay. It even quoted "Home, Sweet Home," and made bold to -translate it into Polish--though for some reason it omitted the Lithuanian -of this. Perhaps the translator found it a difficult matter to be -sentimental in a language in which a sob is known as a gukcziojimas and -a smile as a nusiszypsojimas. - -Over this document the family pored long, while Ona spelled out its contents. -It appeared that this house contained four rooms, besides a basement, and -that it might be bought for fifteen hundred dollars, the lot and all. -Of this, only three hundred dollars had to be paid down, the balance being -paid at the rate of twelve dollars a month. These were frightful sums, -but then they were in America, where people talked about such without fear. -They had learned that they would have to pay a rent of nine dollars a month -for a flat, and there was no way of doing better, unless the family of -twelve was to exist in one or two rooms, as at present. If they paid rent, -of course, they might pay forever, and be no better off; whereas, if they -could only meet the extra expense in the beginning, there would at last -come a time when they would not have any rent to pay for the rest of -their lives. - -They figured it up. There was a little left of the money belonging to -Teta Elzbieta, and there was a little left to Jurgis. Marija had about -fifty dollars pinned up somewhere in her stockings, and Grandfather Anthony -had part of the money he had gotten for his farm. If they all combined, -they would have enough to make the first payment; and if they had -employment, so that they could be sure of the future, it might really -prove the best plan. It was, of course, not a thing even to be talked -of lightly; it was a thing they would have to sift to the bottom. And yet, -on the other hand, if they were going to make the venture, the sooner they -did it the better, for were they not paying rent all the time, and living -in a most horrible way besides? Jurgis was used to dirt--there was nothing -could scare a man who had been with a railroad gang, where one could gather -up the fleas off the floor of the sleeping room by the handful. But that -sort of thing would not do for Ona. They must have a better place of some -sort soon--Jurgis said it with all the assurance of a man who had just -made a dollar and fifty-seven cents in a single day. Jurgis was at a loss -to understand why, with wages as they were, so many of the people of this -district should live the way they did. - -The next day Marija went to see her "forelady," and was told to report -the first of the week, and learn the business of can-painter. Marija went -home, singing out loud all the way, and was just in time to join Ona and -her stepmother as they were setting out to go and make inquiry concerning -the house. That evening the three made their report to the men--the thing -was altogether as represented in the circular, or at any rate so the agent -had said. The houses lay to the south, about a mile and a half from the -yards; they were wonderful bargains, the gentleman had assured them-- -personally, and for their own good. He could do this, so he explained -to them, for the reason that he had himself no interest in their sale-- -he was merely the agent for a company that had built them. These were -the last, and the company was going out of business, so if any one wished -to take advantage of this wonderful no-rent plan, he would have to be -very quick. As a matter of fact there was just a little uncertainty as -to whether there was a single house left; for the agent had taken so many -people to see them, and for all he knew the company might have parted with -the last. Seeing Teta Elzbieta's evident grief at this news, he added, -after some hesitation, that if they really intended to make a purchase, -he would send a telephone message at his own expense, and have one of the -houses kept. So it had finally been arranged--and they were to go and -make an inspection the following Sunday morning. - -That was Thursday; and all the rest of the week the killing gang at -Brown's worked at full pressure, and Jurgis cleared a dollar seventy- -five every day. That was at the rate of ten and one-half dollars a week, -or forty-five a month. Jurgis was not able to figure, except it was a -very simple sum, but Ona was like lightning at such things, and she worked -out the problem for the family. Marija and Jonas were each to pay sixteen -dollars a month board, and the old man insisted that he could do the same -as soon as he got a place--which might be any day now. That would make -ninety-three dollars. Then Marija and Jonas were between them to take a -third share in the house, which would leave only eight dollars a month -for Jurgis to contribute to the payment. So they would have eighty-five -dollars a month--or, supposing that Dede Antanas did not get work at once, -seventy dollars a month--which ought surely to be sufficient for the -support of a family of twelve. - -An hour before the time on Sunday morning the entire party set out. -They had the address written on a piece of paper, which they showed to -some one now and then. It proved to be a long mile and a half, but they -walked it, and half an hour or so later the agent put in an appearance. -He was a smooth and florid personage, elegantly dressed, and he spoke -their language freely, which gave him a great advantage in dealing with -them. He escorted them to the house, which was one of a long row of the -typical frame dwellings of the neighborhood, where architecture is a -luxury that is dispensed with. Ona's heart sank, for the house was not -as it was shown in the picture; the color scheme was different, for one -thing, and then it did not seem quite so big. Still, it was freshly -painted, and made a considerable show. It was all brand-new, so the -agent told them, but he talked so incessantly that they were quite -confused, and did not have time to ask many questions. There were all -sorts of things they had made up their minds to inquire about, but when -the time came, they either forgot them or lacked the courage. The other -houses in the row did not seem to be new, and few of them seemed to be -occupied. When they ventured to hint at this, the agent's reply was that -the purchasers would be moving in shortly. To press the matter would have -seemed to be doubting his word, and never in their lives had any one of -them ever spoken to a person of the class called "gentleman" except with -deference and humility. - -The house had a basement, about two feet below the street line, and a -single story, about six feet above it, reached by a flight of steps. -In addition there was an attic, made by the peak of the roof, and having -one small window in each end. The street in front of the house was -unpaved and unlighted, and the view from it consisted of a few exactly -similar houses, scattered here and there upon lots grown up with dingy -brown weeds. The house inside contained four rooms, plastered white; -the basement was but a frame, the walls being unplastered and the floor -not laid. The agent explained that the houses were built that way, as the -purchasers generally preferred to finish the basements to suit their own -taste. The attic was also unfinished--the family had been figuring that -in case of an emergency they could rent this attic, but they found that -there was not even a floor, nothing but joists, and beneath them the lath -and plaster of the ceiling below. All of this, however, did not chill -their ardor as much as might have been expected, because of the volubility -of the agent. There was no end to the advantages of the house, as he -set them forth, and he was not silent for an instant; he showed them -everything, down to the locks on the doors and the catches on the windows, -and how to work them. He showed them the sink in the kitchen, with -running water and a faucet, something which Teta Elzbieta had never in -her wildest dreams hoped to possess. After a discovery such as that it -would have seemed ungrateful to find any fault, and so they tried to shut -their eyes to other defects. - -Still, they were peasant people, and they hung on to their money by -instinct; it was quite in vain that the agent hinted at promptness-- -they would see, they would see, they told him, they could not decide until -they had had more time. And so they went home again, and all day and -evening there was figuring and debating. It was an agony to them to have -to make up their minds in a matter such as this. They never could agree -all together; there were so many arguments upon each side, and one would -be obstinate, and no sooner would the rest have convinced him than it -would transpire that his arguments had caused another to waver. Once, -in the evening, when they were all in harmony, and the house was as good -as bought, Szedvilas came in and upset them again. Szedvilas had no use -for property owning. He told them cruel stories of people who had been -done to death in this "buying a home" swindle. They would be almost sure -to get into a tight place and lose all their money; and there was no end -of expense that one could never foresee; and the house might be good-for- -nothing from top to bottom--how was a poor man to know? Then, too, they -would swindle you with the contract--and how was a poor man to understand -anything about a contract? It was all nothing but robbery, and there was -no safety but in keeping out of it. And pay rent? asked Jurgis. Ah, yes, -to be sure, the other answered, that too was robbery. It was all robbery, -for a poor man. After half an hour of such depressing conversation, they -had their minds quite made up that they had been saved at the brink of a -precipice; but then Szedvilas went away, and Jonas, who was a sharp little -man, reminded them that the delicatessen business was a failure, according -to its proprietor, and that this might account for his pessimistic views. -Which, of course, reopened the subject! - -The controlling factor was that they could not stay where they were--they -had to go somewhere. And when they gave up the house plan and decided -to rent, the prospect of paying out nine dollars a month forever they -found just as hard to face. All day and all night for nearly a whole -week they wrestled with the problem, and then in the end Jurgis took the -responsibility. Brother Jonas had gotten his job, and was pushing a truck -in Durham's; and the killing gang at Brown's continued to work early and -late, so that Jurgis grew more confident every hour, more certain of his -mastership. It was the kind of thing the man of the family had to decide -and carry through, he told himself. Others might have failed at it, but he -was not the failing kind--he would show them how to do it. He would work -all day, and all night, too, if need be; he would never rest until the -house was paid for and his people had a home. So he told them, and so in -the end the decision was made. - -They had talked about looking at more houses before they made the purchase; -but then they did not know where any more were, and they did not know any -way of finding out. The one they had seen held the sway in their thoughts; -whenever they thought of themselves in a house, it was this house that -they thought of. And so they went and told the agent that they were ready -to make the agreement. They knew, as an abstract proposition, that in -matters of business all men are to be accounted liars; but they could not -but have been influenced by all they had heard from the eloquent agent, -and were quite persuaded that the house was something they had run a risk -of losing by their delay. They drew a deep breath when he told them that -they were still in time. - -They were to come on the morrow, and he would have the papers all -drawn up. This matter of papers was one in which Jurgis understood -to the full the need of caution; yet he could not go himself--every one -told him that he could not get a holiday, and that he might lose his job -by asking. So there was nothing to be done but to trust it to the women, -with Szedvilas, who promised to go with them. Jurgis spent a whole -evening impressing upon them the seriousness of the occasion--and then -finally, out of innumerable hiding places about their persons and in their -baggage, came forth the precious wads of money, to be done up tightly in a -little bag and sewed fast in the lining of Teta Elzbieta's dress. - -Early in the morning they sallied forth. Jurgis had given them so many -instructions and warned them against so many perils, that the women were -quite pale with fright, and even the imperturbable delicatessen vender, -who prided himself upon being a businessman, was ill at ease. The agent -had the deed all ready, and invited them to sit down and read it; this -Szedvilas proceeded to do--a painful and laborious process, during which -the agent drummed upon the desk. Teta Elzbieta was so embarrassed that -the perspiration came out upon her forehead in beads; for was not this -reading as much as to say plainly to the gentleman's face that they -doubted his honesty? Yet Jokubas Szedvilas read on and on; and presently -there developed that he had good reason for doing so. For a horrible -suspicion had begun dawning in his mind; he knitted his brows more and -more as he read. This was not a deed of sale at all, so far as he could -see--it provided only for the renting of the property! It was hard to -tell, with all this strange legal jargon, words he had never heard before; -but was not this plain--"the party of the first part hereby covenants and -agrees to rent to the said party of the second part!" And then again-- -"a monthly rental of twelve dollars, for a period of eight years and four -months!" Then Szedvilas took off his spectacles, and looked at the agent, -and stammered a question. - -The agent was most polite, and explained that that was the usual formula; -that it was always arranged that the property should be merely rented. -He kept trying to show them something in the next paragraph; but Szedvilas -could not get by the word "rental"--and when he translated it to Teta -Elzbieta, she too was thrown into a fright. They would not own the home -at all, then, for nearly nine years! The agent, with infinite patience, -began to explain again; but no explanation would do now. Elzbieta had -firmly fixed in her mind the last solemn warning of Jurgis: "If there is -anything wrong, do not give him the money, but go out and get a lawyer." -It was an agonizing moment, but she sat in the chair, her hands clenched -like death, and made a fearful effort, summoning all her powers, and gasped -out her purpose. - -Jokubas translated her words. She expected the agent to fly into a -passion, but he was, to her bewilderment, as ever imperturbable; he even -offered to go and get a lawyer for her, but she declined this. They went -a long way, on purpose to find a man who would not be a confederate. -Then let any one imagine their dismay, when, after half an hour, they -came in with a lawyer, and heard him greet the agent by his first name! -They felt that all was lost; they sat like prisoners summoned to hear -the reading of their death warrant. There was nothing more that they -could do--they were trapped! The lawyer read over the deed, and when -he had read it he informed Szedvilas that it was all perfectly regular, -that the deed was a blank deed such as was often used in these sales. -And was the price as agreed? the old man asked--three hundred dollars -down, and the balance at twelve dollars a month, till the total of -fifteen hundred dollars had been paid? Yes, that was correct. And it -was for the sale of such and such a house--the house and lot and everything? -Yes,--and the lawyer showed him where that was all written. And it was -all perfectly regular--there were no tricks about it of any sort? They -were poor people, and this was all they had in the world, and if there -was anything wrong they would be ruined. And so Szedvilas went on, -asking one trembling question after another, while the eyes of the women -folks were fixed upon him in mute agony. They could not understand what -he was saying, but they knew that upon it their fate depended. And when -at last he had questioned until there was no more questioning to be done, -and the time came for them to make up their minds, and either close the -bargain or reject it, it was all that poor Teta Elzbieta could do to keep -from bursting into tears. Jokubas had asked her if she wished to sign; -he had asked her twice--and what could she say? How did she know if this -lawyer were telling the truth--that he was not in the conspiracy? And yet, -how could she say so--what excuse could she give? The eyes of every one -in the room were upon her, awaiting her decision; and at last, half blind -with her tears, she began fumbling in her jacket, where she had pinned the -precious money. And she brought it out and unwrapped it before the men. -All of this Ona sat watching, from a corner of the room, twisting her -hands together, meantime, in a fever of fright. Ona longed to cry out -and tell her stepmother to stop, that it was all a trap; but there seemed -to be something clutching her by the throat, and she could not make a sound. -And so Teta Elzbieta laid the money on the table, and the agent picked it -up and counted it, and then wrote them a receipt for it and passed them -the deed. Then he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and rose and shook hands -with them all, still as smooth and polite as at the beginning. Ona had -a dim recollection of the lawyer telling Szedvilas that his charge was a -dollar, which occasioned some debate, and more agony; and then, after they -had paid that, too, they went out into the street, her stepmother clutching -the deed in her hand. They were so weak from fright that they could not -walk, but had to sit down on the way. - -So they went home, with a deadly terror gnawing at their souls; and that -evening Jurgis came home and heard their story, and that was the end. -Jurgis was sure that they had been swindled, and were ruined; and he -tore his hair and cursed like a madman, swearing that he would kill -the agent that very night. In the end he seized the paper and rushed -out of the house, and all the way across the yards to Halsted Street. -He dragged Szedvilas out from his supper, and together they rushed to -consult another lawyer. When they entered his office the lawyer sprang up, -for Jurgis looked like a crazy person, with flying hair and bloodshot eyes. -His companion explained the situation, and the lawyer took the paper and -began to read it, while Jurgis stood clutching the desk with knotted hands, -trembling in every nerve. - -Once or twice the lawyer looked up and asked a question of Szedvilas; -the other did not know a word that he was saying, but his eyes were -fixed upon the lawyer's face, striving in an agony of dread to read -his mind. He saw the lawyer look up and laugh, and he gave a gasp; -the man said something to Szedvilas, and Jurgis turned upon his friend, -his heart almost stopping. - -"Well?" he panted. - -"He says it is all right," said Szedvilas. - -"All right!" - -"Yes, he says it is just as it should be." And Jurgis, in his relief, -sank down into a chair. - -"Are you sure of it?" he gasped, and made Szedvilas translate question -after question. He could not hear it often enough; he could not ask -with enough variations. Yes, they had bought the house, they had really -bought it. It belonged to them, they had only to pay the money and it -would be all right. Then Jurgis covered his face with his hands, for -there were tears in his eyes, and he felt like a fool. But he had had -such a horrible fright; strong man as he was, it left him almost too weak -to stand up. - -The lawyer explained that the rental was a form--the property was said -to be merely rented until the last payment had been made, the purpose -being to make it easier to turn the party out if he did not make the -payments. So long as they paid, however, they had nothing to fear, the -house was all theirs. - -Jurgis was so grateful that he paid the half dollar the lawyer asked -without winking an eyelash, and then rushed home to tell the news to -the family. He found Ona in a faint and the babies screaming, and the -whole house in an uproar--for it had been believed by all that he had -gone to murder the agent. It was hours before the excitement could be -calmed; and all through that cruel night Jurgis would wake up now and -then and hear Ona and her stepmother in the next room, sobbing softly -to themselves. - - - -Chapter 5 - - -They had bought their home. It was hard for them to realize that the -wonderful house was theirs to move into whenever they chose. They spent -all their time thinking about it, and what they were going to put into it. -As their week with Aniele was up in three days, they lost no time in -getting ready. They had to make some shift to furnish it, and every -instant of their leisure was given to discussing this. - -A person who had such a task before him would not need to look very far -in Packingtown--he had only to walk up the avenue and read the signs, -or get into a streetcar, to obtain full information as to pretty much -everything a human creature could need. It was quite touching, the -zeal of people to see that his health and happiness were provided for. -Did the person wish to smoke? There was a little discourse about cigars, -showing him exactly why the Thomas Jefferson Five-cent Perfecto was the -only cigar worthy of the name. Had he, on the other hand, smoked too much? -Here was a remedy for the smoking habit, twenty-five doses for a quarter, -and a cure absolutely guaranteed in ten doses. In innumerable ways such -as this, the traveler found that somebody had been busied to make smooth -his paths through the world, and to let him know what had been done for him. -In Packingtown the advertisements had a style all of their own, adapted to -the peculiar population. One would be tenderly solicitous. "Is your wife -pale?" it would inquire. "Is she discouraged, does she drag herself about -the house and find fault with everything? Why do you not tell her to try -Dr. Lanahan's Life Preservers?" Another would be jocular in tone, -slapping you on the back, so to speak. "Don't be a chump!" it would -exclaim. "Go and get the Goliath Bunion Cure." "Get a move on you!" -would chime in another. "It's easy, if you wear the Eureka Two-fifty Shoe." - -Among these importunate signs was one that had caught the attention of -the family by its pictures. It showed two very pretty little birds -building themselves a home; and Marija had asked an acquaintance to read -it to her, and told them that it related to the furnishing of a house. -"Feather your nest," it ran--and went on to say that it could furnish -all the necessary feathers for a four-room nest for the ludicrously -small sum of seventy-five dollars. The particularly important thing -about this offer was that only a small part of the money need be had -at once--the rest one might pay a few dollars every month. Our friends -had to have some furniture, there was no getting away from that; but their -little fund of money had sunk so low that they could hardly get to sleep -at night, and so they fled to this as their deliverance. There was more -agony and another paper for Elzbieta to sign, and then one night when -Jurgis came home, he was told the breathless tidings that the furniture -had arrived and was safely stowed in the house: a parlor set of four -pieces, a bedroom set of three pieces, a dining room table and four -chairs, a toilet set with beautiful pink roses painted all over it, -an assortment of crockery, also with pink roses--and so on. One of -the plates in the set had been found broken when they unpacked it, -and Ona was going to the store the first thing in the morning to make -them change it; also they had promised three saucepans, and there had -only two come, and did Jurgis think that they were trying to cheat them? - -The next day they went to the house; and when the men came from work -they ate a few hurried mouthfuls at Aniele's, and then set to work at -the task of carrying their belongings to their new home. The distance -was in reality over two miles, but Jurgis made two trips that night, -each time with a huge pile of mattresses and bedding on his head, -with bundles of clothing and bags and things tied up inside. Anywhere -else in Chicago he would have stood a good chance of being arrested; -but the policemen in Packingtown were apparently used to these informal -movings, and contented themselves with a cursory examination now and then. -It was quite wonderful to see how fine the house looked, with all the -things in it, even by the dim light of a lamp: it was really home, -and almost as exciting as the placard had described it. Ona was fairly -dancing, and she and Cousin Marija took Jurgis by the arm and escorted -him from room to room, sitting in each chair by turns, and then insisting -that he should do the same. One chair squeaked with his great weight, -and they screamed with fright, and woke the baby and brought everybody -running. Altogether it was a great day; and tired as they were, Jurgis -and Ona sat up late, contented simply to hold each other and gaze in -rapture about the room. They were going to be married as soon as they -could get everything settled, and a little spare money put by; and this -was to be their home--that little room yonder would be theirs! - -It was in truth a never-ending delight, the fixing up of this house. -They had no money to spend for the pleasure of spending, but there were -a few absolutely necessary things, and the buying of these was a perpetual -adventure for Ona. It must always be done at night, so that Jurgis -could go along; and even if it were only a pepper cruet, or half a dozen -glasses for ten cents, that was enough for an expedition. On Saturday -night they came home with a great basketful of things, and spread them -out on the table, while every one stood round, and the children climbed -up on the chairs, or howled to be lifted up to see. There were sugar -and salt and tea and crackers, and a can of lard and a milk pail, and a -scrubbing brush, and a pair of shoes for the second oldest boy, and a can -of oil, and a tack hammer, and a pound of nails. These last were to be -driven into the walls of the kitchen and the bedrooms, to hang things on; -and there was a family discussion as to the place where each one was to -be driven. Then Jurgis would try to hammer, and hit his fingers because -the hammer was too small, and get mad because Ona had refused to let him -pay fifteen cents more and get a bigger hammer; and Ona would be invited -to try it herself, and hurt her thumb, and cry out, which necessitated the -thumb's being kissed by Jurgis. Finally, after every one had had a try, -the nails would be driven, and something hung up. Jurgis had come home -with a big packing box on his head, and he sent Jonas to get another that -he had bought. He meant to take one side out of these tomorrow, and put -shelves in them, and make them into bureaus and places to keep things for -the bedrooms. The nest which had been advertised had not included feathers -for quite so many birds as there were in this family. - -They had, of course, put their dining table in the kitchen, and the -dining room was used as the bedroom of Teta Elzbieta and five of her -children. She and the two youngest slept in the only bed, and the -other three had a mattress on the floor. Ona and her cousin dragged a -mattress into the parlor and slept at night, and the three men and the -oldest boy slept in the other room, having nothing but the very level -floor to rest on for the present. Even so, however, they slept soundly-- -it was necessary for Teta Elzbieta to pound more than once on the at a -quarter past five every morning. She would have ready a great pot full -of steaming black coffee, and oatmeal and bread and smoked sausages; -and then she would fix them their dinner pails with more thick slices -of bread with lard between them--they could not afford butter--and some -onions and a piece of cheese, and so they would tramp away to work. - -This was the first time in his life that he had ever really worked, -it seemed to Jurgis; it was the first time that he had ever had anything -to do which took all he had in him. Jurgis had stood with the rest up -in the gallery and watched the men on the killing beds, marveling at their -speed and power as if they had been wonderful machines; it somehow never -occurred to one to think of the flesh-and-blood side of it--that is, not -until he actually got down into the pit and took off his coat. Then he saw -things in a different light, he got at the inside of them. The pace they -set here, it was one that called for every faculty of a man--from the -instant the first steer fell till the sounding of the noon whistle, and -again from half-past twelve till heaven only knew what hour in the late -afternoon or evening, there was never one instant's rest for a man, for his -hand or his eye or his brain. Jurgis saw how they managed it; there were -portions of the work which determined the pace of the rest, and for these -they had picked men whom they paid high wages, and whom they changed -frequently. You might easily pick out these pacemakers, for they worked -under the eye of the bosses, and they worked like men possessed. This was -called "speeding up the gang," and if any man could not keep up with the -pace, there were hundreds outside begging to try. - -Yet Jurgis did not mind it; he rather enjoyed it. It saved him the -necessity of flinging his arms about and fidgeting as he did in most work. -He would laugh to himself as he ran down the line, darting a glance now -and then at the man ahead of him. It was not the pleasantest work one -could think of, but it was necessary work; and what more had a man the -right to ask than a chance to do something useful, and to get good pay -for doing it? - -So Jurgis thought, and so he spoke, in his bold, free way; very much -to his surprise, he found that it had a tendency to get him into trouble. -For most of the men here took a fearfully different view of the thing. -He was quite dismayed when he first began to find it out--that most of -the men hated their work. It seemed strange, it was even terrible, when -you came to find out the universality of the sentiment; but it was -certainly the fact--they hated their work. They hated the bosses and -they hated the owners; they hated the whole place, the whole neighborhood-- -even the whole city, with an all-inclusive hatred, bitter and fierce. -Women and little children would fall to cursing about it; it was rotten, -rotten as hell--everything was rotten. When Jurgis would ask them what -they meant, they would begin to get suspicious, and content themselves -with saying, "Never mind, you stay here and see for yourself." - -One of the first problems that Jurgis ran upon was that of the unions. -He had had no experience with unions, and he had to have it explained -to him that the men were banded together for the purpose of fighting -for their rights. Jurgis asked them what they meant by their rights, -a question in which he was quite sincere, for he had not any idea of any -rights that he had, except the right to hunt for a job, and do as he was -told when he got it. Generally, however, this harmless question would -only make his fellow workingmen lose their tempers and call him a fool. -There was a delegate of the butcher-helpers' union who came to see Jurgis -to enroll him; and when Jurgis found that this meant that he would have -to part with some of his money, he froze up directly, and the delegate, -who was an Irishman and only knew a few words of Lithuanian, lost his -temper and began to threaten him. In the end Jurgis got into a fine rage, -and made it sufficiently plain that it would take more than one Irishman -to scare him into a union. Little by little he gathered that the main -thing the men wanted was to put a stop to the habit of "speeding-up"; -they were trying their best to force a lessening of the pace, for there -were some, they said, who could not keep up with it, whom it was killing. -But Jurgis had no sympathy with such ideas as this--he could do the work -himself, and so could the rest of them, he declared, if they were good -for anything. If they couldn't do it, let them go somewhere else. -Jurgis had not studied the books, and he would not have known how to -pronounce "laissez faire"; but he had been round the world enough to know -that a man has to shift for himself in it, and that if he gets the worst -of it, there is nobody to listen to him holler. - -Yet there have been known to be philosophers and plain men who swore by -Malthus in the books, and would, nevertheless, subscribe to a relief fund -in time of a famine. It was the same with Jurgis, who consigned the -unfit to destruction, while going about all day sick at heart because of -his poor old father, who was wandering somewhere in the yards begging for -a chance to earn his bread. Old Antanas had been a worker ever since he -was a child; he had run away from home when he was twelve, because his -father beat him for trying to learn to read. And he was a faithful man, -too; he was a man you might leave alone for a month, if only you had made -him understand what you wanted him to do in the meantime. And now here -he was, worn out in soul and body, and with no more place in the world -than a sick dog. He had his home, as it happened, and some one who would -care for him it he never got a job; but his son could not help thinking, -suppose this had not been the case. Antanas Rudkus had been into every -building in Packingtown by this time, and into nearly every room; he had -stood mornings among the crowd of applicants till the very policemen had -come to know his face and to tell him to go home and give it up. He had -been likewise to all the stores and saloons for a mile about, begging -for some little thing to do; and everywhere they had ordered him out, -sometimes with curses, and not once even stopping to ask him a question. - -So, after all, there was a crack in the fine structure of Jurgis' faith -in things as they are. The crack was wide while Dede Antanas was hunting -a job--and it was yet wider when he finally got it. For one evening the -old man came home in a great state of excitement, with the tale that he -had been approached by a man in one of the corridors of the pickle rooms -of Durham's, and asked what he would pay to get a job. He had not known -what to make of this at first; but the man had gone on with matter-of-fact -frankness to say that he could get him a job, provided that he were -willing to pay one-third of his wages for it. Was he a boss? Antanas -had asked; to which the man had replied that that was nobody's business, -but that he could do what he said. - -Jurgis had made some friends by this time, and he sought one of them and -asked what this meant. The friend, who was named Tamoszius Kuszleika, -was a sharp little man who folded hides on the killing beds, and he -listened to what Jurgis had to say without seeming at all surprised. -They were common enough, he said, such cases of petty graft. It was -simply some boss who proposed to add a little to his income. After Jurgis -had been there awhile he would know that the plants were simply honeycombed -with rottenness of that sort--the bosses grafted off the men, and they -grafted off each other; and some day the superintendent would find out -about the boss, and then he would graft off the boss. Warming to the -subject, Tamoszius went on to explain the situation. Here was Durham's, -for instance, owned by a man who was trying to make as much money out -of it as he could, and did not care in the least how he did it; and -underneath him, ranged in ranks and grades like an army, were managers -and superintendents and foremen, each one driving the man next below -him and trying to squeeze out of him as much work as possible. And all -the men of the same rank were pitted against each other; the accounts -of each were kept separately, and every man lived in terror of losing -his job, if another made a better record than he. So from top to bottom -the place was simply a seething caldron of jealousies and hatreds; there -was no loyalty or decency anywhere about it, there was no place in it -where a man counted for anything against a dollar. And worse than there -being no decency, there was not even any honesty. The reason for that? -Who could say? It must have been old Durham in the beginning; it was a -heritage which the self-made merchant had left to his son, along with -his millions. - -Jurgis would find out these things for himself, if he stayed there long -enough; it was the men who had to do all the dirty jobs, and so there -was no deceiving them; and they caught the spirit of the place, and did -like all the rest. Jurgis had come there, and thought he was going to -make himself useful, and rise and become a skilled man; but he would soon -find out his error--for nobody rose in Packingtown by doing good work. -You could lay that down for a rule--if you met a man who was rising in -Packingtown, you met a knave. That man who had been sent to Jurgis' -father by the boss, he would rise; the man who told tales and spied upon -his fellows would rise; but the man who minded his own business and did his -work--why, they would "speed him up" till they had worn him out, and then -they would throw him into the gutter. - -Jurgis went home with his head buzzing. Yet he could not bring himself -to believe such things--no, it could not be so. Tamoszius was simply -another of the grumblers. He was a man who spent all his time fiddling; -and he would go to parties at night and not get home till sunrise, -and so of course he did not feel like work. Then, too, he was a puny -little chap; and so he had been left behind in the race, and that was -why he was sore. And yet so many strange things kept coming to Jurgis' -notice every day! - -He tried to persuade his father to have nothing to do with the offer. -But old Antanas had begged until he was worn out, and all his courage -was gone; he wanted a job, any sort of a job. So the next day he went -and found the man who had spoken to him, and promised to bring him -a third of all he earned; and that same day he was put to work in Durham's -cellars. It was a "pickle room," where there was never a dry spot to -stand upon, and so he had to take nearly the whole of his first week's -earnings to buy him a pair of heavy-soled boots. He was a "squeedgie" man; -his job was to go about all day with a long-handled mop, swabbing up the -floor. Except that it was damp and dark, it was not an unpleasant job, -in summer. - -Now Antanas Rudkus was the meekest man that God ever put on earth; and so -Jurgis found it a striking confirmation of what the men all said, that -his father had been at work only two days before he came home as bitter -as any of them, and cursing Durham's with all the power of his soul. -For they had set him to cleaning out the traps; and the family sat round -and listened in wonder while he told them what that meant. It seemed -that he was working in the room where the men prepared the beef for -canning, and the beef had lain in vats full of chemicals, and men with -great forks speared it out and dumped it into trucks, to be taken to -the cooking room. When they had speared out all they could reach, they -emptied the vat on the floor, and then with shovels scraped up the -balance and dumped it into the truck. This floor was filthy, yet they -set Antanas with his mop slopping the "pickle" into a hole that -connected with a sink, where it was caught and used over again forever; -and if that were not enough, there was a trap in the pipe, where all the -scraps of meat and odds and ends of refuse were caught, and every few -days it was the old man's task to clean these out, and shovel their -contents into one of the trucks with the rest of the meat! - -This was the experience of Antanas; and then there came also Jonas and -Marija with tales to tell. Marija was working for one of the independent -packers, and was quite beside herself and outrageous with triumph over -the sums of money she was making as a painter of cans. But one day she -walked home with a pale-faced little woman who worked opposite to her, -Jadvyga Marcinkus by name, and Jadvyga told her how she, Marija, had -chanced to get her job. She had taken the place of an Irishwoman who -had been working in that factory ever since any one could remember. -For over fifteen years, so she declared. Mary Dennis was her name, -and a long time ago she had been seduced, and had a little boy; he was -a cripple, and an epileptic, but still he was all that she had in the -world to love, and they had lived in a little room alone somewhere back -of Halsted Street, where the Irish were. Mary had had consumption, -and all day long you might hear her coughing as she worked; of late -she had been going all to pieces, and when Marija came, the "forelady" -had suddenly decided to turn her off. The forelady had to come up to -a certain standard herself, and could not stop for sick people, Jadvyga -explained. The fact that Mary had been there so long had not made any -difference to her--it was doubtful if she even knew that, for both the -forelady and the superintendent were new people, having only been there -two or three years themselves. Jadvyga did not know what had become of -the poor creature; she would have gone to see her, but had been sick -herself. She had pains in her back all the time, Jadvyga explained, -and feared that she had womb trouble. It was not fit work for a woman, -handling fourteen-pound cans all day. - -It was a striking circumstance that Jonas, too, had gotten his job by the -misfortune of some other person. Jonas pushed a truck loaded with hams -from the smoke rooms on to an elevator, and thence to the packing rooms. -The trucks were all of iron, and heavy, and they put about threescore hams -on each of them, a load of more than a quarter of a ton. On the uneven -floor it was a task for a man to start one of these trucks, unless he was -a giant; and when it was once started he naturally tried his best to keep -it going. There was always the boss prowling about, and if there was a -second's delay he would fall to cursing; Lithuanians and Slovaks and such, -who could not understand what was said to them, the bosses were wont to -kick about the place like so many dogs. Therefore these trucks went for -the most part on the run; and the predecessor of Jonas had been jammed -against the wall by one and crushed in a horrible and nameless manner. - -All of these were sinister incidents; but they were trifles compared to -what Jurgis saw with his own eyes before long. One curious thing he had -noticed, the very first day, in his profession of shoveler of guts; which -was the sharp trick of the floor bosses whenever there chanced to come -a "slunk" calf. Any man who knows anything about butchering knows that -the flesh of a cow that is about to calve, or has just calved, is not fit -for food. A good many of these came every day to the packing houses--and, -of course, if they had chosen, it would have been an easy matter for the -packers to keep them till they were fit for food. But for the saving of -time and fodder, it was the law that cows of that sort came along with -the others, and whoever noticed it would tell the boss, and the boss would -start up a conversation with the government inspector, and the two would -stroll away. So in a trice the carcass of the cow would be cleaned out, -and entrails would have vanished; it was Jurgis' task to slide them -into the trap, calves and all, and on the floor below they took out -these "slunk" calves, and butchered them for meat, and used even the skins -of them. - -One day a man slipped and hurt his leg; and that afternoon, when the -last of the cattle had been disposed of, and the men were leaving, -Jurgis was ordered to remain and do some special work which this injured -man had usually done. It was late, almost dark, and the government -inspectors had all gone, and there were only a dozen or two of men on -the floor. That day they had killed about four thousand cattle, and these -cattle had come in freight trains from far states, and some of them had -got hurt. There were some with broken legs, and some with gored sides; -there were some that had died, from what cause no one could say; and they -were all to be disposed of, here in darkness and silence. "Downers," the -men called them; and the packing house had a special elevator upon which -they were raised to the killing beds, where the gang proceeded to handle -them, with an air of businesslike nonchalance which said plainer than -any words that it was a matter of everyday routine. It took a couple of -hours to get them out of the way, and in the end Jurgis saw them go into -the chilling rooms with the rest of the meat, being carefully scattered -here and there so that they could not be identified. When he came home -that night he was in a very somber mood, having begun to see at last -how those might be right who had laughed at him for his faith in America. - - - -Chapter 6 - - -Jurgis and Ona were very much in love; they had waited a long time-- -it was now well into the second year, and Jurgis judged everything by -the criterion of its helping or hindering their union. All his thoughts -were there; he accepted the family because it was a part of Ona. And he -was interested in the house because it was to be Ona's home. Even the -tricks and cruelties he saw at Durham's had little meaning for him just -then, save as they might happen to affect his future with Ona. - -The marriage would have been at once, if they had had their way; -but this would mean that they would have to do without any wedding -feast, and when they suggested this they came into conflict with the -old people. To Teta Elzbieta especially the very suggestion was an -affliction. What! she would cry. To be married on the roadside like -a parcel of beggars! No! No!--Elzbieta had some traditions behind her; -she had been a person of importance in her girlhood--had lived on a big -estate and had servants, and might have married well and been a lady, -but for the fact that there had been nine daughters and no sons in the -family. Even so, however, she knew what was decent, and clung to her -traditions with desperation. They were not going to lose all caste, -even if they had come to be unskilled laborers in Packingtown; and that -Ona had even talked of omitting a Yeselija was enough to keep her -stepmother lying awake all night. It was in vain for them to say that -they had so few friends; they were bound to have friends in time, and then -the friends would talk about it. They must not give up what was right -for a little money--if they did, the money would never do them any good, -they could depend upon that. And Elzbieta would call upon Dede Antanas -to support her; there was a fear in the souls of these two, lest this -journey to a new country might somehow undermine the old home virtues of -their children. The very first Sunday they had all been taken to mass; -and poor as they were, Elzbieta had felt it advisable to invest a little -of her resources in a representation of the babe of Bethlehem, made in -plaster, and painted in brilliant colors. Though it was only a foot high, -there was a shrine with four snow-white steeples, and the Virgin standing -with her child in her arms, and the kings and shepherds and wise men -bowing down before him. It had cost fifty cents; but Elzbieta had a -feeling that money spent for such things was not to be counted too -closely, it would come back in hidden ways. The piece was beautiful -on the parlor mantel, and one could not have a home without some sort -of ornament. - -The cost of the wedding feast would, of course, be returned to them; -but the problem was to raise it even temporarily. They had been in -the neighborhood so short a time that they could not get much credit, -and there was no one except Szedvilas from whom they could borrow even -a little. Evening after evening Jurgis and Ona would sit and figure the -expenses, calculating the term of their separation. They could not -possibly manage it decently for less than two hundred dollars, and even -though they were welcome to count in the whole of the earnings of Marija -and Jonas, as a loan, they could not hope to raise this sum in less than -four or five months. So Ona began thinking of seeking employment herself, -saying that if she had even ordinarily good luck, she might be able to -take two months off the time. They were just beginning to adjust -themselves to this necessity, when out of the clear sky there fell a -thunderbolt upon them--a calamity that scattered all their hopes to the -four winds. - -About a block away from them there lived another Lithuanian family, -consisting of an elderly widow and one grown son; their name was -Majauszkis, and our friends struck up an acquaintance with them before -long. One evening they came over for a visit, and naturally the first -subject upon which the conversation turned was the neighborhood and its -history; and then Grandmother Majauszkiene, as the old lady was called, -proceeded to recite to them a string of horrors that fairly froze their -blood. She was a wrinkled-up and wizened personage--she must have been -eighty--and as she mumbled the grim story through her toothless gums, -she seemed a very old witch to them. Grandmother Majauszkiene had lived -in the midst of misfortune so long that it had come to be her element, -and she talked about starvation, sickness, and death as other people -might about weddings and holidays. - -The thing came gradually. In the first place as to the house they had -bought, it was not new at all, as they had supposed; it was about fifteen -years old, and there was nothing new upon it but the paint, which was so -bad that it needed to be put on new every year or two. The house was one -of a whole row that was built by a company which existed to make money -by swindling poor people. The family had paid fifteen hundred dollars -for it, and it had not cost the builders five hundred, when it was new. -Grandmother Majauszkiene knew that because her son belonged to a political -organization with a contractor who put up exactly such houses. They used -the very flimsiest and cheapest material; they built the houses a dozen -at a time, and they cared about nothing at all except the outside shine. -The family could take her word as to the trouble they would have, for she -had been through it all--she and her son had bought their house in exactly -the same way. They had fooled the company, however, for her son was a -skilled man, who made as high as a hundred dollars a month, and as he had -had sense enough not to marry, they had been able to pay for the house. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene saw that her friends were puzzled at this remark; -they did not quite see how paying for the house was "fooling the company." -Evidently they were very inexperienced. Cheap as the houses were, they -were sold with the idea that the people who bought them would not be able -to pay for them. When they failed--if it were only by a single month-- -they would lose the house and all that they had paid on it, and then -the company would sell it over again. And did they often get a chance -to do that? Dieve! (Grandmother Majauszkiene raised her hands.) They did -it--how often no one could say, but certainly more than half of the time. -They might ask any one who knew anything at all about Packingtown as to -that; she had been living here ever since this house was built, and she -could tell them all about it. And had it ever been sold before? -Susimilkie! Why, since it had been built, no less than four families -that their informant could name had tried to buy it and failed. She would -tell them a little about it. - -The first family had been Germans. The families had all been of different -nationalities--there had been a representative of several races that had -displaced each other in the stockyards. Grandmother Majauszkiene had -come to America with her son at a time when so far as she knew there was -only one other Lithuanian family in the district; the workers had all -been Germans then--skilled cattle butchers that the packers had brought -from abroad to start the business. Afterward, as cheaper labor had come, -these Germans had moved away. The next were the Irish--there had been -six or eight years when Packingtown had been a regular Irish city. -There were a few colonies of them still here, enough to run all the -unions and the police force and get all the graft; but most of those -who were working in the packing houses had gone away at the next drop -in wages--after the big strike. The Bohemians had come then, and after -them the Poles. People said that old man Durham himself was responsible -for these immigrations; he had sworn that he would fix the people of -Packingtown so that they would never again call a strike on him, and so -he had sent his agents into every city and village in Europe to spread -the tale of the chances of work and high wages at the stockyards. -The people had come in hordes; and old Durham had squeezed them tighter -and tighter, speeding them up and grinding them to pieces and sending -for new ones. The Poles, who had come by tens of thousands, had been -driven to the wall by the Lithuanians, and now the Lithuanians were -giving way to the Slovaks. Who there was poorer and more miserable than -the Slovaks, Grandmother Majauszkiene had no idea, but the packers would -find them, never fear. It was easy to bring them, for wages were really -much higher, and it was only when it was too late that the poor people -found out that everything else was higher too. They were like rats in -a trap, that was the truth; and more of them were piling in every day. -By and by they would have their revenge, though, for the thing was -getting beyond human endurance, and the people would rise and murder -the packers. Grandmother Majauszkiene was a socialist, or some such -strange thing; another son of hers was working in the mines of Siberia, -and the old lady herself had made speeches in her time--which made her -seem all the more terrible to her present auditors. - -They called her back to the story of the house. The German family -had been a good sort. To be sure there had been a great many of them, -which was a common failing in Packingtown; but they had worked hard, -and the father had been a steady man, and they had a good deal more -than half paid for the house. But he had been killed in an elevator -accident in Durham's. - -Then there had come the Irish, and there had been lots of them, too; -the husband drank and beat the children--the neighbors could hear them -shrieking any night. They were behind with their rent all the time, -but the company was good to them; there was some politics back of that, -Grandmother Majauszkiene could not say just what, but the Laffertys -had belonged to the "War Whoop League," which was a sort of political -club of all the thugs and rowdies in the district; and if you belonged -to that, you could never be arrested for anything. Once upon a time -old Lafferty had been caught with a gang that had stolen cows from -several of the poor people of the neighborhood and butchered them in -an old shanty back of the yards and sold them. He had been in jail only -three days for it, and had come out laughing, and had not even lost his -place in the packing house. He had gone all to ruin with the drink, -however, and lost his power; one of his sons, who was a good man, -had kept him and the family up for a year or two, but then he had got -sick with consumption. - -That was another thing, Grandmother Majauszkiene interrupted herself-- -this house was unlucky. Every family that lived in it, some one was -sure to get consumption. Nobody could tell why that was; there must -be something about the house, or the way it was built--some folks said -it was because the building had been begun in the dark of the moon. -There were dozens of houses that way in Packingtown. Sometimes there -would be a particular room that you could point out--if anybody slept -in that room he was just as good as dead. With this house it had been -the Irish first; and then a Bohemian family had lost a child of it-- -though, to be sure, that was uncertain, since it was hard to tell what -was the matter with children who worked in the yards. In those days -there had been no law about the age of children--the packers had worked -all but the babies. At this remark the family looked puzzled, and -Grandmother Majauszkiene again had to make an explanation--that it was -against the law for children to work before they were sixteen. What was -the sense of that? they asked. They had been thinking of letting little -Stanislovas go to work. Well, there was no need to worry, Grandmother -Majauszkiene said--the law made no difference except that it forced -people to lie about the ages of their children. One would like to know -what the lawmakers expected them to do; there were families that had no -possible means of support except the children, and the law provided them -no other way of getting a living. Very often a man could get no work in -Packingtown for months, while a child could go and get a place easily; -there was always some new machine, by which the packers could get as -much work out of a child as they had been able to get out of a man, -and for a third of the pay. - -To come back to the house again, it was the woman of the next family -that had died. That was after they had been there nearly four years, -and this woman had had twins regularly every year--and there had been -more than you could count when they moved in. After she died the man -would go to work all day and leave them to shift for themselves--the -neighbors would help them now and then, for they would almost freeze -to death. At the end there were three days that they were alone, -before it was found out that the father was dead. He was a "floorsman" -at Jones's, and a wounded steer had broken loose and mashed him against -a pillar. Then the children had been taken away, and the company had -sold the house that very same week to a party of emigrants. - -So this grim old women went on with her tale of horrors. How much -of it was exaggeration--who could tell? It was only too plausible. -There was that about consumption, for instance. They knew nothing about -consumption whatever, except that it made people cough; and for two weeks -they had been worrying about a coughing-spell of Antanas. It seemed to -shake him all over, and it never stopped; you could see a red stain -wherever he had spit upon the floor. - -And yet all these things were as nothing to what came a little later. -They had begun to question the old lady as to why one family had been -unable to pay, trying to show her by figures that it ought to have been -possible; and Grandmother Majauszkiene had disputed their figures-- -"You say twelve dollars a month; but that does not include the interest." - -Then they stared at her. "Interest!" they cried. - -"Interest on the money you still owe," she answered. - -"But we don't have to pay any interest!" they exclaimed, three or four -at once. "We only have to pay twelve dollars each month." - -And for this she laughed at them. "You are like all the rest," she said; -"they trick you and eat you alive. They never sell the houses without -interest. Get your deed, and see." - -Then, with a horrible sinking of the heart, Teta Elzbieta unlocked her -bureau and brought out the paper that had already caused them so many -agonies. Now they sat round, scarcely breathing, while the old lady, -who could read English, ran over it. "Yes," she said, finally, "here it -is, of course: 'With interest thereon monthly, at the rate of seven per -cent per annum.'" - -And there followed a dead silence. "What does that mean?" asked Jurgis -finally, almost in a whisper. - -"That means," replied the other, "that you have to pay them seven dollars -next month, as well as the twelve dollars." - -Then again there was not a sound. It was sickening, like a nightmare, -in which suddenly something gives way beneath you, and you feel yourself -sinking, sinking, down into bottomless abysses. As if in a flash of -lightning they saw themselves--victims of a relentless fate, cornered, -trapped, in the grip of destruction. All the fair structure of their -hopes came crashing about their ears.--And all the time the old woman -was going on talking. They wished that she would be still; her voice -sounded like the croaking of some dismal raven. Jurgis sat with his -hands clenched and beads of perspiration on his forehead, and there was -a great lump in Ona's throat, choking her. Then suddenly Teta Elzbieta -broke the silence with a wail, and Marija began to wring her hands and -sob, "Ai! Ai! Beda man!" - -All their outcry did them no good, of course. There sat Grandmother -Majauszkiene, unrelenting, typifying fate. No, of course it was not fair, -but then fairness had nothing to do with it. And of course they had not -known it. They had not been intended to know it. But it was in the deed, -and that was all that was necessary, as they would find when the time came. - -Somehow or other they got rid of their guest, and then they passed a -night of lamentation. The children woke up and found out that something -was wrong, and they wailed and would not be comforted. In the morning, -of course, most of them had to go to work, the packing houses would not -stop for their sorrows; but by seven o'clock Ona and her stepmother were -standing at the door of the office of the agent. Yes, he told them, -when he came, it was quite true that they would have to pay interest. -And then Teta Elzbieta broke forth into protestations and reproaches, -so that the people outside stopped and peered in at the window. The agent -was as bland as ever. He was deeply pained, he said. He had not told -them, simply because he had supposed they would understand that they had -to pay interest upon their debt, as a matter of course. - -So they came away, and Ona went down to the yards, and at noontime saw -Jurgis and told him. Jurgis took it stolidly--he had made up his mind -to it by this time. It was part of fate; they would manage it somehow-- -he made his usual answer, "I will work harder." It would upset their -plans for a time; and it would perhaps be necessary for Ona to get work -after all. Then Ona added that Teta Elzbieta had decided that little -Stanislovas would have to work too. It was not fair to let Jurgis and -her support the family--the family would have to help as it could. -Previously Jurgis had scouted this idea, but now knit his brows and -nodded his head slowly--yes, perhaps it would be best; they would all -have to make some sacrifices now. - -So Ona set out that day to hunt for work; and at night Marija came home -saying that she had met a girl named Jasaityte who had a friend that -worked in one of the wrapping rooms in Brown's, and might get a place -for Ona there; only the forelady was the kind that takes presents--it -was no use for any one to ask her for a place unless at the same time -they slipped a ten-dollar bill into her hand. Jurgis was not in the -least surprised at this now--he merely asked what the wages of the place -would be. So negotiations were opened, and after an interview Ona came -home and reported that the forelady seemed to like her, and had said that, -while she was not sure, she thought she might be able to put her at work -sewing covers on hams, a job at which she would earn as much as eight or -ten dollars a week. That was a bid, so Marija reported, after consulting -her friend; and then there was an anxious conference at home. The work -was done in one of the cellars, and Jurgis did not want Ona to work in -such a place; but then it was easy work, and one could not have everything. -So in the end Ona, with a ten-dollar bill burning a hole in her palm, had -another interview with the forelady. - -Meantime Teta Elzbieta had taken Stanislovas to the priest and gotten -a certificate to the effect that he was two years older than he was; -and with it the little boy now sallied forth to make his fortune in -the world. It chanced that Durham had just put in a wonderful new -lard machine, and when the special policeman in front of the time -station saw Stanislovas and his document, he smiled to himself and -told him to go--"Czia! Czia!" pointing. And so Stanislovas went down -a long stone corridor, and up a flight of stairs, which took him into -a room lighted by electricity, with the new machines for filling lard -cans at work in it. The lard was finished on the floor above, and it -came in little jets, like beautiful, wriggling, snow-white snakes of -unpleasant odor. There were several kinds and sizes of jets, and after -a certain precise quantity had come out, each stopped automatically, -and the wonderful machine made a turn, and took the can under another jet, -and so on, until it was filled neatly to the brim, and pressed tightly, -and smoothed off. To attend to all this and fill several hundred cans -of lard per hour, there were necessary two human creatures, one of whom -knew how to place an empty lard can on a certain spot every few seconds, -and the other of whom knew how to take a full lard can off a certain spot -every few seconds and set it upon a tray. - -And so, after little Stanislovas had stood gazing timidly about him for -a few minutes, a man approached him, and asked what he wanted, to which -Stanislovas said, "Job." Then the man said "How old?" and Stanislovas -answered, "Sixtin." Once or twice every year a state inspector would -come wandering through the packing plants, asking a child here and -there how old he was; and so the packers were very careful to comply -with the law, which cost them as much trouble as was now involved in -the boss's taking the document from the little boy, and glancing at it, -and then sending it to the office to be filed away. Then he set some one -else at a different job, and showed the lad how to place a lard can every -time the empty arm of the remorseless machine came to him; and so was -decided the place in the universe of little Stanislovas, and his destiny -till the end of his days. Hour after hour, day after day, year after -year, it was fated that he should stand upon a certain square foot of -floor from seven in the morning until noon, and again from half-past -twelve till half-past five, making never a motion and thinking never a -thought, save for the setting of lard cans. In summer the stench of the -warm lard would be nauseating, and in winter the cans would all but freeze -to his naked little fingers in the unheated cellar. Half the year it would -be dark as night when he went in to work, and dark as night again when he -came out, and so he would never know what the sun looked like on weekdays. -And for this, at the end of the week, he would carry home three dollars to -his family, being his pay at the rate of five cents per hour--just about -his proper share of the total earnings of the million and three-quarters of -children who are now engaged in earning their livings in the United States. - -And meantime, because they were young, and hope is not to be stifled before -its time, Jurgis and Ona were again calculating; for they had discovered -that the wages of Stanislovas would a little more than pay the interest, -which left them just about as they had been before! It would be but fair -to them to say that the little boy was delighted with his work, and at the -idea of earning a lot of money; and also that the two were very much in -love with each other. - - - -Chapter 7 - - -All summer long the family toiled, and in the fall they had money enough -for Jurgis and Ona to be married according to home traditions of decency. -In the latter part of November they hired a hall, and invited all their -new acquaintances, who came and left them over a hundred dollars in debt. - -It was a bitter and cruel experience, and it plunged them into an agony -of despair. Such a time, of all times, for them to have it, when their -hearts were made tender! Such a pitiful beginning it was for their -married life; they loved each other so, and they could not have the -briefest respite! It was a time when everything cried out to them that -they ought to be happy; when wonder burned in their hearts, and leaped -into flame at the slightest breath. They were shaken to the depths -of them, with the awe of love realized--and was it so very weak of them -that they cried out for a little peace? They had opened their hearts, -like flowers to the springtime, and the merciless winter had fallen -upon them. They wondered if ever any love that had blossomed in the -world had been so crushed and trampled! - -Over them, relentless and savage, there cracked the lash of want; -the morning after the wedding it sought them as they slept, and drove -them out before daybreak to work. Ona was scarcely able to stand with -exhaustion; but if she were to lose her place they would be ruined, -and she would surely lose it if she were not on time that day. They all -had to go, even little Stanislovas, who was ill from overindulgence in -sausages and sarsaparilla. All that day he stood at his lard machine, -rocking unsteadily, his eyes closing in spite of him; and he all but -lost his place even so, for the foreman booted him twice to waken him. - -It was fully a week before they were all normal again, and meantime, -with whining children and cross adults, the house was not a pleasant -place to live in. Jurgis lost his temper very little, however, all -things considered. It was because of Ona; the least glance at her was -always enough to make him control himself. She was so sensitive--she -was not fitted for such a life as this; and a hundred times a day, -when he thought of her, he would clench his hands and fling himself -again at the task before him. She was too good for him, he told himself, -and he was afraid, because she was his. So long he had hungered to -possess her, but now that the time had come he knew that he had not -earned the right; that she trusted him so was all her own simple -goodness, and no virtue of his. But he was resolved that she should -never find this out, and so was always on the watch to see that he did not -betray any of his ugly self; he would take care even in little matters, -such as his manners, and his habit of swearing when things went wrong. -The tears came so easily into Ona's eyes, and she would look at him so -appealingly--it kept Jurgis quite busy making resolutions, in addition -to all the other things he had on his mind. It was true that more things -were going on at this time in the mind of Jurgis than ever had in all his -life before. - -He had to protect her, to do battle for her against the horror he saw -about them. He was all that she had to look to, and if he failed she -would be lost; he would wrap his arms about her, and try to hide her -from the world. He had learned the ways of things about him now. It was -a war of each against all, and the devil take the hindmost. You did not -give feasts to other people, you waited for them to give feasts to you. -You went about with your soul full of suspicion and hatred; you understood -that you were environed by hostile powers that were trying to get your -money, and who used all the virtues to bait their traps with. The store- -keepers plastered up their windows with all sorts of lies to entice you; -the very fences by the wayside, the lampposts and telegraph poles, were -pasted over with lies. The great corporation which employed you lied -to you, and lied to the whole country--from top to bottom it was nothing -but one gigantic lie. - -So Jurgis said that he understood it; and yet it was really pitiful, -for the struggle was so unfair--some had so much the advantage! -Here he was, for instance, vowing upon his knees that he would save -Ona from harm, and only a week later she was suffering atrociously, -and from the blow of an enemy that he could not possibly have thwarted. -There came a day when the rain fell in torrents; and it being December, -to be wet with it and have to sit all day long in one of the cold cellars -of Brown's was no laughing matter. Ona was a working girl, and did not -own waterproofs and such things, and so Jurgis took her and put her on -the streetcar. Now it chanced that this car line was owned by gentlemen -who were trying to make money. And the city having passed an ordinance -requiring them to give transfers, they had fallen into a rage; and first -they had made a rule that transfers could be had only when the fare was -paid; and later, growing still uglier, they had made another--that the -passenger must ask for the transfer, the conductor was not allowed to -offer it. Now Ona had been told that she was to get a transfer; but it -was not her way to speak up, and so she merely waited, following the -conductor about with her eyes, wondering when he would think of her. -When at last the time came for her to get out, she asked for the transfer, -and was refused. Not knowing what to make of this, she began to argue -with the conductor, in a language of which he did not understand a word. -After warning her several times, he pulled the bell and the car went -on--at which Ona burst into tears. At the next corner she got out, -of course; and as she had no more money, she had to walk the rest of -the way to the yards in the pouring rain. And so all day long she sat -shivering, and came home at night with her teeth chattering and pains -in her head and back. For two weeks afterward she suffered cruelly-- -and yet every day she had to drag herself to her work. The forewoman was -especially severe with Ona, because she believed that she was obstinate -on account of having been refused a holiday the day after her wedding. -Ona had an idea that her "forelady" did not like to have her girls -marry--perhaps because she was old and ugly and unmarried herself. - -There were many such dangers, in which the odds were all against them. -Their children were not as well as they had been at home; but how could -they know that there was no sewer to their house, and that the drainage -of fifteen years was in a cesspool under it? How could they know that -the pale-blue milk that they bought around the corner was watered, -and doctored with formaldehyde besides? When the children were not -well at home, Teta Elzbieta would gather herbs and cure them; now she -was obliged to go to the drugstore and buy extracts--and how was she to -know that they were all adulterated? How could they find out that their -tea and coffee, their sugar and flour, had been doctored; that their -canned peas had been colored with copper salts, and their fruit jams with -aniline dyes? And even if they had known it, what good would it have -done them, since there was no place within miles of them where any other -sort was to be had? The bitter winter was coming, and they had to save -money to get more clothing and bedding; but it would not matter in the -least how much they saved, they could not get anything to keep them warm. -All the clothing that was to be had in the stores was made of cotton and -shoddy, which is made by tearing old clothes to pieces and weaving the -fiber again. If they paid higher prices, they might get frills and -fanciness, or be cheated; but genuine quality they could not obtain for -love nor money. A young friend of Szedvilas', recently come from abroad, -had become a clerk in a store on Ashland Avenue, and he narrated with -glee a trick that had been played upon an unsuspecting countryman by -his boss. The customer had desired to purchase an alarm clock, and the -boss had shown him two exactly similar, telling him that the price of -one was a dollar and of the other a dollar seventy-five. Upon being -asked what the difference was, the man had wound up the first halfway -and the second all the way, and showed the customer how the latter -made twice as much noise; upon which the customer remarked that he was -a sound sleeper, and had better take the more expensive clock! - -There is a poet who sings that - - "Deeper their heart grows and nobler their bearing, - Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died." - -But it was not likely that he had reference to the kind of anguish that -comes with destitution, that is so endlessly bitter and cruel, and yet -so sordid and petty, so ugly, so humiliating--unredeemed by the slightest -touch of dignity or even of pathos. It is a kind of anguish that poets -have not commonly dealt with; its very words are not admitted into the -vocabulary of poets--the details of it cannot be told in polite society -at all. How, for instance, could any one expect to excite sympathy among -lovers of good literature by telling how a family found their home alive -with vermin, and of all the suffering and inconvenience and humiliation -they were put to, and the hard-earned money they spent, in efforts to get -rid of them? After long hesitation and uncertainty they paid twenty-five -cents for a big package of insect powder--a patent preparation which -chanced to be ninety-five per cent gypsum, a harmless earth which had -cost about two cents to prepare. Of course it had not the least effect, -except upon a few roaches which had the misfortune to drink water after -eating it, and so got their inwards set in a coating of plaster of Paris. -The family, having no idea of this, and no more money to throw away, -had nothing to do but give up and submit to one more misery for the rest -of their days. - -Then there was old Antanas. The winter came, and the place where he -worked was a dark, unheated cellar, where you could see your breath -all day, and where your fingers sometimes tried to freeze. So the -old man's cough grew every day worse, until there came a time when it -hardly ever stopped, and he had become a nuisance about the place. -Then, too, a still more dreadful thing happened to him; he worked in -a place where his feet were soaked in chemicals, and it was not long -before they had eaten through his new boots. Then sores began to break -out on his feet, and grow worse and worse. Whether it was that his blood -was bad, or there had been a cut, he could not say; but he asked the men -about it, and learned that it was a regular thing--it was the saltpeter. -Every one felt it, sooner or later, and then it was all up with him, -at least for that sort of work. The sores would never heal--in the end -his toes would drop off, if he did not quit. Yet old Antanas would not -quit; he saw the suffering of his family, and he remembered what it had -cost him to get a job. So he tied up his feet, and went on limping about -and coughing, until at last he fell to pieces, all at once and in a heap, -like the One-Horse Shay. They carried him to a dry place and laid him -on the floor, and that night two of the men helped him home. The poor -old man was put to bed, and though he tried it every morning until the -end, he never could get up again. He would lie there and cough and cough, -day and night, wasting away to a mere skeleton. There came a time when -there was so little flesh on him that the bones began to poke through-- -which was a horrible thing to see or even to think of. And one night -he had a choking fit, and a little river of blood came out of his mouth. -The family, wild with terror, sent for a doctor, and paid half a dollar -to be told that there was nothing to be done. Mercifully the doctor did -not say this so that the old man could hear, for he was still clinging -to the faith that tomorrow or next day he would be better, and could go -back to his job. The company had sent word to him that they would keep -it for him--or rather Jurgis had bribed one of the men to come one Sunday -afternoon and say they had. Dede Antanas continued to believe it, while -three more hemorrhages came; and then at last one morning they found him -stiff and cold. Things were not going well with them then, and though -it nearly broke Teta Elzbieta's heart, they were forced to dispense with -nearly all the decencies of a funeral; they had only a hearse, and one -hack for the women and children; and Jurgis, who was learning things fast, -spent all Sunday making a bargain for these, and he made it in the -presence of witnesses, so that when the man tried to charge him for all -sorts of incidentals, he did not have to pay. For twenty-five years old -Antanas Rudkus and his son had dwelt in the forest together, and it was -hard to part in this way; perhaps it was just as well that Jurgis had to -give all his attention to the task of having a funeral without being -bankrupted, and so had no time to indulge in memories and grief. - - -Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the forests, all summer -long, the branches of the trees do battle for light, and some of them -lose and die; and then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow -and hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches. Just so it -was in Packingtown; the whole district braced itself for the struggle -that was an agony, and those whose time was come died off in hordes. -All the year round they had been serving as cogs in the great packing -machine; and now was the time for the renovating of it, and the replacing -of damaged parts. There came pneumonia and grippe, stalking among them, -seeking for weakened constitutions; there was the annual harvest of those -whom tuberculosis had been dragging down. There came cruel, cold, and -biting winds, and blizzards of snow, all testing relentlessly for failing -muscles and impoverished blood. Sooner or later came the day when the -unfit one did not report for work; and then, with no time lost in waiting, -and no inquiries or regrets, there was a chance for a new hand. - -The new hands were here by the thousands. All day long the gates of the -packing houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, -literally, by the thousands every single morning, fighting with each -other for a chance for life. Blizzards and cold made no difference -to them, they were always on hand; they were on hand two hours before the -sun rose, an hour before the work began. Sometimes their faces froze, -sometimes their feet and their hands; sometimes they froze all together-- -but still they came, for they had no other place to go. One day Durham -advertised in the paper for two hundred men to cut ice; and all that day -the homeless and starving of the city came trudging through the snow from -all over its two hundred square miles. That night forty score of them -crowded into the station house of the stockyards district--they filled -the rooms, sleeping in each other's laps, toboggan fashion, and they -piled on top of each other in the corridors, till the police shut the -doors and left some to freeze outside. On the morrow, before daybreak, -there were three thousand at Durham's, and the police reserves had to be -sent for to quell the riot. Then Durham's bosses picked out twenty of -the biggest; the "two hundred" proved to have been a printer's error. - -Four or five miles to the eastward lay the lake, and over this the bitter -winds came raging. Sometimes the thermometer would fall to ten or twenty -degrees below zero at night, and in the morning the streets would be -piled with snowdrifts up to the first-floor windows. The streets through -which our friends had to go to their work were all unpaved and full of -deep holes and gullies; in summer, when it rained hard, a man might have -to wade to his waist to get to his house; and now in winter it was no -joke getting through these places, before light in the morning and after -dark at night. They would wrap up in all they owned, but they could not -wrap up against exhaustion; and many a man gave out in these battles with -the snowdrifts, and lay down and fell asleep. - -And if it was bad for the men, one may imagine how the women and children -fared. Some would ride in the cars, if the cars were running; but when -you are making only five cents an hour, as was little Stanislovas, you -do not like to spend that much to ride two miles. The children would -come to the yards with great shawls about their ears, and so tied up -that you could hardly find them--and still there would be accidents. -One bitter morning in February the little boy who worked at the lard -machine with Stanislovas came about an hour late, and screaming with pain. -They unwrapped him, and a man began vigorously rubbing his ears; and as -they were frozen stiff, it took only two or three rubs to break them -short off. As a result of this, little Stanislovas conceived a terror of -the cold that was almost a mania. Every morning, when it came time to -start for the yards, he would begin to cry and protest. Nobody knew quite -how to manage him, for threats did no good--it seemed to be something that -he could not control, and they feared sometimes that he would go into -convulsions. In the end it had to be arranged that he always went with -Jurgis, and came home with him again; and often, when the snow was deep, -the man would carry him the whole way on his shoulders. Sometimes Jurgis -would be working until late at night, and then it was pitiful, for there -was no place for the little fellow to wait, save in the doorways or in -a corner of the killing beds, and he would all but fall asleep there, -and freeze to death. - -There was no heat upon the killing beds; the men might exactly as well -have worked out of doors all winter. For that matter, there was very -little heat anywhere in the building, except in the cooking rooms and -such places--and it was the men who worked in these who ran the most -risk of all, because whenever they had to pass to another room they -had to go through ice-cold corridors, and sometimes with nothing on -above the waist except a sleeveless undershirt. On the killing beds -you were apt to be covered with blood, and it would freeze solid; if you -leaned against a pillar, you would freeze to that, and if you put your -hand upon the blade of your knife, you would run a chance of leaving -your skin on it. The men would tie up their feet in newspapers and old -sacks, and these would be soaked in blood and frozen, and then soaked -again, and so on, until by nighttime a man would be walking on great -lumps the size of the feet of an elephant. Now and then, when the bosses -were not looking, you would see them plunging their feet and ankles into -the steaming hot carcass of the steer, or darting across the room to the -hot-water jets. The cruelest thing of all was that nearly all of them-- -all of those who used knives--were unable to wear gloves, and their arms -would be white with frost and their hands would grow numb, and then of -course there would be accidents. Also the air would be full of steam, -from the hot water and the hot blood, so that you could not see five feet -before you; and then, with men rushing about at the speed they kept up -on the killing beds, and all with butcher knives, like razors, in their -hands-- well, it was to be counted as a wonder that there were not more -men slaughtered than cattle. - -And yet all this inconvenience they might have put up with, if only it -had not been for one thing--if only there had been some place where they -might eat. Jurgis had either to eat his dinner amid the stench in which -he had worked, or else to rush, as did all his companions, to any one of -the hundreds of liquor stores which stretched out their arms to him. -To the west of the yards ran Ashland Avenue, and here was an unbroken -line of saloons--"Whiskey Row," they called it; to the north was Forty- -seventh Street, where there were half a dozen to the block, and at the -angle of the two was "Whiskey Point," a space of fifteen or twenty acres, -and containing one glue factory and about two hundred saloons. - -One might walk among these and take his choice: "Hot pea-soup and boiled -cabbage today." "Sauerkraut and hot frankfurters. Walk in." "Bean soup -and stewed lamb. Welcome." All of these things were printed in many -languages, as were also the names of the resorts, which were infinite -in their variety and appeal. There was the "Home Circle" and the -"Cosey Corner"; there were "Firesides" and "Hearthstones" and "Pleasure -Palaces" and "Wonderlands" and "Dream Castles" and "Love's Delights." -Whatever else they were called, they were sure to be called "Union -Headquarters," and to hold out a welcome to workingmen; and there was -always a warm stove, and a chair near it, and some friends to laugh -and talk with. There was only one condition attached,--you must drink. -If you went in not intending to drink, you would be put out in no time, -and if you were slow about going, like as not you would get your head -split open with a beer bottle in the bargain. But all of the men -understood the convention and drank; they believed that by it they were -getting something for nothing--for they did not need to take more than -one drink, and upon the strength of it they might fill themselves up with -a good hot dinner. This did not always work out in practice, however, -for there was pretty sure to be a friend who would treat you, and then -you would have to treat him. Then some one else would come in--and, -anyhow, a few drinks were good for a man who worked hard. As he went -back he did not shiver so, he had more courage for his task; the deadly -brutalizing monotony of it did not afflict him so,--he had ideas while -he worked, and took a more cheerful view of his circumstances. On the -way home, however, the shivering was apt to come on him again; and so -he would have to stop once or twice to warm up against the cruel cold. -As there were hot things to eat in this saloon too, he might get home -late to his supper, or he might not get home at all. And then his -wife might set out to look for him, and she too would feel the cold; -and perhaps she would have some of the children with her--and so a -whole family would drift into drinking, as the current of a river drifts -downstream. As if to complete the chain, the packers all paid their men -in checks, refusing all requests to pay in coin; and where in Packingtown -could a man go to have his check cashed but to a saloon, where he could -pay for the favor by spending a part of the money? - -From all of these things Jurgis was saved because of Ona. He never -would take but the one drink at noontime; and so he got the reputation -of being a surly fellow, and was not quite welcome at the saloons, -and had to drift about from one to another. Then at night he would -go straight home, helping Ona and Stanislovas, or often putting the -former on a car. And when he got home perhaps he would have to trudge -several blocks, and come staggering back through the snowdrifts with a -bag of coal upon his shoulder. Home was not a very attractive place-- -at least not this winter. They had only been able to buy one stove, -and this was a small one, and proved not big enough to warm even the -kitchen in the bitterest weather. This made it hard for Teta Elzbieta -all day, and for the children when they could not get to school. At night -they would sit huddled round this stove, while they ate their supper off -their laps; and then Jurgis and Jonas would smoke a pipe, after which -they would all crawl into their beds to get warm, after putting out the -fire to save the coal. Then they would have some frightful experiences -with the cold. They would sleep with all their clothes on, including -their overcoats, and put over them all the bedding and spare clothing -they owned; the children would sleep all crowded into one bed, and yet -even so they could not keep warm. The outside ones would be shivering -and sobbing, crawling over the others and trying to get down into the -center, and causing a fight. This old house with the leaky weatherboards -was a very different thing from their cabins at home, with great thick -walls plastered inside and outside with mud; and the cold which came -upon them was a living thing, a demon-presence in the room. They would -waken in the midnight hours, when everything was black; perhaps they would -hear it yelling outside, or perhaps there would be deathlike stillness-- -and that would be worse yet. They could feel the cold as it crept in -through the cracks, reaching out for them with its icy, death-dealing -fingers; and they would crouch and cower, and try to hide from it, all -in vain. It would come, and it would come; a grisly thing, a specter -born in the black caverns of terror; a power primeval, cosmic, shadowing -the tortures of the lost souls flung out to chaos and destruction. It was -cruel iron-hard; and hour after hour they would cringe in its grasp, -alone, alone. There would be no one to hear them if they cried out; -there would be no help, no mercy. And so on until morning--when they -would go out to another day of toil, a little weaker, a little nearer -to the time when it would be their turn to be shaken from the tree. - - - -Chapter 8 - - -Yet even by this deadly winter the germ of hope was not to be kept from -sprouting in their hearts. It was just at this time that the great -adventure befell Marija. - -The victim was Tamoszius Kuszleika, who played the violin. Everybody -laughed at them, for Tamoszius was petite and frail, and Marija could -have picked him up and carried him off under one arm. But perhaps that -was why she fascinated him; the sheer volume of Marija's energy was -overwhelming. That first night at the wedding Tamoszius had hardly taken -his eyes off her; and later on, when he came to find that she had really -the heart of a baby, her voice and her violence ceased to terrify him, -and he got the habit of coming to pay her visits on Sunday afternoons. -There was no place to entertain company except in the kitchen, in the -midst of the family, and Tamoszius would sit there with his hat between -his knees, never saying more than half a dozen words at a time, and turning -red in the face before he managed to say those; until finally Jurgis would -clap him upon the back, in his hearty way, crying, "Come now, brother, -give us a tune." And then Tamoszius' face would light up and he would -get out his fiddle, tuck it under his chin, and play. And forthwith -the soul of him would flame up and become eloquent--it was almost an -impropriety, for all the while his gaze would be fixed upon Marija's face, -until she would begin to turn red and lower her eyes. There was no -resisting the music of Tamoszius, however; even the children would sit -awed and wondering, and the tears would run down Teta Elzbieta's cheeks. -A wonderful privilege it was to be thus admitted into the soul of a man -of genius, to be allowed to share the ecstasies and the agonies of his -inmost life. - -Then there were other benefits accruing to Marija from this friendship-- -benefits of a more substantial nature. People paid Tamoszius big money -to come and make music on state occasions; and also they would invite -him to parties and festivals, knowing well that he was too good-natured -to come without his fiddle, and that having brought it, he could be made -to play while others danced. Once he made bold to ask Marija to accompany -him to such a party, and Marija accepted, to his great delight--after which -he never went anywhere without her, while if the celebration were given by -friends of his, he would invite the rest of the family also. In any case -Marija would bring back a huge pocketful of cakes and sandwiches for the -children, and stories of all the good things she herself had managed to -consume. She was compelled, at these parties, to spend most of her time -at the refreshment table, for she could not dance with anybody except -other women and very old men; Tamoszius was of an excitable temperament, -and afflicted with a frantic jealousy, and any unmarried man who ventured -to put his arm about the ample waist of Marija would be certain to throw -the orchestra out of tune. - -It was a great help to a person who had to toil all the week to be able -to look forward to some such relaxation as this on Saturday nights. -The family was too poor and too hardworked to make many acquaintances; -in Packingtown, as a rule, people know only their near neighbors and -shopmates, and so the place is like a myriad of little country villages. -But now there was a member of the family who was permitted to travel and -widen her horizon; and so each week there would be new personalities to -talk about,--how so-and-so was dressed, and where she worked, and what -she got, and whom she was in love with; and how this man had jilted his -girl, and how she had quarreled with the other girl, and what had passed -between them; and how another man beat his wife, and spent all her earnings -upon drink, and pawned her very clothes. Some people would have scorned -this talk as gossip; but then one has to talk about what one knows. - -It was one Saturday night, as they were coming home from a wedding, -that Tamoszius found courage, and set down his violin case in the street -and spoke his heart; and then Marija clasped him in her arms. She told -them all about it the next day, and fairly cried with happiness, for she -said that Tamoszius was a lovely man. After that he no longer made love -to her with his fiddle, but they would sit for hours in the kitchen, -blissfully happy in each other's arms; it was the tacit convention of -the family to know nothing of what was going on in that corner. - -They were planning to be married in the spring, and have the garret -of the house fixed up, and live there. Tamoszius made good wages; -and little by little the family were paying back their debt to Marija, -so she ought soon to have enough to start life upon--only, with her -preposterous softheartedness, she would insist upon spending a good part -of her money every week for things which she saw they needed. Marija was -really the capitalist of the party, for she had become an expert can -painter by this time--she was getting fourteen cents for every hundred -and ten cans, and she could paint more than two cans every minute. -Marija felt, so to speak, that she had her hand on the throttle, and the -neighborhood was vocal with her rejoicings. - -Yet her friends would shake their heads and tell her to go slow; one could -not count upon such good fortune forever--there were accidents that always -happened. But Marija was not to be prevailed upon, and went on planning -and dreaming of all the treasures she was going to have for her home; -and so, when the crash did come, her grief was painful to see. - -For her canning factory shut down! Marija would about as soon have -expected to see the sun shut down--the huge establishment had been to -her a thing akin to the planets and the seasons. But now it was shut! -And they had not given her any explanation, they had not even given her -a day's warning; they had simply posted a notice one Saturday that all -hands would be paid off that afternoon, and would not resume work for -at least a month! And that was all that there was to it--her job was gone! - -It was the holiday rush that was over, the girls said in answer to -Marija's inquiries; after that there was always a slack. Sometimes the -factory would start up on half time after a while, but there was no -telling--it had been known to stay closed until way into the summer. -The prospects were bad at present, for truckmen who worked in the -storerooms said that these were piled up to the ceilings, so that the -firm could not have found room for another week's output of cans. And they -had turned off three-quarters of these men, which was a still worse sign, -since it meant that there were no orders to be filled. It was all a -swindle, can-painting, said the girls--you were crazy with delight because -you were making twelve or fourteen dollars a week, and saving half of it; -but you had to spend it all keeping alive while you were out, and so your -pay was really only half what you thought. - - -Marija came home, and because she was a person who could not rest without -danger of explosion, they first had a great house cleaning, and then she -set out to search Packingtown for a job to fill up the gap. As nearly all -the canning establishments were shut down, and all the girls hunting work, -it will be readily understood that Marija did not find any. Then she took -to trying the stores and saloons, and when this failed she even traveled -over into the far-distant regions near the lake front, where lived the -rich people in great palaces, and begged there for some sort of work that -could be done by a person who did not know English. - -The men upon the killing beds felt also the effects of the slump which -had turned Marija out; but they felt it in a different way, and a way -which made Jurgis understand at last all their bitterness. The big packers -did not turn their hands off and close down, like the canning factories; -but they began to run for shorter and shorter hours. They had always -required the men to be on the killing beds and ready for work at seven -o'clock, although there was almost never any work to be done till the -buyers out in the yards had gotten to work, and some cattle had come over -the chutes. That would often be ten or eleven o'clock, which was bad -enough, in all conscience; but now, in the slack season, they would -perhaps not have a thing for their men to do till late in the afternoon. -And so they would have to loaf around, in a place where the thermometer -might be twenty degrees below zero! At first one would see them running -about, or skylarking with each other, trying to keep warm; but before the -day was over they would become quite chilled through and exhausted, and, -when the cattle finally came, so near frozen that to move was an agony. -And then suddenly the place would spring into activity, and the merciless -"speeding-up" would begin! - -There were weeks at a time when Jurgis went home after such a day as -this with not more than two hours' work to his credit--which meant about -thirty- five cents. There were many days when the total was less than -half an hour, and others when there was none at all. The general average -was six hours a day, which meant for Jurgis about six dollars a week; -and this six hours of work would be done after standing on the killing bed -till one o'clock, or perhaps even three or four o'clock, in the afternoon. -Like as not there would come a rush of cattle at the very end of the day, -which the men would have to dispose of before they went home, often working -by electric light till nine or ten, or even twelve or one o'clock, and -without a single instant for a bite of supper. The men were at the mercy -of the cattle. Perhaps the buyers would be holding off for better prices-- -if they could scare the shippers into thinking that they meant to buy -nothing that day, they could get their own terms. For some reason the -cost of fodder for cattle in the yards was much above the market price-- -and you were not allowed to bring your own fodder! Then, too, a number of -cars were apt to arrive late in the day, now that the roads were blocked -with snow, and the packers would buy their cattle that night, to get them -cheaper, and then would come into play their ironclad rule, that all -cattle must be killed the same day they were bought. There was no use -kicking about this--there had been one delegation after another to see -the packers about it, only to be told that it was the rule, and that -there was not the slightest chance of its ever being altered. And so -on Christmas Eve Jurgis worked till nearly one o'clock in the morning, -and on Christmas Day he was on the killing bed at seven o'clock. - -All this was bad; and yet it was not the worst. For after all the hard -work a man did, he was paid for only part of it. Jurgis had once been -among those who scoffed at the idea of these huge concerns cheating; -and so now he could appreciate the bitter irony of the fact that it -was precisely their size which enabled them to do it with impunity. -ne of the rules on the killing beds was that a man who was one minute -late was docked an hour; and this was economical, for he was made to -work the balance of the hour--he was not allowed to stand round and wait. -And on the other hand if he came ahead of time he got no pay for that-- -though often the bosses would start up the gang ten or fifteen minutes -before the whistle. And this same custom they carried over to the end of -the day; they did not pay for any fraction of an hour--for "broken time." -A man might work full fifty minutes, but if there was no work to fill out -the hour, there was no pay for him. Thus the end of every day was a sort -of lottery--a struggle, all but breaking into open war between the bosses -and the men, the former trying to rush a job through and the latter -trying to stretch it out. Jurgis blamed the bosses for this, though the -truth to be told it was not always their fault; for the packers kept them -frightened for their lives--and when one was in danger of falling behind -the standard, what was easier than to catch up by making the gang work -awhile "for the church"? This was a savage witticism the men had, which -Jurgis had to have explained to him. Old man Jones was great on missions -and such things, and so whenever they were doing some particularly -disreputable job, the men would wink at each other and say, "Now we're -working for the church!" - -One of the consequences of all these things was that Jurgis was no -longer perplexed when he heard men talk of fighting for their rights. -He felt like fighting now himself; and when the Irish delegate of the -butcher-helpers' union came to him a second time, he received him in -a far different spirit. A wonderful idea it now seemed to Jurgis, -this of the men--that by combining they might be able to make a stand -and conquer the packers! Jurgis wondered who had first thought of it; -and when he was told that it was a common thing for men to do in America, -he got the first inkling of a meaning in the phrase "a free country." -The delegate explained to him how it depended upon their being able to -get every man to join and stand by the organization, and so Jurgis -signified that he was willing to do his share. Before another month -was by, all the working members of his family had union cards, and wore -their union buttons conspicuously and with pride. For fully a week they -were quite blissfully happy, thinking that belonging to a union meant an -end to all their troubles. - -But only ten days after she had joined, Marija's canning factory closed -down, and that blow quite staggered them. They could not understand why -the union had not prevented it, and the very first time she attended a -meeting Marija got up and made a speech about it. It was a business -meeting, and was transacted in English, but that made no difference to -Marija; she said what was in her, and all the pounding of the chairman's -gavel and all the uproar and confusion in the room could not prevail. -Quite apart from her own troubles she was boiling over with a general -sense of the injustice of it, and she told what she thought of the -packers, and what she thought of a world where such things were allowed -to happen; and then, while the echoes of the hall rang with the shock of -her terrible voice, she sat down again and fanned herself, and the meeting -gathered itself together and proceeded to discuss the election of a -recording secretary. - -Jurgis too had an adventure the first time he attended a union meeting, -but it was not of his own seeking. Jurgis had gone with the desire to -get into an inconspicuous corner and see what was done; but this attitude -of silent and open-eyed attention had marked him out for a victim. -Tommy Finnegan was a little Irishman, with big staring eyes and a wild -aspect, a "hoister" by trade, and badly cracked. Somewhere back in the -far-distant past Tommy Finnegan had had a strange experience, and the -burden of it rested upon him. All the balance of his life he had done -nothing but try to make it understood. When he talked he caught his -victim by the buttonhole, and his face kept coming closer and closer-- -which was trying, because his teeth were so bad. Jurgis did not mind that, -only he was frightened. The method of operation of the higher intelligences -was Tom Finnegan's theme, and he desired to find out if Jurgis had ever -considered that the representation of things in their present similarity -might be altogether unintelligible upon a more elevated plane. There were -assuredly wonderful mysteries about the developing of these things; and -then, becoming confidential, Mr. Finnegan proceeded to tell of some -discoveries of his own. "If ye have iver had onything to do wid -shperrits," said he, and looked inquiringly at Jurgis, who kept shaking -his head. "Niver mind, niver mind," continued the other, "but their -influences may be operatin' upon ye; it's shure as I'm tellin' ye, it's -them that has the reference to the immejit surroundin's that has the most -of power. It was vouchsafed to me in me youthful days to be acquainted -with shperrits" and so Tommy Finnegan went on, expounding a system of -philosophy, while the perspiration came out on Jurgis' forehead, so great -was his agitation and embarrassment. In the end one of the men, seeing -his plight, came over and rescued him; but it was some time before he was -able to find any one to explain things to him, and meanwhile his fear -lest the strange little Irishman should get him cornered again was enough -to keep him dodging about the room the whole evening. - -He never missed a meeting, however. He had picked up a few words of -English by this time, and friends would help him to understand. They -were often very turbulent meetings, with half a dozen men declaiming -at once, in as many dialects of English; but the speakers were all -desperately in earnest, and Jurgis was in earnest too, for he understood -that a fight was on, and that it was his fight. Since the time of his -disillusionment, Jurgis had sworn to trust no man, except in his own -family; but here he discovered that he had brothers in affliction, -and allies. Their one chance for life was in union, and so the struggle -became a kind of crusade. Jurgis had always been a member of the church, -because it was the right thing to be, but the church had never touched -him, he left all that for the women. Here, however, was a new religion-- -one that did touch him, that took hold of every fiber of him; and with all -the zeal and fury of a convert he went out as a missionary. There were -many nonunion men among the Lithuanians, and with these he would labor -and wrestle in prayer, trying to show them the right. Sometimes they -would be obstinate and refuse to see it, and Jurgis, alas, was not always -patient! He forgot how he himself had been blind, a short time ago-- -after the fashion of all crusaders since the original ones, who set out -to spread the gospel of Brotherhood by force of arms. - - - -Chapter 9 - - -One of the first consequences of the discovery of the union was that -Jurgis became desirous of learning English. He wanted to know what -was going on at the meetings, and to be able to take part in them, -and so he began to look about him, and to try to pick up words. -The children, who were at school, and learning fast, would teach him -a few; and a friend loaned him a little book that had some in it, -and Ona would read them to him. Then Jurgis became sorry that he -could not read himself; and later on in the winter, when some one -told him that there was a night school that was free, he went and -enrolled. After that, every evening that he got home from the yards -in time, he would go to the school; he would go even if he were in -time for only half an hour. They were teaching him both to read and -to speak English--and they would have taught him other things, if only -he had had a little time. - -Also the union made another great difference with him--it made him -begin to pay attention to the country. It was the beginning of democracy -with him. It was a little state, the union, a miniature republic; -its affairs were every man's affairs, and every man had a real say -about them. In other words, in the union Jurgis learned to talk politics. -In the place where he had come from there had not been any politics-- -in Russia one thought of the government as an affliction like the -lightning and the hail. "Duck, little brother, duck," the wise old -peasants would whisper; "everything passes away." And when Jurgis had -first come to America he had supposed that it was the same. He had heard -people say that it was a free country--but what did that mean? He found -that here, precisely as in Russia, there were rich men who owned everything; -and if one could not find any work, was not the hunger he began to feel -the same sort of hunger? - -When Jurgis had been working about three weeks at Brown's, there had come -to him one noontime a man who was employed as a night watchman, and who -asked him if he would not like to take out naturalization papers and -become a citizen. Jurgis did not know what that meant, but the man -explained the advantages. In the first place, it would not cost him -anything, and it would get him half a day off, with his pay just the -same; and then when election time came he would be able to vote--and -there was something in that. Jurgis was naturally glad to accept, and so -the night watchman said a few words to the boss, and he was excused for -the rest of the day. When, later on, he wanted a holiday to get married -he could not get it; and as for a holiday with pay just the same--what -power had wrought that miracle heaven only knew! However, he went with -the man, who picked up several other newly landed immigrants, Poles, -Lithuanians, and Slovaks, and took them all outside, where stood a great -four-horse tallyho coach, with fifteen or twenty men already in it. -It was a fine chance to see the sights of the city, and the party had a -merry time, with plenty of beer handed up from inside. So they drove -downtown and stopped before an imposing granite building, in which they -interviewed an official, who had the papers all ready, with only the names -to be filled in. So each man in turn took an oath of which he did not -understand a word, and then was presented with a handsome ornamented -document with a big red seal and the shield of the United States upon it, -and was told that he had become a citizen of the Republic and the equal -of the President himself. - -A month or two later Jurgis had another interview with this same man, -who told him where to go to "register." And then finally, when election -day came, the packing houses posted a notice that men who desired to vote -might remain away until nine that morning, and the same night watchman -took Jurgis and the rest of his flock into the back room of a saloon, -and showed each of them where and how to mark a ballot, and then gave -each two dollars, and took them to the polling place, where there was -a policeman on duty especially to see that they got through all right. -Jurgis felt quite proud of this good luck till he got home and met Jonas, -who had taken the leader aside and whispered to him, offering to vote -three times for four dollars, which offer had been accepted. - -And now in the union Jurgis met men who explained all this mystery -to him; and he learned that America differed from Russia in that its -government existed under the form of a democracy. The officials who -ruled it, and got all the graft, had to be elected first; and so -there were two rival sets of grafters, known as political parties, -and the one got the office which bought the most votes. Now and then, -the election was very close, and that was the time the poor man came in. -In the stockyards this was only in national and state elections, for in -local elections the Democratic Party always carried everything. The ruler -of the district was therefore the Democratic boss, a little Irishman -named Mike Scully. Scully held an important party office in the state, -and bossed even the mayor of the city, it was said; it was his boast -that he carried the stockyards in his pocket. He was an enormously rich -man--he had a hand in all the big graft in the neighborhood. It was -Scully, for instance, who owned that dump which Jurgis and Ona had seen -the first day of their arrival. Not only did he own the dump, but he -owned the brick factory as well, and first he took out the clay and made -it into bricks, and then he had the city bring garbage to fill up the -hole, so that he could build houses to sell to the people. Then, too, -he sold the bricks to the city, at his own price, and the city came and -got them in its own wagons. And also he owned the other hole near by, -where the stagnant water was; and it was he who cut the ice and sold it; -and what was more, if the men told truth, he had not had to pay any -taxes for the water, and he had built the icehouse out of city lumber, -and had not had to pay anything for that. The newspapers had got hold of -that story, and there had been a scandal; but Scully had hired somebody -to confess and take all the blame, and then skip the country. It was said, -too, that he had built his brick-kiln in the same way, and that the workmen -were on the city payroll while they did it; however, one had to press -closely to get these things out of the men, for it was not their business, -and Mike Scully was a good man to stand in with. A note signed by him -was equal to a job any time at the packing houses; and also he employed -a good many men himself, and worked them only eight hours a day, and paid -them the highest wages. This gave him many friends--all of whom he had -gotten together into the "War Whoop League," whose clubhouse you might -see just outside of the yards. It was the biggest clubhouse, and the -biggest club, in all Chicago; and they had prizefights every now and then, -and cockfights and even dogfights. The policemen in the district all -belonged to the league, and instead of suppressing the fights, they sold -tickets for them. The man that had taken Jurgis to be naturalized was -one of these "Indians," as they were called; and on election day there -would be hundreds of them out, and all with big wads of money in their -pockets and free drinks at every saloon in the district. That was another -thing, the men said--all the saloon-keepers had to be "Indians," and -to put up on demand, otherwise they could not do business on Sundays, -nor have any gambling at all. In the same way Scully had all the jobs -in the fire department at his disposal, and all the rest of the city -graft in the stockyards district; he was building a block of flats -somewhere up on Ashland Avenue, and the man who was overseeing it for -him was drawing pay as a city inspector of sewers. The city inspector -of water pipes had been dead and buried for over a year, but somebody was -still drawing his pay. The city inspector of sidewalks was a barkeeper -at the War Whoop Cafe--and maybe he could make it uncomfortable for any -tradesman who did not stand in with Scully! - -Even the packers were in awe of him, so the men said. It gave them -pleasure to believe this, for Scully stood as the people's man, and -boasted of it boldly when election day came. The packers had wanted -a bridge at Ashland Avenue, but they had not been able to get it till -they had seen Scully; and it was the same with "Bubbly Creek," which -the city had threatened to make the packers cover over, till Scully -had come to their aid. "Bubbly Creek" is an arm of the Chicago River, -and forms the southern boundary of the yards: all the drainage of the -square mile of packing houses empties into it, so that it is really a -great open sewer a hundred or two feet wide. One long arm of it is blind, -and the filth stays there forever and a day. The grease and chemicals -that are poured into it undergo all sorts of strange transformations, -which are the cause of its name; it is constantly in motion, as if huge -fish were feeding in it, or great leviathans disporting themselves in its -depths. Bubbles of carbonic acid gas will rise to the surface and burst, -and make rings two or three feet wide. Here and there the grease and -filth have caked solid, and the creek looks like a bed of lava; chickens -walk about on it, feeding, and many times an unwary stranger has started -to stroll across, and vanished temporarily. The packers used to leave -the creek that way, till every now and then the surface would catch on -fire and burn furiously, and the fire department would have to come and -put it out. Once, however, an ingenious stranger came and started to -gather this filth in scows, to make lard out of; then the packers took -the cue, and got out an injunction to stop him, and afterward gathered it -themselves. The banks of "Bubbly Creek" are plastered thick with hairs, -and this also the packers gather and clean. - -And there were things even stranger than this, according to the gossip of -the men. The packers had secret mains, through which they stole billions -of gallons of the city's water. The newspapers had been full of this -scandal--once there had even been an investigation, and an actual -uncovering of the pipes; but nobody had been punished, and the thing -went right on. And then there was the condemned meat industry, with its -endless horrors. The people of Chicago saw the government inspectors in -Packingtown, and they all took that to mean that they were protected from -diseased meat; they did not understand that these hundred and sixty-three -inspectors had been appointed at the request of the packers, and that -they were paid by the United States government to certify that all the -diseased meat was kept in the state. They had no authority beyond that; -for the inspection of meat to be sold in the city and state the whole -force in Packingtown consisted of three henchmen of the local political -machine!* - -(*Rules and Regulations for the Inspection of Livestock and Their Products. -United States Department of Agriculture, Bureau of Animal Industries, -Order No. 125:-- - -Section 1. Proprietors of slaughterhouses, canning, salting, packing, -or rendering establishments engaged in the slaughtering of cattle, -sheep. or swine, or the packing of any of their products, the carcasses -or products of which are to become subjects of interstate or foreign -commerce, shall make application to the Secretary of Agriculture for -inspection of said animals and their products.... - -Section 15. Such rejected or condemned animals shall at once be removed -by the owners from the pens containing animals which have been inspected -and found to be free from disease and fit for human food, and shall be -disposed of in accordance with the laws, ordinances, and regulations of -the state and municipality in which said rejected or condemned animals -are located.... - -Section 25. A microscopic examination for trichinae shall be made of -all swine products exported to countries requiring such examination. -No microscopic examination will be made of hogs slaughtered for interstate -trade, but this examination shall be confined to those intended for the -export trade.) - -And shortly afterward one of these, a physician, made the discovery that -the carcasses of steers which had been condemned as tubercular by the -government inspectors, and which therefore contained ptomaines, which are -deadly poisons, were left upon an open platform and carted away to be -sold in the city; and so he insisted that these carcasses be treated -with an injection of kerosene--and was ordered to resign the same week! -So indignant were the packers that they went farther, and compelled the -mayor to abolish the whole bureau of inspection; so that since then -there has not been even a pretense of any interference with the graft. -There was said to be two thousand dollars a week hush money from the -tubercular steers alone; and as much again from the hogs which had -died of cholera on the trains, and which you might see any day being -loaded into boxcars and hauled away to a place called Globe, in Indiana, -where they made a fancy grade of lard. - -Jurgis heard of these things little by little, in the gossip of those -who were obliged to perpetrate them. It seemed as if every time you met -a person from a new department, you heard of new swindles and new crimes. -There was, for instance, a Lithuanian who was a cattle butcher for the -plant where Marija had worked, which killed meat for canning only; and to -hear this man describe the animals which came to his place would have been -worthwhile for a Dante or a Zola. It seemed that they must have agencies -all over the country, to hunt out old and crippled and diseased cattle -to be canned. There were cattle which had been fed on "whisky-malt," -the refuse of the breweries, and had become what the men called "steerly"-- -which means covered with boils. It was a nasty job killing these, for when -you plunged your knife into them they would burst and splash foul-smelling -stuff into your face; and when a man's sleeves were smeared with blood, -and his hands steeped in it, how was he ever to wipe his face, or to clear -his eyes so that he could see? It was stuff such as this that made the -"embalmed beef" that had killed several times as many United States -soldiers as all the bullets of the Spaniards; only the army beef, besides, -was not fresh canned, it was old stuff that had been lying for years in -the cellars. - -Then one Sunday evening, Jurgis sat puffing his pipe by the kitchen stove, -and talking with an old fellow whom Jonas had introduced, and who worked -in the canning rooms at Durham's; and so Jurgis learned a few things about -the great and only Durham canned goods, which had become a national -institution. They were regular alchemists at Durham's; they advertised a -mushroom-catsup, and the men who made it did not know what a mushroom -looked like. They advertised "potted chicken,"--and it was like the -boardinghouse soup of the comic papers, through which a chicken had -walked with rubbers on. Perhaps they had a secret process for making -chickens chemically--who knows? said Jurgis' friend; the things that went -into the mixture were tripe, and the fat of pork, and beef suet, and hearts -of beef, and finally the waste ends of veal, when they had any. They put -these up in several grades, and sold them at several prices; but the -contents of the cans all came out of the same hopper. And then there -was "potted game" and "potted grouse," "potted ham," and "deviled ham"-- -de-vyled, as the men called it. "De-vyled" ham was made out of the waste -ends of smoked beef that were too small to be sliced by the machines; -and also tripe, dyed with chemicals so that it would not show white; -and trimmings of hams and corned beef; and potatoes, skins and all; -and finally the hard cartilaginous gullets of beef, after the tongues -had been cut out. All this ingenious mixture was ground up and flavored -with spices to make it taste like something. Anybody who could invent a -new imitation had been sure of a fortune from old Durham, said Jurgis' -informant; but it was hard to think of anything new in a place where -so many sharp wits had been at work for so long; where men welcomed -tuberculosis in the cattle they were feeding, because it made them fatten -more quickly; and where they bought up all the old rancid butter left over -in the grocery stores of a continent, and "oxidized" it by a forced-air -process, to take away the odor, rechurned it with skim milk, and sold it -in bricks in the cities! Up to a year or two ago it had been the custom -to kill horses in the yards--ostensibly for fertilizer; but after long -agitation the newspapers had been able to make the public realize that -the horses were being canned. Now it was against the law to kill horses -in Packingtown, and the law was really complied with--for the present, -at any rate. Any day, however, one might see sharp-horned and shaggy- -haired creatures running with the sheep and yet what a job you would have -to get the public to believe that a good part of what it buys for lamb -and mutton is really goat's flesh! - -There was another interesting set of statistics that a person might have -gathered in Packingtown--those of the various afflictions of the workers. -When Jurgis had first inspected the packing plants with Szedvilas, he had -marveled while he listened to the tale of all the things that were made -out of the carcasses of animals, and of all the lesser industries that -were maintained there; now he found that each one of these lesser -industries was a separate little inferno, in its way as horrible as the -killing beds, the source and fountain of them all. The workers in each -of them had their own peculiar diseases. And the wandering visitor might -be skeptical about all the swindles, but he could not be skeptical about -these, for the worker bore the evidence of them about on his own person-- -generally he had only to hold out his hand. - -There were the men in the pickle rooms, for instance, where old Antanas -had gotten his death; scarce a one of these that had not some spot of -horror on his person. Let a man so much as scrape his finger pushing -a truck in the pickle rooms, and he might have a sore that would put -him out of the world; all the joints in his fingers might be eaten by -the acid, one by one. Of the butchers and floorsmen, the beef-boners -and trimmers, and all those who used knives, you could scarcely find a -person who had the use of his thumb; time and time again the base of it -had been slashed, till it was a mere lump of flesh against which the man -pressed the knife to hold it. The hands of these men would be criss- -crossed with cuts, until you could no longer pretend to count them or to -trace them. They would have no nails,--they had worn them off pulling -hides; their knuckles were swollen so that their fingers spread out like -a fan. There were men who worked in the cooking rooms, in the midst of -steam and sickening odors, by artificial light; in these rooms the germs -of tuberculosis might live for two years, but the supply was renewed -every hour. There were the beef-luggers, who carried two-hundred-pound -quarters into the refrigerator-cars; a fearful kind of work, that began -at four o'clock in the morning, and that wore out the most powerful men -in a few years. There were those who worked in the chilling rooms, and -whose special disease was rheumatism; the time limit that a man could -work in the chilling rooms was said to be five years. There were the -wool-pluckers, whose hands went to pieces even sooner than the hands of -the pickle men; for the pelts of the sheep had to be painted with acid -to loosen the wool, and then the pluckers had to pull out this wool with -their bare hands, till the acid had eaten their fingers off. There were -those who made the tins for the canned meat; and their hands, too, were -a maze of cuts, and each cut represented a chance for blood poisoning. -Some worked at the stamping machines, and it was very seldom that one -could work long there at the pace that was set, and not give out and -forget himself and have a part of his hand chopped off. There were the -"hoisters," as they were called, whose task it was to press the lever -which lifted the dead cattle off the floor. They ran along upon a rafter, -peering down through the damp and the steam; and as old Durham's architects -had not built the killing room for the convenience of the hoisters, at every -few feet they would have to stoop under a beam, say four feet above the one -they ran on; which got them into the habit of stooping, so that in a few -years they would be walking like chimpanzees. Worst of any, however, were -the fertilizer men, and those who served in the cooking rooms. These people -could not be shown to the visitor,--for the odor of a fertilizer man would -scare any ordinary visitor at a hundred yards, and as for the other men, -who worked in tank rooms full of steam, and in some of which there were -open vats near the level of the floor, their peculiar trouble was that -they fell into the vats; and when they were fished out, there was never -enough of them left to be worth exhibiting,--sometimes they would be -overlooked for days, till all but the bones of them had gone out to the -world as Durham's Pure Leaf Lard! - - - -Chapter 10 - - -During the early part of the winter the family had had money enough -to live and a little over to pay their debts with; but when the -earnings of Jurgis fell from nine or ten dollars a week to five or six, -there was no longer anything to spare. The winter went, and the -spring came, and found them still living thus from hand to mouth, -hanging on day by day, with literally not a month's wages between -them and starvation. Marija was in despair, for there was still -no word about the reopening of the canning factory, and her savings -were almost entirely gone. She had had to give up all idea of -marrying then; the family could not get along without her--though for -that matter she was likely soon to become a burden even upon them, -for when her money was all gone, they would have to pay back what -they owed her in board. So Jurgis and Ona and Teta Elzbieta would -hold anxious conferences until late at night, trying to figure how -they could manage this too without starving. - -Such were the cruel terms upon which their life was possible, -that they might never have nor expect a single instant's respite -from worry, a single instant in which they were not haunted by the -thought of money. They would no sooner escape, as by a miracle, -from one difficulty, than a new one would come into view. In addition -to all their physical hardships, there was thus a constant strain -upon their minds; they were harried all day and nearly all night by -worry and fear. This was in truth not living; it was scarcely even -existing, and they felt that it was too little for the price they paid. -They were willing to work all the time; and when people did their best, -ought they not to be able to keep alive? - -There seemed never to be an end to the things they had to buy and to -the unforeseen contingencies. Once their water pipes froze and burst; -and when, in their ignorance, they thawed them out, they had a -terrifying flood in their house. It happened while the men were away, -and poor Elzbieta rushed out into the street screaming for help, -for she did not even know whether the flood could be stopped, or whether -they were ruined for life. It was nearly as bad as the latter, they -found in the end, for the plumber charged them seventy-five cents -an hour, and seventy-five cents for another man who had stood and -watched him, and included all the time the two had been going and -coming, and also a charge for all sorts of material and extras. -And then again, when they went to pay their January's installment on -the house, the agent terrified them by asking them if they had had the -insurance attended to yet. In answer to their inquiry he showed them -a clause in the deed which provided that they were to keep the house -insured for one thousand dollars, as soon as the present policy ran out, -which would happen in a few days. Poor Elzbieta, upon whom again fell -the blow, demanded how much it would cost them. Seven dollars, the man -said; and that night came Jurgis, grim and determined, requesting that -the agent would be good enough to inform him, once for all, as to all -the expenses they were liable for. The deed was signed now, he said, -with sarcasm proper to the new way of life he had learned--the deed was -signed, and so the agent had no longer anything to gain by keeping quiet. -And Jurgis looked the fellow squarely in the eye, and so the fellow -wasted no time in conventional protests, but read him the deed. -They would have to renew the insurance every year; they would have to -pay the taxes, about ten dollars a year; they would have to pay the -water tax, about six dollars a year--(Jurgis silently resolved to -shut off the hydrant). This, besides the interest and the monthly -installments, would be all--unless by chance the city should happen -to decide to put in a sewer or to lay a sidewalk. Yes, said the agent, -they would have to have these, whether they wanted them or not, if the -city said so. The sewer would cost them about twenty-two dollars, -and the sidewalk fifteen if it were wood, twenty-five if it were cement. - -So Jurgis went home again; it was a relief to know the worst, at any rate, -so that he could no more be surprised by fresh demands. He saw now -how they had been plundered; but they were in for it, there was no -turning back. They could only go on and make the fight and win-- -for defeat was a thing that could not even be thought of. - -When the springtime came, they were delivered from the dreadful cold, -and that was a great deal; but in addition they had counted on the -money they would not have to pay for coal--and it was just at this -time that Marija's board began to fail. Then, too, the warm weather -brought trials of its own; each season had its trials, as they found. -In the spring there were cold rains, that turned the streets into -canals and bogs; the mud would be so deep that wagons would sink -up to the hubs, so that half a dozen horses could not move them. -Then, of course, it was impossible for any one to get to work with -dry feet; and this was bad for men that were poorly clad and shod, -and still worse for women and children. Later came midsummer, with the -stifling heat, when the dingy killing beds of Durham's became a very -purgatory; one time, in a single day, three men fell dead from sunstroke. -All day long the rivers of hot blood poured forth, until, with the sun -beating down, and the air motionless, the stench was enough to knock -a man over; all the old smells of a generation would be drawn out by -this heat--for there was never any washing of the walls and rafters -and pillars, and they were caked with the filth of a lifetime. -The men who worked on the killing beds would come to reek with foulness, -so that you could smell one of them fifty feet away; there was simply -no such thing as keeping decent, the most careful man gave it up in -the end, and wallowed in uncleanness. There was not even a place -where a man could wash his hands, and the men ate as much raw blood as -food at dinnertime. When they were at work they could not even wipe off -their faces--they were as helpless as newly born babes in that respect; -and it may seem like a small matter, but when the sweat began to run -down their necks and tickle them, or a fly to bother them, it was a -torture like being burned alive. Whether it was the slaughterhouses -or the dumps that were responsible, one could not say, but with the -hot weather there descended upon Packingtown a veritable Egyptian plague -of flies; there could be no describing this--the houses would be black -with them. There was no escaping; you might provide all your doors -and windows with screens, but their buzzing outside would be like -the swarming of bees, and whenever you opened the door they would -rush in as if a storm of wind were driving them. - -Perhaps the summertime suggests to you thoughts of the country, -visions of green fields and mountains and sparkling lakes. It had -no such suggestion for the people in the yards. The great packing -machine ground on remorselessly, without thinking of green fields; -and the men and women and children who were part of it never saw -any green thing, not even a flower. Four or five miles to the east -of them lay the blue waters of Lake Michigan; but for all the good -it did them it might have been as far away as the Pacific Ocean. -They had only Sundays, and then they were too tired to walk. -They were tied to the great packing machine, and tied to it for life. -The managers and superintendents and clerks of Packingtown were all -recruited from another class, and never from the workers; they scorned -the workers, the very meanest of them. A poor devil of a bookkeeper -who had been working in Durham's for twenty years at a salary of -six dollars a week, and might work there for twenty more and do -no better, would yet consider himself a gentleman, as far removed -as the poles from the most skilled worker on the killing beds; -he would dress differently, and live in another part of the town, -and come to work at a different hour of the day, and in every way -make sure that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man. Perhaps -this was due to the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people -who worked with their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it. - -In the late spring the canning factory started up again, and so -once more Marija was heard to sing, and the love-music of Tamoszius -took on a less melancholy tone. It was not for long, however; -for a month or two later a dreadful calamity fell upon Marija. -Just one year and three days after she had begun work as a can-painter, -she lost her job. - -It was a long story. Marija insisted that it was because of her -activity in the union. The packers, of course, had spies in all -the unions, and in addition they made a practice of buying up -a certain number of the union officials, as many as they thought -they needed. So every week they received reports as to what was -going on, and often they knew things before the members of the -union knew them. Any one who was considered to be dangerous by them -would find that he was not a favorite with his boss; and Marija had -been a great hand for going after the foreign people and preaching -to them. However that might be, the known facts were that a few -weeks before the factory closed, Marija had been cheated out of her -pay for three hundred cans. The girls worked at a long table, -and behind them walked a woman with pencil and notebook, keeping count -of the number they finished. This woman was, of course, only human, -and sometimes made mistakes; when this happened, there was no -redress--if on Saturday you got less money than you had earned, -you had to make the best of it. But Marija did not understand this, -and made a disturbance. Marija's disturbances did not mean anything, -and while she had known only Lithuanian and Polish, they had done no harm, -for people only laughed at her and made her cry. But now Marija was -able to call names in English, and so she got the woman who made the -mistake to disliking her. Probably, as Marija claimed, she made -mistakes on purpose after that; at any rate, she made them, and the -third time it happened Marija went on the warpath and took the matter -first to the forelady, and when she got no satisfaction there, to the -superintendent. This was unheard-of presumption, but the superintendent -said he would see about it, which Marija took to mean that she was -going to get her money; after waiting three days, she went to see -the superintendent again. This time the man frowned, and said that he -had not had time to attend to it; and when Marija, against the advice -and warning of every one, tried it once more, he ordered her back to -her work in a passion. Just how things happened after that Marija was -not sure, but that afternoon the forelady told her that her services -would not be any longer required. Poor Marija could not have been -more dumfounded had the woman knocked her over the head; at first she -could not believe what she heard, and then she grew furious and swore -that she would come anyway, that her place belonged to her. In the end -she sat down in the middle of the floor and wept and wailed. - -It was a cruel lesson; but then Marija was headstrong--she should -have listened to those who had had experience. The next time she -would know her place, as the forelady expressed it; and so Marija -went out, and the family faced the problem of an existence again. - -It was especially hard this time, for Ona was to be confined before long, -and Jurgis was trying hard to save up money for this. He had heard -dreadful stories of the midwives, who grow as thick as fleas in -Packingtown; and he had made up his mind that Ona must have a -man-doctor. Jurgis could be very obstinate when he wanted to, -and he was in this case, much to the dismay of the women, who felt -that a man-doctor was an impropriety, and that the matter really -belonged to them. The cheapest doctor they could find would charge -them fifteen dollars, and perhaps more when the bill came in; -and here was Jurgis, declaring that he would pay it, even if he had -to stop eating in the meantime! - -Marija had only about twenty-five dollars left. Day after day she -wandered about the yards begging a job, but this time without hope -of finding it. Marija could do the work of an able-bodied man, -when she was cheerful, but discouragement wore her out easily, -and she would come home at night a pitiable object. She learned -her lesson this time, poor creature; she learned it ten times over. -All the family learned it along with her--that when you have once -got a job in Packingtown, you hang on to it, come what will. - -Four weeks Marija hunted, and half of a fifth week. Of course she -stopped paying her dues to the union. She lost all interest in the -union, and cursed herself for a fool that she had ever been dragged -into one. She had about made up her mind that she was a lost soul, -when somebody told her of an opening, and she went and got a place -as a "beef-trimmer." She got this because the boss saw that she -had the muscles of a man, and so he discharged a man and put Marija -to do his work, paying her a little more than half what he had been -paying before. - -When she first came to Packingtown, Marija would have scorned such -work as this. She was in another canning factory, and her work -was to trim the meat of those diseased cattle that Jurgis had been -told about not long before. She was shut up in one of the rooms -where the people seldom saw the daylight; beneath her were the -chilling rooms, where the meat was frozen, and above her were -the cooking rooms; and so she stood on an ice-cold floor, while her -head was often so hot that she could scarcely breathe. Trimming beef -off the bones by the hundred-weight, while standing up from early -morning till late at night, with heavy boots on and the floor -always damp and full of puddles, liable to be thrown out of work -indefinitely because of a slackening in the trade, liable again -to be kept overtime in rush seasons, and be worked till she trembled -in every nerve and lost her grip on her slimy knife, and gave herself -a poisoned wound--that was the new life that unfolded itself before Marija. -But because Marija was a human horse she merely laughed and went -at it; it would enable her to pay her board again, and keep the -family going. And as for Tamoszius--well, they had waited a long time, -and they could wait a little longer. They could not possibly get -along upon his wages alone, and the family could not live without hers. -He could come and visit her, and sit in the kitchen and hold her hand, -and he must manage to be content with that. But day by day the -music of Tamoszius' violin became more passionate and heartbreaking; -and Marija would sit with her hands clasped and her cheeks wet and -all her body atremble, hearing in the wailing melodies the voices -of the unborn generations which cried out in her for life. - - -Marija's lesson came just in time to save Ona from a similar fate. -Ona, too, was dissatisfied with her place, and had far more reason -than Marija. She did not tell half of her story at home, because she -saw it was a torment to Jurgis, and she was afraid of what he might do. -For a long time Ona had seen that Miss Henderson, the forelady in -her department, did not like her. At first she thought it was the -old-time mistake she had made in asking for a holiday to get married. -Then she concluded it must be because she did not give the forelady -a present occasionally--she was the kind that took presents from -the girls, Ona learned, and made all sorts of discriminations in favor -of those who gave them. In the end, however, Ona discovered that -it was even worse than that. Miss Henderson was a newcomer, and it was -some time before rumor made her out; but finally it transpired that -she was a kept woman, the former mistress of the superintendent of -a department in the same building. He had put her there to keep -her quiet, it seemed--and that not altogether with success, for once -or twice they had been heard quarreling. She had the temper of a hyena, -and soon the place she ran was a witch's caldron. There were some -of the girls who were of her own sort, who were willing to toady -to her and flatter her; and these would carry tales about the rest, -and so the furies were unchained in the place. Worse than this, -the woman lived in a bawdyhouse downtown, with a coarse, red-faced -Irishman named Connor, who was the boss of the loading-gang outside, -and would make free with the girls as they went to and from their work. -In the slack seasons some of them would go with Miss Henderson to -this house downtown--in fact, it would not be too much to say that -she managed her department at Brown's in conjunction with it. -Sometimes women from the house would be given places alongside of -decent girls, and after other decent girls had been turned off to -make room for them. When you worked in this woman's department -the house downtown was never out of your thoughts all day--there were -always whiffs of it to be caught, like the odor of the Packingtown -rendering plants at night, when the wind shifted suddenly. There would -be stories about it going the rounds; the girls opposite you would be -telling them and winking at you. In such a place Ona would not have -stayed a day, but for starvation; and, as it was, she was never sure -that she could stay the next day. She understood now that the real -reason that Miss Henderson hated her was that she was a decent -married girl; and she knew that the talebearers and the toadies -hated her for the same reason, and were doing their best to make her -life miserable. - -But there was no place a girl could go in Packingtown, if she was -particular about things of this sort; there was no place in it -where a prostitute could not get along better than a decent girl. -Here was a population, low-class and mostly foreign, hanging always -on the verge of starvation, and dependent for its opportunities of -life upon the whim of men every bit as brutal and unscrupulous as -the old-time slave drivers; under such circumstances immorality -was exactly as inevitable, and as prevalent, as it was under the -system of chattel slavery. Things that were quite unspeakable -went on there in the packing houses all the time, and were taken -for granted by everybody; only they did not show, as in the old -slavery times, because there was no difference in color between -master and slave. - - -One morning Ona stayed home, and Jurgis had the man-doctor, -according to his whim, and she was safely delivered of a fine baby. -It was an enormous big boy, and Ona was such a tiny creature herself, -that it seemed quite incredible. Jurgis would stand and gaze at the -stranger by the hour, unable to believe that it had really happened. - -The coming of this boy was a decisive event with Jurgis. It made -him irrevocably a family man; it killed the last lingering impulse -that he might have had to go out in the evenings and sit and talk -with the men in the saloons. There was nothing he cared for now -so much as to sit and look at the baby. This was very curious, -for Jurgis had never been interested in babies before. But then, -this was a very unusual sort of a baby. He had the brightest -little black eyes, and little black ringlets all over his head; -he was the living image of his father, everybody said--and Jurgis -found this a fascinating circumstance. It was sufficiently perplexing -that this tiny mite of life should have come into the world at all -in the manner that it had; that it should have come with a comical -imitation of its father's nose was simply uncanny. - -Perhaps, Jurgis thought, this was intended to signify that it was -his baby; that it was his and Ona's, to care for all its life. -Jurgis had never possessed anything nearly so interesting--a baby was, -when you came to think about it, assuredly a marvelous possession. -It would grow up to be a man, a human soul, with a personality all -its own, a will of its own! Such thoughts would keep haunting Jurgis, -filling him with all sorts of strange and almost painful excitements. -He was wonderfully proud of little Antanas; he was curious about all -the details of him--the washing and the dressing and the eating and -the sleeping of him, and asked all sorts of absurd questions. It took -him quite a while to get over his alarm at the incredible shortness -of the little creature's legs. - -Jurgis had, alas, very little time to see his baby; he never felt -the chains about him more than just then. When he came home at night, -the baby would be asleep, and it would be the merest chance if he awoke -before Jurgis had to go to sleep himself. Then in the morning there -was no time to look at him, so really the only chance the father -had was on Sundays. This was more cruel yet for Ona, who ought -to have stayed home and nursed him, the doctor said, for her own -health as well as the baby's; but Ona had to go to work, and leave him -for Teta Elzbieta to feed upon the pale blue poison that was called -milk at the corner grocery. Ona's confinement lost her only a -week's wages--she would go to the factory the second Monday, and the -best that Jurgis could persuade her was to ride in the car, and let -him run along behind and help her to Brown's when she alighted. -After that it would be all right, said Ona, it was no strain sitting -still sewing hams all day; and if she waited longer she might find -that her dreadful forelady had put some one else in her place. -That would be a greater calamity than ever now, Ona continued, -on account of the baby. They would all have to work harder now -on his account. It was such a responsibility--they must not have -the baby grow up to suffer as they had. And this indeed had been -the first thing that Jurgis had thought of himself--he had clenched -his hands and braced himself anew for the struggle, for the sake of -that tiny mite of human possibility. - -And so Ona went back to Brown's and saved her place and a week's wages; -and so she gave herself some one of the thousand ailments that women -group under the title of "womb trouble," and was never again a well -person as long as she lived. It is difficult to convey in words all -that this meant to Ona; it seemed such a slight offense, and the -punishment was so out of all proportion, that neither she nor any one -else ever connected the two. "Womb trouble" to Ona did not mean -a specialist's diagnosis, and a course of treatment, and perhaps -an operation or two; it meant simply headaches and pains in the back, -and depression and heartsickness, and neuralgia when she had to go to -work in the rain. The great majority of the women who worked in -Packingtown suffered in the same way, and from the same cause, -so it was not deemed a thing to see the doctor about; instead Ona -would try patent medicines, one after another, as her friends told -her about them. As these all contained alcohol, or some other -stimulant, she found that they all did her good while she took them; -and so she was always chasing the phantom of good health, and losing -it because she was too poor to continue. - - - -Chapter 11 - - -During the summer the packing houses were in full activity again, -and Jurgis made more money. He did not make so much, however, as -he had the previous summer, for the packers took on more hands. -There were new men every week, it seemed--it was a regular system; -and this number they would keep over to the next slack season, -so that every one would have less than ever. Sooner or later, -by this plan, they would have all the floating labor of Chicago -trained to do their work. And how very cunning a trick was that! -The men were to teach new hands, who would some day come and break -their strike; and meantime they were kept so poor that they could -not prepare for the trial! - -But let no one suppose that this superfluity of employees meant -easier work for any one! On the contrary, the speeding-up seemed to -be growing more savage all the time; they were continually inventing -new devices to crowd the work on--it was for all the world like the -thumbscrew of the medieval torture chamber. They would get new -pacemakers and pay them more; they would drive the men on with new -machinery--it was said that in the hog-killing rooms the speed at -which the hogs moved was determined by clockwork, and that it was -increased a little every day. In piecework they would reduce the time, -requiring the same work in a shorter time, and paying the same wages; -and then, after the workers had accustomed themselves to this new speed, -they would reduce the rate of payment to correspond with the reduction -in time! They had done this so often in the canning establishments -that the girls were fairly desperate; their wages had gone down by -a full third in the past two years, and a storm of discontent was -brewing that was likely to break any day. Only a month after Marija -had become a beef-trimmer the canning factory that she had left posted -a cut that would divide the girls' earnings almost squarely in half; -and so great was the indignation at this that they marched out without -even a parley, and organized in the street outside. One of the -girls had read somewhere that a red flag was the proper symbol for -oppressed workers, and so they mounted one, and paraded all about -the yards, yelling with rage. A new union was the result of this -outburst, but the impromptu strike went to pieces in three days, -owing to the rush of new labor. At the end of it the girl who had -carried the red flag went downtown and got a position in a great -department store, at a salary of two dollars and a half a week. - -Jurgis and Ona heard these stories with dismay, for there was no telling -when their own time might come. Once or twice there had been rumors -that one of the big houses was going to cut its unskilled men to fifteen -cents an hour, and Jurgis knew that if this was done, his turn would -come soon. He had learned by this time that Packingtown was really -not a number of firms at all, but one great firm, the Beef Trust. -And every week the managers of it got together and compared notes, -and there was one scale for all the workers in the yards and one -standard of efficiency. Jurgis was told that they also fixed the -price they would pay for beef on the hoof and the price of all -dressed meat in the country; but that was something he did not -understand or care about. - -The only one who was not afraid of a cut was Marija, who -congratulated herself, somewhat naively, that there had been one -in her place only a short time before she came. Marija was getting -to be a skilled beef-trimmer, and was mounting to the heights again. -During the summer and fall Jurgis and Ona managed to pay her back the -last penny they owed her, and so she began to have a bank account. -Tamoszius had a bank account also, and they ran a race, and began -to figure upon household expenses once more. - -The possession of vast wealth entails cares and responsibilities, -however, as poor Marija found out. She had taken the advice of a friend -and invested her savings in a bank on Ashland Avenue. Of course she -knew nothing about it, except that it was big and imposing--what -possible chance has a poor foreign working girl to understand the -banking business, as it is conducted in this land of frenzied finance? -So Marija lived in a continual dread lest something should happen -to her bank, and would go out of her way mornings to make sure that -it was still there. Her principal thought was of fire, for she had -deposited her money in bills, and was afraid that if they were burned -up the bank would not give her any others. Jurgis made fun of her -for this, for he was a man and was proud of his superior knowledge, -telling her that the bank had fireproof vaults, and all its millions -of dollars hidden safely away in them. - -However, one morning Marija took her usual detour, and, to her horror -and dismay, saw a crowd of people in front of the bank, filling the -avenue solid for half a block. All the blood went out of her face -for terror. She broke into a run, shouting to the people to ask what -was the matter, but not stopping to hear what they answered, till she had -come to where the throng was so dense that she could no longer advance. -There was a "run on the bank," they told her then, but she did not -know what that was, and turned from one person to another, trying in -an agony of fear to make out what they meant. Had something gone wrong -with the bank? Nobody was sure, but they thought so. Couldn't she get -her money? There was no telling; the people were afraid not, and they -were all trying to get it. It was too early yet to tell anything-- -the bank would not open for nearly three hours. So in a frenzy of -despair Marija began to claw her way toward the doors of this building, -through a throng of men, women, and children, all as excited as -herself. It was a scene of wild confusion, women shrieking and -wringing their hands and fainting, and men fighting and trampling -down everything in their way. In the midst of the melee Marija -recollected that she did not have her bankbook, and could not get -her money anyway, so she fought her way out and started on a run -for home. This was fortunate for her, for a few minutes later the -police reserves arrived. - -In half an hour Marija was back, Teta Elzbieta with her, both of them -breathless with running and sick with fear. The crowd was now formed -in a line, extending for several blocks, with half a hundred policemen -keeping guard, and so there was nothing for them to do but to take -their places at the end of it. At nine o'clock the bank opened and -began to pay the waiting throng; but then, what good did that do -Marija, who saw three thousand people before her--enough to take out -the last penny of a dozen banks? - -To make matters worse a drizzling rain came up, and soaked them -to the skin; yet all the morning they stood there, creeping slowly -toward the goal--all the afternoon they stood there, heartsick, -seeing that the hour of closing was coming, and that they were going -to be left out. Marija made up her mind that, come what might, -she would stay there and keep her place; but as nearly all did -the same, all through the long, cold night, she got very little -closer to the bank for that. Toward evening Jurgis came; he had -heard the story from the children, and he brought some food and -dry wraps, which made it a little easier. - -The next morning, before daybreak, came a bigger crowd than ever, -and more policemen from downtown. Marija held on like grim death, -and toward afternoon she got into the bank and got her money--all in -big silver dollars, a handkerchief full. When she had once got her -hands on them her fear vanished, and she wanted to put them back again; -but the man at the window was savage, and said that the bank would -receive no more deposits from those who had taken part in the run. -So Marija was forced to take her dollars home with her, watching to -right and left, expecting every instant that some one would try to -rob her; and when she got home she was not much better off. Until she -could find another bank there was nothing to do but sew them up in her -clothes, and so Marija went about for a week or more, loaded down with -bullion, and afraid to cross the street in front of the house, because -Jurgis told her she would sink out of sight in the mud. Weighted this -way she made her way to the yards, again in fear, this time to see -if she had lost her place; but fortunately about ten per cent of the -working people of Packingtown had been depositors in that bank, -and it was not convenient to discharge that many at once. The cause -of the panic had been the attempt of a policeman to arrest a drunken -man in a saloon next door, which had drawn a crowd at the hour the people -were on their way to work, and so started the "run." - -About this time Jurgis and Ona also began a bank account. Besides -having paid Jonas and Marija, they had almost paid for their furniture, -and could have that little sum to count on. So long as each of them -could bring home nine or ten dollars a week, they were able to get -along finely. Also election day came round again, and Jurgis made half -a week's wages out of that, all net profit. It was a very close election -that year, and the echoes of the battle reached even to Packingtown. -The two rival sets of grafters hired halls and set off fireworks and -made speeches, to try to get the people interested in the matter. -Although Jurgis did not understand it all, he knew enough by this time -to realize that it was not supposed to be right to sell your vote. -However, as every one did it, and his refusal to join would not have -made the slightest difference in the results, the idea of refusing would -have seemed absurd, had it ever come into his head. - - -Now chill winds and shortening days began to warn them that the winter -was coming again. It seemed as if the respite had been too short-- -they had not had time enough to get ready for it; but still it came, -inexorably, and the hunted look began to come back into the eyes -of little Stanislovas. The prospect struck fear to the heart of -Jurgis also, for he knew that Ona was not fit to face the cold and -the snowdrifts this year. And suppose that some day when a blizzard -struck them and the cars were not running, Ona should have to give up, -and should come the next day to find that her place had been given to -some one who lived nearer and could be depended on? - -It was the week before Christmas that the first storm came, and then -the soul of Jurgis rose up within him like a sleeping lion. There were -four days that the Ashland Avenue cars were stalled, and in those days, -for the first time in his life, Jurgis knew what it was to be really -opposed. He had faced difficulties before, but they had been -child's play; now there was a death struggle, and all the furies -were unchained within him. The first morning they set out two hours -before dawn, Ona wrapped all in blankets and tossed upon his shoulder -like a sack of meal, and the little boy, bundled nearly out of sight, -hanging by his coat-tails. There was a raging blast beating in his face, -and the thermometer stood below zero; the snow was never short of his -knees, and in some of the drifts it was nearly up to his armpits. -It would catch his feet and try to trip him; it would build itself -into a wall before him to beat him back; and he would fling himself -into it, plunging like a wounded buffalo, puffing and snorting in rage. -So foot by foot he drove his way, and when at last he came to Durham's -he was staggering and almost blind, and leaned against a pillar, -gasping, and thanking God that the cattle came late to the killing -beds that day. In the evening the same thing had to be done again; -and because Jurgis could not tell what hour of the night he would -get off, he got a saloon-keeper to let Ona sit and wait for him in -a corner. Once it was eleven o'clock at night, and black as the pit, -but still they got home. - -That blizzard knocked many a man out, for the crowd outside begging -for work was never greater, and the packers would not wait long for -any one. When it was over, the soul of Jurgis was a song, for he -had met the enemy and conquered, and felt himself the master of -his fate.--So it might be with some monarch of the forest that has -vanquished his foes in fair fight, and then falls into some cowardly -trap in the night-time. - -A time of peril on the killing beds was when a steer broke loose. -Sometimes, in the haste of speeding-up, they would dump one of -the animals out on the floor before it was fully stunned, and it -would get upon its feet and run amuck. Then there would be a yell -of warning--the men would drop everything and dash for the nearest -pillar, slipping here and there on the floor, and tumbling over -each other. This was bad enough in the summer, when a man could see; -in wintertime it was enough to make your hair stand up, for the room -would be so full of steam that you could not make anything out five -feet in front of you. To be sure, the steer was generally blind and -frantic, and not especially bent on hurting any one; but think of -the chances of running upon a knife, while nearly every man had one -in his hand! And then, to cap the climax, the floor boss would come -rushing up with a rifle and begin blazing away! - -It was in one of these melees that Jurgis fell into his trap. That is -the only word to describe it; it was so cruel, and so utterly not to -be foreseen. At first he hardly noticed it, it was such a slight -accident--simply that in leaping out of the way he turned his ankle. -There was a twinge of pain, but Jurgis was used to pain, and did not -coddle himself. When he came to walk home, however, he realized that -it was hurting him a great deal; and in the morning his ankle was -swollen out nearly double its size, and he could not get his foot into -his shoe. Still, even then, he did nothing more than swear a little, -and wrapped his foot in old rags, and hobbled out to take the car. -It chanced to be a rush day at Durham's, and all the long morning -he limped about with his aching foot; by noontime the pain was so great -that it made him faint, and after a couple of hours in the afternoon -he was fairly beaten, and had to tell the boss. They sent for the -company doctor, and he examined the foot and told Jurgis to go home -to bed, adding that he had probably laid himself up for months by -his folly. The injury was not one that Durham and Company could be -held responsible for, and so that was all there was to it, so far as -the doctor was concerned. - -Jurgis got home somehow, scarcely able to see for the pain, and with -an awful terror in his soul, Elzbieta helped him into bed and bandaged -his injured foot with cold water and tried hard not to let him see -her dismay; when the rest came home at night she met them outside and -told them, and they, too, put on a cheerful face, saying it would only -be for a week or two, and that they would pull him through. - -When they had gotten him to sleep, however, they sat by the kitchen fire -and talked it over in frightened whispers. They were in for a siege, -that was plainly to be seen. Jurgis had only about sixty dollars in -the bank, and the slack season was upon them. Both Jonas and Marija -might soon be earning no more than enough to pay their board, and besides -that there were only the wages of Ona and the pittance of the little boy. -There was the rent to pay, and still some on the furniture; there was -the insurance just due, and every month there was sack after sack of coal. -It was January, midwinter, an awful time to have to face privation. -Deep snows would come again, and who would carry Ona to her work now? -She might lose her place--she was almost certain to lose it. And then -little Stanislovas began to whimper--who would take care of him? - -It was dreadful that an accident of this sort, that no man can help, -should have meant such suffering. The bitterness of it was the daily -food and drink of Jurgis. It was of no use for them to try to -deceive him; he knew as much about the situation as they did, and he -knew that the family might literally starve to death. The worry of it -fairly ate him up--he began to look haggard the first two or three -days of it. In truth, it was almost maddening for a strong man -like him, a fighter, to have to lie there helpless on his back. -It was for all the world the old story of Prometheus bound. As Jurgis -lay on his bed, hour after hour there came to him emotions that he -had never known before. Before this he had met life with a welcome-- -it had its trials, but none that a man could not face. But now, -in the nighttime, when he lay tossing about, there would come stalking -into his chamber a grisly phantom, the sight of which made his flesh -curl and his hair to bristle up. It was like seeing the world fall -away from underneath his feet; like plunging down into a bottomless -abyss into yawning caverns of despair. It might be true, then, -after all, what others had told him about life, that the best powers -of a man might not be equal to it! It might be true that, strive as -he would, toil as he would, he might fail, and go down and be destroyed! -The thought of this was like an icy hand at his heart; the thought -that here, in this ghastly home of all horror, he and all those who -were dear to him might lie and perish of starvation and cold, -and there would be no ear to hear their cry, no hand to help them! -It was true, it was true,--that here in this huge city, with its -stores of heaped-up wealth, human creatures might be hunted down and -destroyed by the wild-beast powers of nature, just as truly as ever -they were in the days of the cave men! - -Ona was now making about thirty dollars a month, and Stanislovas -about thirteen. To add to this there was the board of Jonas and -Marija, about forty-five dollars. Deducting from this the rent, -interest, and installments on the furniture, they had left sixty -dollars, and deducting the coal, they had fifty. They did without -everything that human beings could do without; they went in old and -ragged clothing, that left them at the mercy of the cold, and when the -children's shoes wore out, they tied them up with string. Half invalid -as she was, Ona would do herself harm by walking in the rain and cold -when she ought to have ridden; they bought literally nothing but -food--and still they could not keep alive on fifty dollars a month. -They might have done it, if only they could have gotten pure food, -and at fair prices; or if only they had known what to get--if they -had not been so pitifully ignorant! But they had come to a new country, -where everything was different, including the food. They had always -been accustomed to eat a great deal of smoked sausage, and how could -they know that what they bought in America was not the same--that its -color was made by chemicals, and its smoky flavor by more chemicals, -and that it was full of "potato flour" besides? Potato flour is the -waste of potato after the starch and alcohol have been extracted; -it has no more food value than so much wood, and as its use as a food -adulterant is a penal offense in Europe, thousands of tons of it are -shipped to America every year. It was amazing what quantities of -food such as this were needed every day, by eleven hungry persons. -A dollar sixty-five a day was simply not enough to feed them, and there -was no use trying; and so each week they made an inroad upon the pitiful -little bank account that Ona had begun. Because the account was in -her name, it was possible for her to keep this a secret from her -husband, and to keep the heartsickness of it for her own. - -It would have been better if Jurgis had been really ill; if he had -not been able to think. For he had no resources such as most -invalids have; all he could do was to lie there and toss about from -side to side. Now and then he would break into cursing, regardless -of everything; and now and then his impatience would get the better -of him, and he would try to get up, and poor Teta Elzbieta would -have to plead with him in a frenzy. Elzbieta was all alone with him -the greater part of the time. She would sit and smooth his forehead -by the hour, and talk to him and try to make him forget. Sometimes it -would be too cold for the children to go to school, and they would -have to play in the kitchen, where Jurgis was, because it was the -only room that was half warm. These were dreadful times, for Jurgis -would get as cross as any bear; he was scarcely to be blamed, for he -had enough to worry him, and it was hard when he was trying to take -a nap to be kept awake by noisy and peevish children. - -Elzbieta's only resource in those times was little Antanas; indeed, -it would be hard to say how they could have gotten along at all if -it had not been for little Antanas. It was the one consolation of -Jurgis' long imprisonment that now he had time to look at his baby. -Teta Elzbieta would put the clothesbasket in which the baby slept -alongside of his mattress, and Jurgis would lie upon one elbow and -watch him by the hour, imagining things. Then little Antanas would -open his eyes--he was beginning to take notice of things now; and he -would smile--how he would smile! So Jurgis would begin to forget -and be happy because he was in a world where there was a thing so -beautiful as the smile of little Antanas, and because such a world -could not but be good at the heart of it. He looked more like his -father every hour, Elzbieta would say, and said it many times a day, -because she saw that it pleased Jurgis; the poor little terror-stricken -woman was planning all day and all night to soothe the prisoned giant -who was intrusted to her care. Jurgis, who knew nothing about the -agelong and everlasting hypocrisy of woman, would take the bait and -grin with delight; and then he would hold his finger in front of -little Antanas' eyes, and move it this way and that, and laugh with -glee to see the baby follow it. There is no pet quite so fascinating -as a baby; he would look into Jurgis' face with such uncanny seriousness, -and Jurgis would start and cry: "Palauk! Look, Muma, he knows his papa! -He does, he does! Tu mano szirdele, the little rascal!" - - - -Chapter 12 - - -For three weeks after his injury Jurgis never got up from bed. It was -a very obstinate sprain; the swelling would not go down, and the pain -still continued. At the end of that time, however, he could contain -himself no longer, and began trying to walk a little every day, -laboring to persuade himself that he was better. No arguments could -stop him, and three or four days later he declared that he was going -back to work. He limped to the cars and got to Brown's, where he -found that the boss had kept his place--that is, was willing to -turn out into the snow the poor devil he had hired in the meantime. -Every now and then the pain would force Jurgis to stop work, but he -stuck it out till nearly an hour before closing. Then he was forced -to acknowledge that he could not go on without fainting; it almost -broke his heart to do it, and he stood leaning against a pillar and -weeping like a child. Two of the men had to help him to the car, -and when he got out he had to sit down and wait in the snow till some -one came along. - -So they put him to bed again, and sent for the doctor, as they ought -to have done in the beginning. It transpired that he had twisted a -tendon out of place, and could never have gotten well without attention. -Then he gripped the sides of the bed, and shut his teeth together, -and turned white with agony, while the doctor pulled and wrenched -away at his swollen ankle. When finally the doctor left, he told -him that he would have to lie quiet for two months, and that if he -went to work before that time he might lame himself for life. - -Three days later there came another heavy snowstorm, and Jonas and -Marija and Ona and little Stanislovas all set out together, an hour -before daybreak, to try to get to the yards. About noon the last two -came back, the boy screaming with pain. His fingers were all frosted, -it seemed. They had had to give up trying to get to the yards, -and had nearly perished in a drift. All that they knew how to do -was to hold the frozen fingers near the fire, and so little Stanislovas -spent most of the day dancing about in horrible agony, till Jurgis -flew into a passion of nervous rage and swore like a madman, declaring -that he would kill him if he did not stop. All that day and night -the family was half-crazed with fear that Ona and the boy had lost -their places; and in the morning they set out earlier than ever, -after the little fellow had been beaten with a stick by Jurgis. -There could be no trifling in a case like this, it was a matter of -life and death; little Stanislovas could not be expected to realize -that he might a great deal better freeze in the snowdrift than lose -his job at the lard machine. Ona was quite certain that she would find -her place gone, and was all unnerved when she finally got to Brown's, -and found that the forelady herself had failed to come, and was therefore -compelled to be lenient. - -One of the consequences of this episode was that the first joints of -three of the little boy's fingers were permanently disabled, and another -that thereafter he always had to be beaten before he set out to work, -whenever there was fresh snow on the ground. Jurgis was called upon -to do the beating, and as it hurt his foot he did it with a vengeance; -but it did not tend to add to the sweetness of his temper. They say that -the best dog will turn cross if he be kept chained all the time, and it -was the same with the man; he had not a thing to do all day but lie and -curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to curse everything. - -This was never for very long, however, for when Ona began to cry, -Jurgis could not stay angry. The poor fellow looked like a homeless -ghost, with his cheeks sunken in and his long black hair straggling -into his eyes; he was too discouraged to cut it, or to think about -his appearance. His muscles were wasting away, and what were left -were soft and flabby. He had no appetite, and they could not afford -to tempt him with delicacies. It was better, he said, that he should -not eat, it was a saving. About the end of March he had got hold of -Ona's bankbook, and learned that there was only three dollars left -to them in the world. - -But perhaps the worst of the consequences of this long siege was that -they lost another member of their family; Brother Jonas disappeared. -One Saturday night he did not come home, and thereafter all their -efforts to get trace of him were futile. It was said by the boss -at Durham's that he had gotten his week's money and left there. -That might not be true, of course, for sometimes they would say that -when a man had been killed; it was the easiest way out of it for -all concerned. When, for instance, a man had fallen into one of -the rendering tanks and had been made into pure leaf lard and peerless -fertilizer, there was no use letting the fact out and making his -family unhappy. More probable, however, was the theory that Jonas -had deserted them, and gone on the road, seeking happiness. He had -been discontented for a long time, and not without some cause. -He paid good board, and was yet obliged to live in a family where -nobody had enough to eat. And Marija would keep giving them all -her money, and of course he could not but feel that he was called -upon to do the same. Then there were crying brats, and all sorts -of misery; a man would have had to be a good deal of a hero to stand -it all without grumbling, and Jonas was not in the least a hero--he was -simply a weatherbeaten old fellow who liked to have a good supper and -sit in the corner by the fire and smoke his pipe in peace before he -went to bed. Here there was not room by the fire, and through the -winter the kitchen had seldom been warm enough for comfort. So, with -the springtime, what was more likely than that the wild idea of -escaping had come to him? Two years he had been yoked like a horse -to a half-ton truck in Durham's dark cellars, with never a rest, -save on Sundays and four holidays in the year, and with never a word -of thanks--only kicks and blows and curses, such as no decent dog -would have stood. And now the winter was over, and the spring winds -were blowing--and with a day's walk a man might put the smoke of -Packingtown behind him forever, and be where the grass was green and -the flowers all the colors of the rainbow! - -But now the income of the family was cut down more than one-third, -and the food demand was cut only one-eleventh, so that they were -worse off than ever. Also they were borrowing money from Marija, -and eating up her bank account, and spoiling once again her hopes -of marriage and happiness. And they were even going into debt to -Tamoszius Kuszleika and letting him impoverish himself. Poor Tamoszius -was a man without any relatives, and with a wonderful talent besides, -and he ought to have made money and prospered; but he had fallen -in love, and so given hostages to fortune, and was doomed to be -dragged down too. - -So it was finally decided that two more of the children would have -to leave school. Next to Stanislovas, who was now fifteen, there was -a girl, little Kotrina, who was two years younger, and then two boys, -Vilimas, who was eleven, and Nikalojus, who was ten. Both of these -last were bright boys, and there was no reason why their family -should starve when tens of thousands of children no older were -earning their own livings. So one morning they were given a quarter -apiece and a roll with a sausage in it, and, with their minds top-heavy -with good advice, were sent out to make their way to the city and -learn to sell newspapers. They came back late at night in tears, -having walked for the five or six miles to report that a man had -offered to take them to a place where they sold newspapers, and had -taken their money and gone into a store to get them, and nevermore -been seen. So they both received a whipping, and the next moming -set out again. This time they found the newspaper place, and procured -their stock; and after wandering about till nearly noontime, saying -"Paper?" to every one they saw, they had all their stock taken away -and received a thrashing besides from a big newsman upon whose -territory they had trespassed. Fortunately, however, they had -already sold some papers, and came back with nearly as much as they -started with. - -After a week of mishaps such as these, the two little fellows began -to learn the ways of the trade--the names of the different papers, -and how many of each to get, and what sort of people to offer them to, -and where to go and where to stay away from. After this, leaving home -at four o'clock in the morning, and running about the streets, first -with morning papers and then with evening, they might come home late -at night with twenty or thirty cents apiece--possibly as much as -forty cents. From this they had to deduct their carfare, since the -distance was so great; but after a while they made friends, and learned -still more, and then they would save their carfare. They would get -on a car when the conductor was not looking, and hide in the crowd; -and three times out of four he would not ask for their fares, either -not seeing them, or thinking they had already paid; or if he did ask, -they would hunt through their pockets, and then begin to cry, and either -have their fares paid by some kind old lady, or else try the trick -again on a new car. All this was fair play, they felt. Whose fault -was it that at the hours when workingmen were going to their work -and back, the cars were so crowded that the conductors could not -collect all the fares? And besides, the companies were thieves, -people said--had stolen all their franchises with the help of -scoundrelly politicians! - -Now that the winter was by, and there was no more danger of snow, -and no more coal to buy, and another room warm enough to put the -children into when they cried, and enough money to get along from -week to week with, Jurgis was less terrible than he had been. -A man can get used to anything in the course of time, and Jurgis -had gotten used to lying about the house. Ona saw this, and was -very careful not to destroy his peace of mind, by letting him know -how very much pain she was suffering. It was now the time of the -spring rains, and Ona had often to ride to her work, in spite of -the expense; she was getting paler every day, and sometimes, in spite -of her good resolutions, it pained her that Jurgis did not notice it. -She wondered if he cared for her as much as ever, if all this misery -was not wearing out his love. She had to be away from him all the time, -and bear her own troubles while he was bearing his; and then, when she -came home, she was so worn out; and whenever they talked they had -only their worries to talk of--truly it was hard, in such a life, -to keep any sentiment alive. The woe of this would flame up in Ona -sometimes--at night she would suddenly clasp her big husband in her -arms and break into passionate weeping, demanding to know if he really -loved her. Poor Jurgis, who had in truth grown more matter-of-fact, -under the endless pressure of penury, would not know what to make of -these things, and could only try to recollect when he had last been -cross; and so Ona would have to forgive him and sob herself to sleep. - -The latter part of April Jurgis went to see the doctor, and was given -a bandage to lace about his ankle, and told that he might go back -to work. It needed more than the permission of the doctor, however, -for when he showed up on the killing floor of Brown's, he was told -by the foreman that it had not been possible to keep his job for him. -Jurgis knew that this meant simply that the foreman had found some one -else to do the work as well and did not want to bother to make a change. -He stood in the doorway, looking mournfully on, seeing his friends -and companions at work, and feeling like an outcast. Then he went -out and took his place with the mob of the unemployed. - -This time, however, Jurgis did not have the same fine confidence, -nor the same reason for it. He was no longer the finest-looking -man in the throng, and the bosses no longer made for him; he was -thin and haggard, and his clothes were seedy, and he looked miserable. -And there were hundreds who looked and felt just like him, and who -had been wandering about Packingtown for months begging for work. -This was a critical time in Jurgis' life, and if he had been a weaker -man he would have gone the way the rest did. Those out-of-work -wretches would stand about the packing houses every morning till the -police drove them away, and then they would scatter among the saloons. -Very few of them had the nerve to face the rebuffs that they would -encounter by trying to get into the buildings to interview the bosses; -if they did not get a chance in the morning, there would be nothing -to do but hang about the saloons the rest of the day and night. -Jurgis was saved from all this--partly, to be sure, because it was -pleasant weather, and there was no need to be indoors; but mainly -because he carried with him always the pitiful little face of his wife. -He must get work, he told himself, fighting the battle with despair -every hour of the day. He must get work! He must have a place again -and some money saved up, before the next winter came. - -But there was no work for him. He sought out all the members of his -union--Jurgis had stuck to the union through all this--and begged them -to speak a word for him. He went to every one he knew, asking for -a chance, there or anywhere. He wandered all day through the buildings; -and in a week or two, when he had been all over the yards, and into -every room to which he had access, and learned that there was not -a job anywhere, he persuaded himself that there might have been -a change in the places he had first visited, and began the round -all over; till finally the watchmen and the "spotters" of the -companies came to know him by sight and to order him out with threats. -Then there was nothing more for him to do but go with the crowd in -the morning, and keep in the front row and look eager, and when he -failed, go back home, and play with little Kotrina and the baby. - -The peculiar bitterness of all this was that Jurgis saw so plainly -the meaning of it. In the beginning he had been fresh and strong, -and he had gotten a job the first day; but now he was second-hand, -a damaged article, so to speak, and they did not want him. They had -got the best of him--they had worn him out, with their speeding-up -and their carelessness, and now they had thrown him away! And Jurgis -would make the acquaintance of others of these unemployed men and find -that they had all had the same experience. There were some, of course, -who had wandered in from other places, who had been ground up in other -mills; there were others who were out from their own fault--some, -for instance, who had not been able to stand the awful grind without -drink. The vast majority, however, were simply the worn-out parts -of the great merciless packing machine; they had toiled there, and kept -up with the pace, some of them for ten or twenty years, until finally -the time had come when they could not keep up with it any more. -Some had been frankly told that they were too old, that a sprier man -was needed; others had given occasion, by some act of carelessness -or incompetence; with most, however, the occasion had been the same -as with Jurgis. They had been overworked and underfed so long, -and finally some disease had laid them on their backs; or they had cut -themselves, and had blood poisoning, or met with some other accident. -When a man came back after that, he would get his place back only by -the courtesy of the boss. To this there was no exception, save when -the accident was one for which the firm was liable; in that case they -would send a slippery lawyer to see him, first to try to get him to -sign away his claims, but if he was too smart for that, to promise -him that he and his should always be provided with work. This promise -they would keep, strictly and to the letter--for two years. Two years -was the "statute of limitations," and after that the victim could not sue. - -What happened to a man after any of these things, all depended upon -the circumstances. If he were of the highly skilled workers, he would -probably have enough saved up to tide him over. The best paid men, -the "splitters," made fifty cents an hour, which would be five or -six dollars a day in the rush seasons, and one or two in the dullest. -A man could live and save on that; but then there were only half -a dozen splitters in each place, and one of them that Jurgis knew -had a family of twenty-two children, all hoping to grow up to be -splitters like their father. For an unskilled man, who made ten -dollars a week in the rush seasons and five in the dull, it all -depended upon his age and the number he had dependent upon him. -An unmarried man could save, if he did not drink, and if he was -absolutely selfish--that is, if he paid no heed to the demands of -his old parents, or of his little brothers and sisters, or of any -other relatives he might have, as well as of the members of his union, -and his chums, and the people who might be starving to death next door. - - - -Chapter 13 - - -During this time that Jurgis was looking for work occurred the -death of little Kristoforas, one of the children of Teta Elzbieta. -Both Kristoforas and his brother, Juozapas, were cripples, the latter -having lost one leg by having it run over, and Kristoforas having -congenital dislocation of the hip, which made it impossible for him -ever to walk. He was the last of Teta Elzbieta's children, and -perhaps he had been intended by nature to let her know that she had -had enough. At any rate he was wretchedly sick and undersized; -he had the rickets, and though he was over three years old, he was -no bigger than an ordinary child of one. All day long he would -crawl around the floor in a filthy little dress, whining and fretting; -because the floor was full of drafts he was always catching cold, -and snuffling because his nose ran. This made him a nuisance, and a -source of endless trouble in the family. For his mother, with -unnatural perversity, loved him best of all her children, and made -a perpetual fuss over him--would let him do anything undisturbed, -and would burst into tears when his fretting drove Jurgis wild. - -And now he died. Perhaps it was the smoked sausage he had eaten that -morning--which may have been made out of some of the tubercular pork -that was condemncd as unfit for export. At any rate, an hour after -eating it, the child had begun to cry with pain, and in another hour -he was rolling about on the floor in convulsions. Little Kotrina, -who was all alone with him, ran out screaming for help, and after a -while a doctor came, but not until Kristoforas had howled his last howl. -No one was really sorry about this except poor Elzbieta, who was -inconsolable. Jurgis announced that so far as he was concerned -the child would have to be buried by the city, since they had no -money for a funeral; and at this the poor woman almost went out of -her senses, wringing her hands and screaming with grief and despair. -Her child to be buried in a pauper's grave! And her stepdaughter to -stand by and hear it said without protesting! It was enough to make -Ona's father rise up out of his grave to rebuke her! If it had come -to this, they might as well give up at once, and be buried all of -them together!. . . In the end Marija said that she would help -with ten dollars; and Jurgis being still obdurate, Elzbieta went -in tears and begged the money from the neighbors, and so little -Kristoforas had a mass and a hearse with white plumes on it, and a -tiny plot in a graveyard with a wooden cross to mark the place. -The poor mother was not the same for months after that; the mere -sight of the floor where little Kristoforas had crawled about would -make her weep. He had never had a fair chance, poor little fellow, -she would say. He had been handicapped from his birth. If only she -had heard about it in time, so that she might have had that great -doctor to cure him of his lameness!. . . Some time ago, Elzbieta -was told, a Chicago billionaire had paid a fortune to bring a great -European surgeon over to cure his little daughter of the same disease -from which Kristoforas had suffered. And because this surgeon had -to have bodies to demonstrate upon, he announced that he would treat -the children of the poor, a piece of magnanimity over which the papers -became quite eloquent. Elzbieta, alas, did not read the papers, -and no one had told her; but perhaps it was as well, for just then they -would not have had the carfare to spare to go every day to wait upon -the surgeon, nor for that matter anybody with the time to take the child. - - -All this while that he was seeking for work, there was a dark shadow -hanging over Jurgis; as if a savage beast were lurking somewhere in the -pathway of his life, and he knew it, and yet could not help approaching -the place. There are all stages of being out of work in Packingtown, -and he faced in dread the prospect of reaching the lowest. There is -a place that waits for the lowest man--the fertilizer plant! - -The men would talk about it in awe-stricken whispers. Not more than -one in ten had ever really tried it; the other nine had contented -themselves with hearsay evidence and a peep through the door. -There were some things worse than even starving to death. They would -ask Jurgis if he had worked there yet, and if he meant to; and Jurgis -would debate the matter with himself. As poor as they were, and making -all the sacrifices that they were, would he dare to refuse any sort -of work that was offered to him, be it as horrible as ever it could? -Would he dare to go home and eat bread that had been earned by Ona, -weak and complaining as she was, knowing that he had been given -a chance, and had not had the nerve to take it?--And yet he might -argue that way with himself all day, and one glimpse into the -fertilizer works would send him away again shuddering. He was a man, -and he would do his duty; he went and made application--but surely -he was not also required to hope for success! - -The fertilizer works of Durham's lay away from the rest of the plant. -Few visitors ever saw them, and the few who did would come out -looking like Dante, of whom the peasants declared that he had been -into hell. To this part of the yards came all the "tankage" and -the waste products of all sorts; here they dried out the bones,--and -in suffocating cellars where the daylight never came you might see -men and women and children bending over whirling machines and sawing -bits of bone into all sorts of shapes, breathing their lungs full -of the fine dust, and doomed to die, every one of them, within a -certain definite time. Here they made the blood into albumen, -and made other foul-smelling things into things still more foul-smelling. -In the corridors and caverns where it was done you might lose yourself -as in the great caves of Kentucky. In the dust and the steam the -electric lights would shine like far-off twinkling stars--red and -blue-green and purple stars, according to the color of the mist and -the brew from which it came. For the odors of these ghastly charnel -houses there may be words in Lithuanian, but there are none in English. -The person entering would have to summon his courage as for a -cold-water plunge. He would go in like a man swimming under water; -he would put his handkerchief over his face, and begin to cough and -choke; and then, if he were still obstinate, he would find his head -beginning to ring, and the veins in his forehead to throb, until -finally he would be assailed by an overpowering blast of ammonia fumes, -and would turn and run for his life, and come out half-dazed. - -On top of this were the rooms where they dried the "tankage," the mass -of brown stringy stuff that was left after the waste portions of the -carcasses had had the lard and tallow dried out of them. This dried -material they would then grind to a fine powder, and after they had -mixed it up well with a mysterious but inoffensive brown rock which -they brought in and ground up by the hundreds of carloads for that -purpose, the substance was ready to be put into bags and sent out -to the world as any one of a hundred different brands of standard -bone phosphate. And then the farmer in Maine or California or Texas -would buy this, at say twenty-five dollars a ton, and plant it with -his corn; and for several days after the operation the fields would -have a strong odor, and the farmer and his wagon and the very horses -that had hauled it would all have it too. In Packingtown the fertilizer -is pure, instead of being a flavoring, and instead of a ton or so -spread out on several acres under the open sky, there are hundreds -and thousands of tons of it in one building, heaped here and there -in haystack piles, covering the floor several inches deep, and filling -the air with a choking dust that becomes a blinding sandstorm when -the wind stirs. - -It was to this building that Jurgis came daily, as if dragged by -an unseen hand. The month of May was an exceptionally cool one, -and his secret prayers were granted; but early in June there came -a record-breaking hot spell, and after that there were men wanted -in the fertilizer mill. - -The boss of the grinding room had come to know Jurgis by this time, -and had marked him for a likely man; and so when he came to the door -about two o'clock this breathless hot day, he felt a sudden spasm -of pain shoot through him--the boss beckoned to him! In ten minutes -more Jurgis had pulled off his coat and overshirt, and set his teeth -together and gone to work. Here was one more difficulty for him to -meet and conquer! - -His labor took him about one minute to learn. Before him was one -of the vents of the mill in which the fertilizer was being ground-- -rushing forth in a great brown river, with a spray of the finest -dust flung forth in clouds. Jurgis was given a shovel, and along -with half a dozen others it was his task to shovel this fertilizer -into carts. That others were at work he knew by the sound, and by -the fact that he sometimes collided with them; otherwise they might -as well not have been there, for in the blinding dust storm a man -could not see six feet in front of his face. When he had filled -one cart he had to grope around him until another came, and if there -was none on hand he continued to grope till one arrived. In five -minutes he was, of course, a mass of fertilizer from head to feet; -they gave him a sponge to tie over his mouth, so that he could breathe, -but the sponge did not prevent his lips and eyelids from caking up -with it and his ears from filling solid. He looked like a brown ghost -at twilight--from hair to shoes he became the color of the building and -of everything in it, and for that matter a hundred yards outside it. -The building had to be left open, and when the wind blew Durham and -Company lost a great deal of fertilizer. - -Working in his shirt sleeves, and with the thermometer at over -a hundred, the phosphates soaked in through every pore of Jurgis' -skin, and in five minutes he had a headache, and in fifteen was -almost dazed. The blood was pounding in his brain like an engine's -throbbing; there was a frightful pain in the top of his skull, -and he could hardly control his hands. Still, with the memory of -his four months' siege behind him, he fought on, in a frenzy of -determination; and half an hour later he began to vomit--he vomited -until it seemed as if his inwards must be torn into shreds. A man -could get used to the fertilizer mill, the boss had said, if he would -make up his mind to it; but Jurgis now began to see that it was -a question of making up his stomach. - -At the end of that day of horror, he could scarcely stand. He had -to catch himself now and then, and lean against a building and get -his bearings. Most of the men, when they came out, made straight -for a saloon--they seemed to place fertilizer and rattlesnake poison -in one class. But Jurgis was too ill to think of drinking--he could -only make his way to the street and stagger on to a car. He had a -sense of humor, and later on, when he became an old hand, he used to -think it fun to board a streetcar and see what happened. Now, however, -he was too ill to notice it--how the people in the car began to gasp -and sputter, to put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and transfix -him with furious glances. Jurgis only knew that a man in front of -him immediately got up and gave him a seat; and that half a minute -later the two people on each side of him got up; and that in a full -minute the crowded car was nearly empty--those passengers who could -not get room on the platform having gotten out to walk. - -Of course Jurgis had made his home a miniature fertilizer mill a -minute after entering. The stuff was half an inch deep in his skin-- -his whole system was full of it, and it would have taken a week not -merely of scrubbing, but of vigorous exercise, to get it out of him. -As it was, he could be compared with nothing known to men, save that -newest discovery of the savants, a substance which emits energy for -an unlimited time, without being itself in the least diminished -in power. He smelled so that he made all the food at the table taste, -and set the whole family to vomiting; for himself it was three days -before he could keep anything upon his stomach--he might wash his hands, -and use a knife and fork, but were not his mouth and throat filled -with the poison? - -And still Jurgis stuck it out! In spite of splitting headaches he -would stagger down to the plant and take up his stand once more, -and begin to shovel in the blinding clouds of dust. And so at the -end of the week he was a fertilizer man for life--he was able to -eat again, and though his head never stopped aching, it ceased to -be so bad that he could not work. - - -So there passed another summer. It was a summer of prosperity, -all over the country, and the country ate generously of packing -house products, and there was plenty of work for all the family, -in spite of the packers' efforts to keep a superfluity of labor. -They were again able to pay their debts and to begin to save a -little sum; but there were one or two sacrifices they considered -too heavy to be made for long--it was too bad that the boys should -have to sell papers at their age. It was utterly useless to caution -them and plead with them; quite without knowing it, they were taking -on the tone of their new environment. They were learning to swear -in voluble English; they were learning to pick up cigar stumps and -smoke them, to pass hours of their time gambling with pennies and -dice and cigarette cards; they were learning the location of all -the houses of prostitution on the "Levee," and the names of the -"madames" who kept them, and the days when they gave their state -banquets, which the police captains and the big politicians all -attended. If a visiting "country customer" were to ask them, -they could show him which was "Hinkydink's" famous saloon, and could -even point out to him by name the different gamblers and thugs and -"hold-up men" who made the place their headquarters. And worse yet, -the boys were getting out of the habit of coming home at night. -What was the use, they would ask, of wasting time and energy and -a possible carfare riding out to the stockyards every night when -the weather was pleasant and they could crawl under a truck or into -an empty doorway and sleep exactly as well? So long as they brought -home a half dollar for each day, what mattered it when they brought it? -But Jurgis declared that from this to ceasing to come at all would -not be a very long step, and so it was decided that Vilimas and -Nikalojus should return to school in the fall, and that instead -Elzbieta should go out and get some work, her place at home being -taken by her younger daughter. - -Little Kotrina was like most children of the poor, prematurely made old; -she had to take care of her little brother, who was a cripple, and also -of the baby; she had to cook the meals and wash the dishes and -clean house, and have supper ready when the workers came home in -the evening. She was only thirteen, and small for her age, but she -did all this without a murmur; and her mother went out, and after -trudging a couple of days about the yards, settled down as a servant -of a "sausage machine." - -Elzbieta was used to working, but she found this change a hard one, -for the reason that she had to stand motionless upon her feet from -seven o'clock in the morning till half-past twelve, and again from -one till half-past five. For the first few days it seemed to her -that she could not stand it--she suffered almost as much as Jurgis -had from the fertilizer, and would come out at sundown with her head -fairly reeling. Besides this, she was working in one of the dark holes, -by electric light, and the dampness, too, was deadly--there were -always puddles of water on the floor, and a sickening odor of moist -flesh in the room. The people who worked here followed the ancient -custom of nature, whereby the ptarmigan is the color of dead leaves -in the fall and of snow in the winter, and the chameleon, who is black -when he lies upon a stump and turns green when he moves to a leaf. -The men and women who worked in this department were precisely the -color of the "fresh country sausage" they made. - -The sausage-room was an interesting place to visit, for two or -three minutes, and provided that you did not look at the people; -the machines were perhaps the most wonderful things in the entire plant. -Presumably sausages were once chopped and stuffed by hand, and if so -it would be interesting to know how many workers had been displaced -by these inventions. On one side of the room were the hoppers, -into which men shoveled loads of meat and wheelbarrows full of spices; -in these great bowls were whirling knives that made two thousand -revolutions a minute, and when the meat was ground fine and adulterated -with potato flour, and well mixed with water, it was forced to the -stuffing machines on the other side of the room. The latter were -tended by women; there was a sort of spout, like the nozzle of a hose, -and one of the women would take a long string of "casing" and put -the end over the nozzle and then work the whole thing on, as one -works on the finger of a tight glove. This string would be twenty -or thirty feet long, but the woman would have it all on in a jiffy; -and when she had several on, she would press a lever, and a stream -of sausage meat would be shot out, taking the casing with it as it came. -Thus one might stand and see appear, miraculously born from the -machine, a wriggling snake of sausage of incredible length. In front -was a big pan which caught these creatures, and two more women who -seized them as fast as they appeared and twisted them into links. -This was for the uninitiated the most perplexing work of all; for all -that the woman had to give was a single turn of the wrist; and in -some way she contrived to give it so that instead of an endless chain -of sausages, one after another, there grew under her hands a bunch -of strings, all dangling from a single center. It was quite like -the feat of a prestidigitator--for the woman worked so fast that -the eye could literally not follow her, and there was only a mist -of motion, and tangle after tangle of sausages appearing. In the -midst of the mist, however, the visitor would suddenly notice the -tense set face, with the two wrinkles graven in the forehead, and the -ghastly pallor of the cheeks; and then he would suddenly recollect -that it was time he was going on. The woman did not go on; she stayed -right there--hour after hour, day after day, year after year, twisting -sausage links and racing with death. It was piecework, and she was apt -to have a family to keep alive; and stern and ruthless economic laws -had arranged it that she could only do this by working just as she did, -with all her soul upon her work, and with never an instant for a glance -at the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who came to stare at her, -as at some wild beast in a menagerie. - - - -Chapter 14 - - -With one member trimming beef in a cannery, and another working in -a sausage factory, the family had a first-hand knowledge of the -great majority of Packingtown swindles. For it was the custom, -as they found, whenever meat was so spoiled that it could not be -used for anything else, either to can it or else to chop it up -into sausage. With what had been told them by Jonas, who had worked -in the pickle rooms, they could now study the whole of the spoiled-meat -industry on the inside, and read a new and grim meaning into that old -Packingtown jest--that they use everything of the pig except the squeal. - -Jonas had told them how the meat that was taken out of pickle would -often be found sour, and how they would rub it up with soda to take -away the smell, and sell it to be eaten on free-lunch counters; -also of all the miracles of chemistry which they performed, giving -to any sort of meat, fresh or salted, whole or chopped, any color -and any flavor and any odor they chose. In the pickling of hams -they had an ingenious apparatus, by which they saved time and -increased the capacity of the plant--a machine consisting of a hollow -needle attached to a pump; by plunging this needle into the meat -and working with his foot, a man could fill a ham with pickle in -a few seconds. And yet, in spite of this, there would be hams -found spoiled, some of them with an odor so bad that a man could -hardly bear to be in the room with them. To pump into these the -packers had a second and much stronger pickle which destroyed the -odor--a process known to the workers as "giving them thirty per cent." -Also, after the hams had been smoked, there would be found some that had -gone to the bad. Formerly these had been sold as "Number Three Grade," -but later on some ingenious person had hit upon a new device, and now -they would extract the bone, about which the bad part generally lay, -and insert in the hole a white-hot iron. After this invention there -was no longer Number One, Two, and Three Grade--there was only Number -One Grade. The packers were always originating such schemes--they had -what they called "boneless hams," which were all the odds and ends of -pork stuffed into casings; and "California hams," which were the -shoulders, with big knuckle joints, and nearly all the meat cut out; -and fancy "skinned hams," which were made of the oldest hogs, whose -skins were so heavy and coarse that no one would buy them--that is, -until they had been cooked and chopped fine and labeled "head cheese!" - -It was only when the whole ham was spoiled that it came into the -department of Elzbieta. Cut up by the two-thousand-revolutions- -a-minute flyers, and mixed with half a ton of other meat, no odor -that ever was in a ham could make any difference. There was never -the least attention paid to what was cut up for sausage; there would -come all the way back from Europe old sausage that had been rejected, -and that was moldy and white--it would be dosed with borax and -glycerine, and dumped into the hoppers, and made over again for home -consumption. There would be meat that had tumbled out on the floor, -in the dirt and sawdust, where the workers had tramped and spit -uncounted billions of consumption germs. There would be meat stored -in great piles in rooms; and the water from leaky roofs would drip -over it, and thousands of rats would race about on it. It was too dark -in these storage places to see well, but a man could run his hand over -these piles of meat and sweep off handfuls of the dried dung of rats. -These rats were nuisances, and the packers would put poisoned bread -out for them; they would die, and then rats, bread, and meat would -go into the hoppers together. This is no fairy story and no joke; -the meat would be shoveled into carts, and the man who did the -shoveling would not trouble to lift out a rat even when he saw one-- -there were things that went into the sausage in comparison with which -a poisoned rat was a tidbit. There was no place for the men to wash -their hands before they ate their dinner, and so they made a practice -of washing them in the water that was to be ladled into the sausage. -There were the butt-ends of smoked meat, and the scraps of corned beef, -and all the odds and ends of the waste of the plants, that would be -dumped into old barrels in the cellar and left there. Under the -system of rigid economy which the packers enforced, there were some -jobs that it only paid to do once in a long time, and among these -was the cleaning out of the waste barrels. Every spring they did it; -and in the barrels would be dirt and rust and old nails and stale -water--and cartload after cartload of it would be taken up and dumped -into the hoppers with fresh meat, and sent out to the public's breakfast. -Some of it they would make into "smoked" sausage--but as the smoking -took time, and was therefore expensive, they would call upon their -chemistry department, and preserve it with borax and color it with -gelatine to make it brown. All of their sausage came out of the -same bowl, but when they came to wrap it they would stamp some of -it "special," and for this they would charge two cents more a pound. - - -Such were the new surroundings in which Elzbieta was placed, and such was -the work she was compelled to do. It was stupefying, brutalizing work; -it left her no time to think, no strength for anything. She was part -of the machine she tended, and every faculty that was not needed for -the machine was doomed to be crushed out of existence. There was -only one mercy about the cruel grind--that it gave her the gift of -insensibility. Little by little she sank into a torpor--she fell -silent. She would meet Jurgis and Ona in the evening, and the three -would walk home together, often without saying a word. Ona, too, -was falling into a habit of silence--Ona, who had once gone about -singing like a bird. She was sick and miserable, and often she would -barely have strength enough to drag herself home. And there they -would eat what they had to eat, and afterward, because there was -only their misery to talk of, they would crawl into bed and fall into -a stupor and never stir until it was time to get up again, and dress -by candlelight, and go back to the machines. They were so numbed -that they did not even suffer much from hunger, now; only the children -continued to fret when the food ran short. - -Yet the soul of Ona was not dead--the souls of none of them were dead, -but only sleeping; and now and then they would waken, and these were -cruel times. The gates of memory would roll open--old joys would -stretch out their arms to them, old hopes and dreams would call to them, -and they would stir beneath the burden that lay upon them, and feel its -forever immeasurable weight. They could not even cry out beneath it; -but anguish would seize them, more dreadful than the agony of death. -It was a thing scarcely to be spoken--a thing never spoken by all -the world, that will not know its own defeat. - -They were beaten; they had lost the game, they were swept aside. -It was not less tragic because it was so sordid, because it had to do -with wages and grocery bills and rents. They had dreamed of freedom; -of a chance to look about them and learn something; to be decent -and clean, to see their child grow up to be strong. And now it was all -gone--it would never be! They had played the game and they had lost. -Six years more of toil they had to face before they could expect the -least respite, the cessation of the payments upon the house; and how -cruelly certain it was that they could never stand six years of such -a life as they were living! They were lost, they were going down-- -and there was no deliverance for them, no hope; for all the help it -gave them the vast city in which they lived might have been an ocean -waste, a wilderness, a desert, a tomb. So often this mood would come -to Ona, in the nighttime, when something wakened her; she would lie, -afraid of the beating of her own heart, fronting the blood-red eyes -of the old primeval terror of life. Once she cried aloud, and woke -Jurgis, who was tired and cross. After that she learned to weep -silently--their moods so seldom came together now! It was as if -their hopes were buried in separate graves. - -Jurgis, being a man, had troubles of his own. There was another -specter following him. He had never spoken of it, nor would he allow -any one else to speak of it--he had never acknowledged its existence -to himself. Yet the battle with it took all the manhood that he had-- -and once or twice, alas, a little more. Jurgis had discovered drink. - -He was working in the steaming pit of hell; day after day, week after -week--until now, there was not an organ of his body that did its -work without pain, until the sound of ocean breakers echoed in his -head day and night, and the buildings swayed and danced before him -as he went down the street. And from all the unending horror of -this there was a respite, a deliverance--he could drink! He could -forget the pain, he could slip off the burden; he would see clearly -again, he would be master of his brain, of his thoughts, of his will. -His dead self would stir in him, and he would find himself laughing -and cracking jokes with his companions--he would be a man again, -and master of his life. - -It was not an easy thing for Jurgis to take more than two or three drinks. -With the first drink he could eat a meal, and he could persuade himself -that that was economy; with the second he could eat another meal--but -there would come a time when he could eat no more, and then to pay -for a drink was an unthinkable extravagance, a defiance of the agelong -instincts of his hunger-haunted class. One day, however, he took -the plunge, and drank up all that he had in his pockets, and went -home half "piped," as the men phrase it. He was happier than he -had been in a year; and yet, because he knew that the happiness would -not last, he was savage, too with those who would wreck it, and with -the world, and with his life; and then again, beneath this, he was -sick with the shame of himself. Afterward, when he saw the despair -of his family, and reckoned up the money he had spent, the tears came -into his eyes, and he began the long battle with the specter. - -It was a battle that had no end, that never could have one. But Jurgis -did not realize that very clearly; he was not given much time for -reflection. He simply knew that he was always fighting. Steeped in -misery and despair as he was, merely to walk down the street was -to be put upon the rack. There was surely a saloon on the corner-- -perhaps on all four corners, and some in the middle of the block -as well; and each one stretched out a hand to him each one had a -personality of its own, allurements unlike any other. Going and -coming--before sunrise and after dark--there was warmth and a glow -of light, and the steam of hot food,and perhaps music, or a friendly -face, and a word of good cheer. Jurgis developed a fondness for -having Ona on his arm whenever he went out on the street, and he would -hold her tightly, and walk fast. It was pitiful to have Ona know -of this--it drove him wild to think of it; the thing was not fair, -for Ona had never tasted drink, and so could not understand. -Sometimes, in despeate hours, he would find himself wishing that -she might learn what it was, so that he need not be ashamed in -her presence. They might drink together, and escape from the horror-- -escape for a while, come what would. - -So there came a time when nearly all the conscious life of Jurgis -consisted of a struggle with the craving for liquor. He would have -ugly moods, when he hated Ona and the whole family, because they -stood in his way. He was a fool to have married; he had tied -himself down, had made himself a slave. It was all because he was -a married man that he was compelled to stay in the yards; if it had -not been for that he might have gone off like Jonas, and to hell -with the packers. There were few single men in the fertilizer mill-- -and those few were working only for a chance to escape. Meantime, too, -they had something to think about while they worked,--they had the -memory of the last time they had been drunk, and the hope of the time -when they would be drunk again. As for Jurgis, he was expected to bring -home every penny; he could not even go with the men at noontime--he was -supposed to sit down and eat his dinner on a pile of fertilizer dust. - -This was not always his mood, of course; he still loved his family. -But just now was a time of trial. Poor little Antanas, for instance-- -who had never failed to win him with a smile--little Antanas was -not smiling just now, being a mass of fiery red pimples. He had -had all the diseases that babies are heir to, in quick succession, -scarlet fever, mumps, and whooping cough in the first year, and now -he was down with the measles. There was no one to attend him but -Kotrina; there was no doctor to help him, because they were too poor, -and children did not die of the measles--at least not often. Now and -then Kotrina would find time to sob over his woes, but for the greater -part of the time he had to be left alone, barricaded upon the bed. -The floor was full of drafts, and if he caught cold he would die. -At night he was tied down, lest he should kick the covers off him, -while the family lay in their stupor of exhaustion. He would lie -and scream for hours, almost in convulsions; and then, when he was -worn out, he would lie whimpering and wailing in his torment. He was -burning up with fever, and his eyes were running sores; in the daytime -he was a thing uncanny and impish to behold, a plaster of pimples -and sweat, a great purple lump of misery. - -Yet all this was not really as cruel as it sounds, for, sick as he was, -little Antanas was the least unfortunate member of that family. -He was quite able to bear his sufferings--it was as if he had all -these complaints to show what a prodigy of health he was. He was -the child of his parents' youth and joy; he grew up like the conjurer's -rosebush, and all the world was his oyster. In general, he toddled -around the kitchen all day with a lean and hungry look--the portion -of the family's allowance that fell to him was not enough, and he was -unrestrainable in his demand for more. Antanas was but little over -a year old, and already no one but his father could manage him. - -It seemed as if he had taken all of his mother's strength--had left -nothing for those that might come after him. Ona was with child -again now, and it was a dreadful thing to contemplate; even Jurgis, -dumb and despairing as he was, could not but understand that yet -other agonies were on the way, and shudder at the thought of them. - -For Ona was visibly going to pieces. In the first place she was -developing a cough, like the one that had killed old Dede Antanas. -She had had a trace of it ever since that fatal morning when the greedy -streetcar corporation had turned her out into the rain; but now it was -beginning to grow serious, and to wake her up at night. Even worse -than that was the fearful nervousness from which she suffered; -she would have frightful headaches and fits of aimless weeping; -and sometimes she would come home at night shuddering and moaning, -and would fling herself down upon the bed and burst into tears. -Several times she was quite beside herself and hysterical; and then -Jurgis would go half-mad with fright. Elzbieta would explain to him -that it could not be helped, that a woman was subject to such things -when she was pregnant; but he was hardly to be persuaded, and would -beg and plead to know what had happened. She had never been like -this before, he would argue--it was monstrous and unthinkable. -It was the life she had to live, the accursed work she had to do, -that was killing her by inches. She was not fitted for it--no woman -was fitted for it, no woman ought to be allowed to do such work; -if the world could not keep them alive any other way it ought to kill -them at once and be done with it. They ought not to marry, to have -children; no workingman ought to marry--if he, Jurgis, had known what -a woman was like, he would have had his eyes torn out first. So he -would carry on, becoming half hysterical himself, which was an -unbearable thing to see in a big man; Ona would pull herself together -and fling herself into his arms, begging him to stop, to be still, -that she would be better, it would be all right. So she would lie -and sob out her grief upon his shoulder, while he gazed at her, -as helpless as a wounded animal, the target of unseen enemies. - - - -Chapter 15 - - -The beginning of these perplexing things was in the summer; and each -time Ona would promise him with terror in her voice that it would not -happen again--but in vain. Each crisis would leave Jurgis more and -more frightened, more disposed to distrust Elzbieta's consolations, -and to believe that there was some terrible thing about all this -that he was not allowed to know. Once or twice in these outbreaks he -caught Ona's eye, and it seemed to him like the eye of a hunted animal; -there were broken phrases of anguish and despair now and then, amid her -frantic weeping. It was only because he was so numb and beaten himself -that Jurgis did not worry more about this. But he never thought of it, -except when he was dragged to it--he lived like a dumb beast of burden, -knowing only the moment in which he was. - -The winter was coming on again, more menacing and cruel than ever. -It was October, and the holiday rush had begun. It was necessary -for the packing machines to grind till late at night to provide food -that would be eaten at Christmas breakfasts; and Marija and Elzbieta -and Ona, as part of the machine, began working fifteen or sixteen -hours a day. There was no choice about this--whatever work there -was to be done they had to do, if they wished to keep their places; -besides that, it added another pittance to their incomes. So they -staggered on with the awful load. They would start work every morning -at seven, and eat their dinners at noon, and then work until ten or -eleven at night without another mouthful of food. Jurgis wanted to -wait for them, to help them home at night, but they would not think -of this; the fertilizer mill was not running overtime, and there was -no place for him to wait save in a saloon. Each would stagger out -into the darkness, and make her way to the corner, where they met; -or if the others had already gone, would get into a car, and begin -a painful struggle to keep awake. When they got home they were always -too tired either to eat or to undress; they would crawl into bed with -their shoes on, and lie like logs. If they should fail, they would -certainly be lost; if they held out, they might have enough coal -for the winter. - -A day or two before Thanksgiving Day there came a snowstorm. It began -in the afternoon, and by evening two inches had fallen. Jurgis tried -to wait for the women, but went into a saloon to get warm, and took -two drinks, and came out and ran home to escape from the demon; -there he lay down to wait for them, and instantly fell asleep. -When he opened his eyes again he was in the midst of a nightmare, -and found Elzbieta shaking him and crying out. At first he could not -realize what she was saying--Ona had not come home. What time was it, -he asked. It was morning--time to be up. Ona had not been home -that night! And it was bitter cold, and a foot of snow on the ground. - -Jurgis sat up with a start. Marija was crying with fright and the -children were wailing in sympathy--little Stanislovas in addition, -because the terror of the snow was upon him. Jurgis had nothing -to put on but his shoes and his coat, and in half a minute he was -out of the door. Then, however, he realized that there was no need -of haste, that he had no idea where to go. It was still dark as -midnight, and the thick snowflakes were sifting down--everything was -so silent that he could hear the rustle of them as they fell. In the -few seconds that he stood there hesitating he was covered white. - -He set off at a run for the yards, stopping by the way to inquire in -the saloons that were open. Ona might have been overcome on the way; -or else she might have met with an accident in the machines. When he -got to the place where she worked he inquired of one of the watchmen-- -there had not been any accident, so far as the man had heard. At the -time office, which he found already open, the clerk told him that -Ona's check had been turned in the night before, showing that she -had left her work. - -After that there was nothing for him to do but wait, pacing back and -forth in the snow, meantime, to keep from freezing. Already the yards -were full of activity; cattle were being unloaded from the cars in -the distance, and across the way the "beef-luggers" were toiling in -the darkness, carrying two-hundred-pound quarters of bullocks into -the refrigerator cars. Before the first streaks of daylight there -came the crowding throngs of workingmen, shivering, and swinging -their dinner pails as they hurried by. Jurgis took up his stand -by the time-office window, where alone there was light enough for -him to see; the snow fell so quick that it was only by peering -closely that he could make sure that Ona did not pass him. - -Seven o'clock came, the hour when the great packing machine began -to move. Jurgis ought to have been at his place in the fertilizer -mill; but instead he was waiting, in an agony of fear, for Ona. -It was fifteen minutes after the hour when he saw a form emerge from -the snow mist, and sprang toward it with a cry. It was she, running -swiftly; as she saw him, she staggered forward, and half fell into -his outstretched arms. - -"What has been the matter?" he cried, anxiously. "Where have you been?" - -It was several scconds before she could get breath to answer him. -"I couldn't get home," she exclaimed. "The snow--the cars had stopped." - -"But where were you then?" he demanded. - -"I had to go home with a friend," she panted--"with Jadvyga." - -Jurgis drew a deep breath; but then he noticed that she was sobbing -and trembling--as if in one of those nervous crises that he dreaded so. -"But what's the matter?" he cried. "What has happened?" - -"Oh, Jurgis, I was so frightened!" she said, clinging to him wildly. -"I have been so worried!" - -They were near the time station window, and people were staring at them. -Jurgis led her away. "How do you mean?" he asked, in perplexity. - -"I was afraid--I was just afraid!" sobbed Ona. "I knew you wouldn't -know where I was, and I didn't know what you might do. I tried to -get home, but I was so tired. Oh, Jurgis, Jurgis!" - -He was so glad to get her back that he could not think clearly about -anything else. It did not seem strange to him that she should be -so very much upset; all her fright and incoherent protestations did -not matter since he had her back. He let her cry away her tears; -and then, hecause it was nearly eight o'clock, and they would lose -another hour if they delayed, he left her at the packing house door, -with her ghastly white face and her haunted eyes of terror. - -There was another brief interval. Christmas was almost come; and because -the snow still held, and the searching cold, morning after morning -Jurgis hall carried his wife to her post, staggering with her through -the darkness; until at last, one night, came the end. - -It lacked but three days of the holidays. About midnight Marija and -Elzbieta came home, exclaiming in alarm when they found that Ona -had not come. The two had agreed to meet her; and, after waiting, -had gone to the room where she worked; only to find that the -ham-wrapping girls had quit work an hour before, and left. There was -no snow that night, nor was it especially cold; and still Ona had -not come! Something more serious must be wrong this time. - -They aroused Jurgis, and he sat up and listened crossly to the story. -She must have gone home again with Jadvyga, he said; Jadvyga lived -only two blocks from the yards, and perhaps she had been tired. -Nothing could have happened to her--and even if there had, there was -nothing could be done about it until morning. Jurgis turned over -in his bed, and was snoring again before the two had closed the door. - -In the morning, however, he was up and out nearly an hour before the -usual time. Jadvyga Marcinkus lived on the other side of the yards, -beyond Halsted Street, with her mother and sisters, in a single -basement room--for Mikolas had recently lost one hand from blood -poisoning, and their marriage had been put off forever. The door -of the room was in the rear, reached by a narrow court, and Jurgis -saw a light in the window and heard something frying as he passed; -he knocked, half expecting that Ona would answer. - -Instead there was one of Jadvyga's little sisters, who gazed at him -through a crack in thc door. "Where's Ona?" he demanded; and the child -looked at him in perplexity. "Ona?" she said. - -"Yes," said Jurgis. isn't she here?" - -"No," said the child, and Jurgis gave a start. A moment later came -Jadvyga, peering over the child's head. When she saw who it was, -she slid around out of sight, for she was not quite dressed. -Jurgis must excuse her, she began, her mother was very ill-- - -"Ona isn't here?" Jurgis demanded, too alarmed to wait for her to finish. - -"Why, no," said Jadvyga. "What made you think she would be here? -Had she said she was coming?" - -"No," he answered. "But she hasn't come home--and I thought she -would be here the same as before." - -"As before?" echoed Jadvyga, in perplexity. - -"The time she spent the night here," said Jurgis. - -"There must be some mistake," she answered, quickly. "Ona has never -spent the night here." - -He was only half able to realize the words. "Why--why--" he exclaimed. -"Two weeks ago. Jadvyga! She told me so the night it snowed, and she -could not get home." - -"There must be some mistake," declared the girl, again; "she didn't -come here." - -He steadied himself by the doorsill; and Jadvyga in her anxiety--for -she was fond of Ona--opened the door wide, holding her jacket across -her throat. "Are you sure you didn't misunderstand her?" she cried. -"She must have meant somewhere else. She--" - -"She said here," insisted Jurgis. "She told me all about you, and how -you were, and what you said. Are you sure? You haven't forgotten? -You weren't away?" - -"No, no!" she exclaimed--and then came a peevish voice--"Jadvyga, -you are giving the baby a cold. Shut the door!" Jurgis stood for -half a minute more, stammering his perplexity through an eighth of -an inch of crack; and then, as there was really nothing more to be said, -he excused himself and went away. - -He walked on half dazed, without knowing where he went. Ona had -deceived him! She had lied to him! And what could it mean--where -had she been? Where was she now? He could hardly grasp the thing-- -much less try to solve it; but a hundred wild surmises came to him, -a sense of impending calamity overwhelmed him. - -Because there was nothing else to do, he went back to the time office -to watch again. He waited until nearly an hour after seven, and then -went to the room where Ona worked to make inquiries of Ona's "forelady." -The "forelady," he found, had not yet come; all the lines of cars -that came from downtown were stalled--there had been an accident -in the powerhouse, and no cars had been running since last night. -Meantime, however, the ham-wrappers were working away, with some one -else in charge of them. The girl who answered Jurgis was busy, -and as she talked she looked to see if she were being watched. -Then a man came up, wheeling a truck; he knew Jurgis for Ona's husband, -and was curious about the mystery. - -"Maybe the cars had something to do with it," he suggested--"maybe she -had gone down-town." - -"No," said Jurgis. "she never went down-town." - -"Perhaps not," said the man. Jurgis thought he saw him exchange -a swift glance with the girl as he spoke, and he demanded quickly. -"What do you know about it?" - -But the man had seen that the boss was watching him; he started on -again, pushing his truck. "I don't know anything about it," he said, -over his shoulder. "How should I know where your wife goes?" - -Then Jurgis went out again and paced up and down before the building. -All the morning he stayed there, with no thought of his work. -About noon he went to the police station to make inquiries, and then -came back again for another anxious vigil. Finally, toward the middle -of the alternoon, he set out for home once more. - -He was walking out Ashland Avenue. The streetcars had begun running -again, and several passed him, packed to the steps with people. -The sight of them set Jurgis to thinking again of the man's sarcastic -remark; and half involuntarily he found himself watching the cars-- -with the result that he gave a sudden startled exclamation, and stopped -short in his tracks. - -Then he broke into a run. For a whole block he tore after the car, -only a little ways behind. That rusty black hat with the drooping -red flower, it might not be Ona's, but there was very little likelihood -of it. He would know for certain very soon, for she would get out -two blocks ahead. He slowed down, and let the car go on. - -She got out: and as soon as she was out of sight on the side street -Jurgis broke into a run. Suspicion was rife in him now, and he was -not ashamed to shadow her: he saw her turn the corner near their home, -and then he ran again, and saw her as she went up the porch steps -of the house. After that he turned back, and for five minutes paced -up and down, his hands clenched tightly and his lips set, his mind -in a turmoil. Then he went home and entered. - -As he opened the door, he saw Elzbieta, who had also been looking -for Ona, and had come home again. She was now on tiptoe, and had -a finger on her lips. Jurgis waited until she was close to him. - -"Don't make any noise," she whispered, hurriedly. - -"What's the matter'?" he asked. "Ona is asleep," she panted. -"She's been very ill. I'm afraid her mind's been wandering, Jurgis. -She was lost on the street all night, and I've only just succeeded -in getting her quiet." - -"When did she come in?" he asked. - -"Soon after you left this morning," said Elzbieta. - -"And has she been out since?" "No, of course not. She's so weak, -Jurgis, she--" - -And he set his teeth hard together. "You are lying to me," he said. - -Elzbieta started, and turned pale. "Why!" she gasped. "What do you mean?" - -But Jurgis did not answer. He pushed her aside, and strode to the -bedroom door and opened it. - -Ona was sitting on the bed. She turned a startled look upon him as -he entered. He closed the door in Elzbieta's face, and went toward -his wife. "Where have you been?" he demanded. - -She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he saw that her -face was as white as paper, and drawn with pain. She gasped once or -twice as she tried to answer him, and then began, speaking low, -and swiftly. "Jurgis, I--I think I have been out of my mind. I started -to come last night, and I could not find the way. I walked--I walked -all night, I think, and--and I only got home--this morning." - -"You needed a rest," he said, in a hard tone. "Why did you go out again?" - -He was looking her fairly in the face, and he could read the sudden -fear and wild uncertainty that leaped into her eyes. "I--I had to -go to--to the store," she gasped, almost in a whisper, "I had to go--" - -"You are lying to me," said Jurgis. Then he clenched his hands and -took a step toward her. "Why do you lie to me?" he cried, fiercely. -"What are you doing that you have to lie to me?" - -"Jurgis!" she exclaimed, starting up in fright. "Oh, Jurgis, how -can you?" - -"You have lied to me, I say!" he cried. "You told me you had been -to Jadvyga's house that other night, and you hadn't. You had been -where you were last night--somewheres downtown, for I saw you get -off the car. Where were you?" - -It was as if he had struck a knife into her. She seemed to go all -to pieces. For half a second she stood, reeling and swaying, -staring at him with horror in her eyes; then, with a cry of anguish, -she tottered forward, stretching out her arms to him. But he stepped -aside, deliberately, and let her fall. She caught herself at the -side of the bed, and then sank down, burying her face in her hands -and bursting into frantic weeping. - -There came one of those hysterical crises that had so often -dismayed him. Ona sobbed and wept, her fear and anguish building -themselves up into long climaxes. Furious gusts of emotion would -come sweeping over her, shaking her as the tempest shakes the trees -upon the hills; all her frame would quiver and throb with them--it was -as if some dreadful thing rose up within her and took possession of her, -torturing her, tearing her. This thing had been wont to set Jurgis -quite beside himself; but now he stood with his lips set tightly and -his hands clenched--she might weep till she killed herself, but she -should not move him this time--not an inch, not an inch. Because the -sounds she made set his blood to running cold and his lips to quivering -in spite of himself, he was glad of the diversion when Teta Elzbieta, -pale with fright, opened the door and rushed in; yet he turned upon -her with an oath. "Go out!" he cried, "go out!" And then, as she -stood hesitating, about to speak, he seized her by the arm, and half -flung her from the room, slamming the door and barring it with a table. -Then he turned again and faced Ona, crying--"Now, answer me!" - -Yet she did not hear him--she was still in the grip of the fiend. -Jurgis could see her outstretched hands, shaking and twitching, -roaming here and there over the bed at will, like living things; -he could see convulsive shudderings start in her body and run through -her limbs. She was sobbing and choking--it was as if there were too -many sounds for one throat, they came chasing each other, like waves -upon the sea. Then her voice would begin to rise into screams, -louder and louder until it broke in wild, horrible peals of laughter. -Jurgis bore it until he could bear it no longer, and then he sprang -at her, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her, shouting into -her ear: "Stop it, I say! Stop it!" - -She looked up at him, out of her agony; then she fell forward at -his feet. She caught them in her hands, in spite of his efforts -to step aside, and with her face upon the floor lay writhing. It -made a choking in Jurgis' throat to hear her, and he cried again, -more savagely than before: "Stop it, I say!" - -This time she heeded him, and caught her breath and lay silent, -save for the gasping sobs that wrenched all her frame. For a long -minute she lay there, perfectly motionless, until a cold fear seized -her husband, thinking that she was dying. Suddenly, however, -he heard her voice, faintly: "Jurgis! Jurgis!" - -"What is it?" he said. - -He had to bend down to her, she was so weak. She was pleading -with him, in broken phrases, painfully uttered: "Have faith in me! -Believe me!" - -"Believe what?" he cried. - -"Believe that I--that I know best--that I love you! And do not -ask me--what you did. Oh, Jurgis, please, please! It is for the -best--it is--" - -He started to speak again, but she rushed on frantically, heading -him off. "If you will only do it! If you will only--only believe me! -It wasn't my fault--I couldn't help it--it will be all right--it is -nothing--it is no harm. Oh, Jurgis--please, please!" - -She had hold of him, and was trying to raise herself to look at him; -he could feel the palsied shaking of her hands and the heaving of the -bosom she pressed against him. She managed to catch one of his hands -and gripped it convulsively, drawing it to her face, and bathing it -in her tears. "Oh, believe me, believe me!" she wailed again; and he -shouted in fury, "I will not!" - -But still she clung to him, wailing aloud in her despair: "Oh, Jurgis, -think what you are doing! It will ruin us--it will ruin us! Oh, no, -you must not do it! No, don't, don't do it. You must not do it! -It will drive me mad--it will kill me--no, no, Jurgis, I am crazy-- -it is nothing. You do not really need to know. We can be happy-- -we can love each other just the same. Oh, please, please, believe me!" - -Her words fairly drove him wild. He tore his hands loose, and flung -her off. "Answer me," he cried. "God damn it, I say--answer me!" - -She sank down upon the floor, beginning to cry again. It was like -listening to the moan of a damned soul, and Jurgis could not stand it. -He smote his fist upon the table by his side, and shouted again at her, -"Answer me!" - -She began to scream aloud, her voice like the voice of some wild beast: -"Ah! Ah! I can't! I can't do it!" - -"Why can't you do it?" he shouted. - -"I don't know how!" - -He sprang and caught her by the arm, lifting her up, and glaring -into her face. "Tell me where you were last night!" he panted. -"Quick, out with it!" - -Then she began to whisper, one word at a time: "I--was in--a house-- -downtown--" - -"What house? What do you mean?" - -She tried to hide her eyes away, but he held her. "Miss Henderson's -house," she gasped. He did not understand at first. "Miss Henderson's -house," he echoed. And then suddenly, as in an explosion, the horrible -truth burst over him, and he reeled and staggered back with a scream. -He caught himself against the wall, and put his hand to his forehead, -staring about him, and whispering, "Jesus! Jesus!" - -An instant later he leaped at her, as she lay groveling at his feet. -He seized her by the throat. "Tell me!" he gasped, hoarsely. -Quick! Who took you to that place?" - -She tried to get away, making him furious; he thought it was fear, -of the pain of his clutch--he did not understand that it was the agony -of her shame. Still she answered him, "Connor." - -"Connor," he gasped. "Who is Connor?" - -"The boss," she answered. "The man--" - -He tightened his grip, in his frenzy, and only when he saw her eyes -closing did he realize that he was choking her. Then he relaxed his -fingers, and crouched, waiting, until she opened her lids again. -His breath beat hot into her face. - -"Tell me," he whispered, at last, "tell me about it." - -She lay perfectly motionless, and he had to hold his breath to catch -her words. "I did not want--to do it," she said; "I tried--I tried -not to do it. I only did it--to save us. It was our only chance." - -Again, for a space, there was no sound but his panting. Ona's eyes -closed and when she spoke again she did not open them. "He told me-- -he would have me turned off. He told me he would--we would all of us -lose our places. We could never get anything to do--here--again. -He--he meant it--he would have ruined us." - -Jurgis' arms were shaking so that he could scarcely hold himself up, -and lurched forward now and then as he listened. "When--when did -this begin?" he gasped. - -"At the very first," she said. She spoke as if in a trance. "It was -all--it was their plot--Miss Henderson's plot. She hated me. -And he--he wanted me. He used to speak to me--out on the platform. -Then he began to--to make love to me. He offered me money. He begged -me--he said he loved me. Then he threatened me. He knew all about us, -he knew we would starve. He knew your boss--he knew Marija's. -He would hound us to death, he said--then he said if I would--if -I--we would all of us be sure of work--always. Then one day he -caught hold of me--he would not let go--he--he--" - -"Where was this?" - -"In the hallway--at night--after every one had gone. I could not -help it. I thought of you--of the baby--of mother and the children. -I was afraid of him--afraid to cry out." - -A moment ago her face had been ashen gray, now it was scarlet. -She was beginning to breathe hard again. Jurgis made not a sound. - -"That was two months ago. Then he wanted me to come--to that house. -He wanted me to stay there. He said all of us--that we would not -have to work. He made me come there--in the evenings. I told you-- -you thought I was at the factory. Then--one night it snowed, -and I couldn't get back. And last night--the cars were stopped. -It was such a little thing--to ruin us all. I tried to walk, but I -couldn't. I didn't want you to know. It would have--it would have -been all right. We could have gone on--just the same--you need never -have known about it. He was getting tired of me--he would have let -me alone soon. I am going to have a baby--I am getting ugly. He told -me that--twice, he told me, last night. He kicked me--last night--too. -And now you will kill him--you--you will kill him--and we shall die." - -All this she had said without a quiver; she lay still as death, -not an eyelid moving. And Jurgis, too, said not a word. He lifted -himself by the bed, and stood up. He did not stop for another glance -at her, but went to the door and opened it. He did not see Elzbieta, -crouching terrified in the corner. He went out, hatless, leaving -the street door open behind him. The instant his feet were on the -sidewalk he broke into a run. - - -He ran like one possessed, blindly, furiously, looking neither to the -right nor left. He was on Ashland Avenue before exhaustion compelled -him to slow down, and then, noticing a car, he made a dart for it -and drew himself aboard. His eyes were wild and his hair flying, -and he was breathing hoarsely, like a wounded bull; but the people -on the car did not notice this particularly--perhaps it seemed natural -to them that a man who smelled as Jurgis smelled should exhibit an -aspect to correspond. They began to give way before him as usual. -The conductor took his nickel gingerly, with the tips of his fingers, -and then left him with the platform to himself. Jurgis did not even -notice it--his thoughts were far away. Within his soul it was like a -roaring furnace; he stood waiting, waiting, crouching as if for a spring. - -He had some of his breath back when the car came to the entrance of -the yards, and so he leaped off and started again, racing at full speed. -People turned and stared at him, but he saw no one--there was the -factory, and he bounded through the doorway and down the corridor. -He knew the room where Ona worked, and he knew Connor, the boss of the -loading-gang outside. He looked for the man as he sprang into the room. - -The truckmen were hard at work, loading the freshly packed boxes and -barrels upon the cars. Jurgis shot one swift glance up and down the -platform--the man was not on it. But then suddenly he heard a voice -in the corridor, and started for it with a bound. In an instant more -he fronted the boss. - -He was a big, red-faced Irishman, coarse-featured, and smelling of -liquor. He saw Jurgis as he crossed the threshold, and turned white. -He hesitated one second, as if meaning to run; and in the next his -assailant was upon him. He put up his hands to protect his face, -but Jurgis, lunging with all the power of his arm and body, struck him -fairly between the eyes and knocked him backward. The next moment he -was on top of him, burying his fingers in his throat. - -To Jurgis this man's whole presence reeked of the crime he had committed; -the touch of his body was madness to him--it set every nerve of him -atremble, it aroused all the demon in his soul. It had worked its -will upon Ona, this great beast--and now he had it, he had it! It was -his turn now! Things swam blood before him, and he screamed aloud -in his fury, lifting his victim and smashing his head upon the floor. - -The place, of course, was in an uproar; women fainting and shrieking, -and men rushing in. Jurgis was so bent upon his task that he knew -nothing of this, and scarcely realized that people were trying to -interfere with him; it was only when half a dozen men had seized him -by the legs and shoulders and were pulling at him, that he understood -that he was losing his prey. In a flash he had bent down and sunk his -teeth into the man's cheek; and when they tore him away he was dripping -with blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his mouth. - -They got him down upon the floor, clinging to him by his arms and legs, -and still they could hardly hold him. He fought like a tiger, writhing -and twisting, half flinging them off, and starting toward his -unconscious enemy. But yet others rushed in, until there was a -little mountain of twisted limbs and bodies, heaving and tossing, -and working its way about the room. In the end, by their sheer weight, -they choked the breath out of him, and then they carried him to the -company police station, where he lay still until they had summoned -a patrol wagon to take him away. - - - -Chapter 16 - - -When Jurgis got up again he went quietly enough. He was exhausted -and half-dazed, and besides he saw the blue uniforms of the policemen. -He drove in a patrol wagon with half a dozen of them watching him; -keeping as far away as possible, however, on account of the fertilizer. -Then he stood before the sergeant's desk and gave his name and address, -and saw a charge of assault and battery entered against him. On his -way to his cell a burly policeman cursed him because he started down -the wrong corridor, and then added a kick when he was not quick enough; -nevertheless, Jurgis did not even lift his eyes--he had lived two years -and a half in Packingtown, and he knew what the police were. It was -as much as a man's very life was worth to anger them, here in their -inmost lair; like as not a dozen would pile on to him at once, and pound -his face into a pulp. It would be nothing unusual if he got his skull -cracked in the melee--in which case they would report that he had been -drunk and had fallen down, and there would be no one to know the -difference or to care. - -So a barred door clanged upon Jurgis and he sat down upon a bench and -buried his face in his hands. He was alone; he had the afternoon and -all of the night to himself. - -At first he was like a wild beast that has glutted itself; he was in -a dull stupor of satisfaction. He had done up the scoundrel pretty -well--not as well as he would have if they had given him a minute more, -but pretty well, all the same; the ends of his fingers were still -tingling from their contact with the fellow's throat. But then, -little by little, as his strength came back and his senses cleared, -he began to see beyond his momentary gratification; that he had nearly -killed the boss would not help Ona--not the horrors that she had borne, -nor the memory that would haunt her all her days. It would not help -to feed her and her child; she would certainly lose her place, while -he--what was to happen to him God only knew. - -Half the night he paced the floor, wrestling with this nightmare; -and when he was exhausted he lay down, trying to sleep, but finding -instead, for the first time in his life, that his brain was too much -for him. In the cell next to him was a drunken wife-beater and in -the one beyond a yelling maniac. At midnight they opened the station -house to the homeless wanderers who were crowded about the door, -shivering in the winter blast, and they thronged into the corridor -outside of the cells. Some of them stretched themselves out on the -bare stone floor and fell to snoring, others sat up, laughing and -talking, cursing and quarreling. The air was fetid with their breath, -yet in spite of this some of them smelled Jurgis and called down the -torments of hell upon him, while he lay in a far corner of his cell, -counting the throbbings of the blood in his forehead. - -They had brought him his supper, which was "duffers and dope"--being -hunks of dry bread on a tin plate, and coffee, called "dope" because -it was drugged to keep the prisoners quiet. Jurgis had not known this, -or he would have swallowed the stuff in desperation; as it was, -every nerve of him was aquiver with shame and rage. Toward morning -the place fell silent, and he got up and began to pace his cell; -and then within the soul of him there rose up a fiend, red-eyed and -cruel, and tore out the strings of his heart. - -It was not for himself that he suffered--what did a man who worked -in Durham's fertilizer mill care about anything that the world might -do to him! What was any tyranny of prison compared with the tyranny -of the past, of the thing that had happened and could not be recalled, -of the memory that could never be effaced! The horror of it drove -him mad; he stretched out his arms to heaven, crying out for deliverance -from it--and there was no deliverance, there was no power even in -heaven that could undo the past. It was a ghost that would not drown; -it followed him, it seized upon him and beat him to the ground. -Ah, if only he could have foreseen it--but then, he would have -foreseen it, if he had not been a fool! He smote his hands upon -his forehead, cursing himself because he had ever allowed Ona to work -where she had, because he had not stood between her and a fate which -every one knew to be so common. He should have taken her away, even if -it were to lie down and die of starvation in the gutters of Chicago's -streets! And now--oh, it could not be true; it was too monstrous, -too horrible. - -It was a thing that could not be faced; a new shuddering seized him -every time he tried to think of it. No, there was no bearing the -load of it, there was no living under it. There would be none for -her--he knew that he might pardon her, might plead with her on his -knees, but she would never look him in the face again, she would -never be his wife again. The shame of it would kill her--there -could be no other deliverance, and it was best that she should die. - -This was simple and clear, and yet, with cruel inconsistency, -whenever he escaped from this nightmare it was to suffer and cry out -at the vision of Ona starving. They had put him in jail, and they -would keep him here a long time, years maybe. And Ona would surely -not go to work again, broken and crushed as she was. And Elzbieta -and Marija, too, might lose their places--if that hell fiend Connor -chose to set to work to ruin them, they would all be turned out. -And even if he did not, they could not live--even if the boys left -school again, they could surely not pay all the bills without him -and Ona. They had only a few dollars now--they had just paid the rent -of the house a week ago, and that after it was two weeks overdue. -So it would be due again in a week! They would have no money to pay -it then--and they would lose the house, after all their long, -heartbreaking struggle. Three times now the agent had warned him -that he would not tolerate another delay. Perhaps it was very base -of Jurgis to be thinking about the house when he had the other -unspeakable thing to fill his mind; yet, how much he had suffered -for this house, how much they had all of them suffered! It was their -one hope of respite, as long as they lived; they had put all their -money into it--and they were working people, poor people, whose money -was their strength, the very substance of them, body and soul, -the thing by which they lived and for lack of which they died. - -And they would lose it all; they would be turned out into the streets, -and have to hide in some icy garret, and live or die as best they could! -Jurgis had all the night--and all of many more nights--to think about -this, and he saw the thing in its details; he lived it all, as if he -were there. They would sell their furniture, and then run into debt -at the stores, and then be refused credit; they would borrow a little -from the Szedvilases, whose delicatessen store was tottering on the -brink of ruin; the neighbors would come and help them a little--poor, -sick Jadvyga would bring a few spare pennies, as she always did when -people were starving, and Tamoszius Kuszleika would bring them the -proceeds of a night's fiddling. So they would struggle to hang on -until he got out of jail--or would they know that he was in jail, -would they be able to find out anything about him? Would they be -allowed to see him--or was it to be part of his punishment to be kept -in ignorance about their fate? - -His mind would hang upon the worst possibilities; he saw Ona ill and -tortured, Marija out of her place, little Stanislovas unable to get -to work for the snow, the whole family turned out on the street. -God Almighty! would they actually let them lie down in the street -and die? Would there be no help even then--would they wander about -in the snow till they froze? Jurgis had never seen any dead bodies -in the streets, but he had seen people evicted and disappear, no one -knew where; and though the city had a relief bureau, though there -was a charity organization society in the stockyards district, in all -his life there he had never heard of either of them. They did not -advertise their activities, having more calls than they could attend -to without that. - ---So on until morning. Then he had another ride in the patrol -wagon, along with the drunken wife-beater and the maniac, several -"plain drunks" and "saloon fighters," a burglar, and two men who had -been arrested for stealing meat from the packing houses. Along with -them he was driven into a large, white-walled room, stale-smelling -and crowded. In front, upon a raised platform behind a rail, sat a -stout, florid-faced personage, with a nose broken out in purple blotches. - -Our friend realized vaguely that he was about to be tried. He wondered -what for--whether or not his victim might be dead, and if so, what -they would do with him. Hang him, perhaps, or beat him to death-- -nothing would have surprised Jurgis, who knew little of the laws. -Yet he had picked up gossip enough to have it occur to him that -the loud-voiced man upon the bench might be the notorious Justice -Callahan, about whom the people of Packingtown spoke with bated breath. - -"Pat" Callahan--"Growler" Pat, as he had been known before he -ascended the bench--had begun life as a butcher boy and a bruiser -of local reputation; he had gone into politics almost as soon as -he had learned to talk, and had held two offices at once before -he was old enough to vote. If Scully was the thumb, Pat Callahan -was the first finger of the unseen hand whereby the packers held -down the people of the district. No politician in Chicago ranked -higher in their confidence; he had been at it a long time--had been -the business agent in the city council of old Durham, the self-made -merchant, way back in the early days, when the whole city of Chicago -had been up at auction. "Growler" Pat had given up holding city -offices very early in his career--caring only for party power, -and giving the rest of his time to superintending his dives and -brothels. Of late years, however, since his children were growing up, -he had begun to value respectability, and had had himself made a -magistrate; a position for which he was admirably fitted, because -of his strong conservatism and his contempt for "foreigners." - -Jurgis sat gazing about the room for an hour or two; he was in -hopes that some one of the family would come, but in this he was -disappointed. Finally, he was led before the bar, and a lawyer for -the company appeared against him. Connor was under the doctor's care, -the lawyer explained briefly, and if his Honor would hold the prisoner -for a week--"Three hundred dollars," said his Honor, promptly. - -Jurgis was staring from the judge to the lawyer in perplexity. -"Have you any one to go on your bond?" demanded the judge, and then -a clerk who stood at Jurgis' elbow explained to him what this meant. -The latter shook his head, and before he realized what had happened -the policemen were leading him away again. They took him to a room -where other prisoners were waiting and here he stayed until court -adjourned, when he had another long and bitterly cold ride in a -patrol wagon to the county jail, which is on the north side of -the city, and nine or ten miles from the stockyards. - -Here they searched Jurgis, leaving him only his money, which -consisted of fifteen cents. Then they led him to a room and told -him to strip for a bath; after which he had to walk down a long -gallery, past the grated cell doors of the inmates of the jail. -This was a great event to the latter--the daily review of the new -arrivals, all stark naked, and many and diverting were the comments. -Jurgis was required to stay in the bath longer than any one, in the -vain hope of getting out of him a few of his phosphates and acids. -The prisoners roomed two in a cell, but that day there was one -left over, and he was the one. - -The cells were in tiers, opening upon galleries. His cell was about -five feet by seven in size, with a stone floor and a heavy wooden -bench built into it. There was no window--the only light came from -windows near the roof at one end of the court outside. There were -two bunks, one above the other, each with a straw mattress and a pair -of gray blankets--the latter stiff as boards with filth, and alive -with fleas, bedbugs, and lice. When Jurgis lifted up the mattress -he discovered beneath it a layer of scurrying roaches, almost as -badly frightened as himself. - -Here they brought him more "duffers and dope," with the addition of -a bowl of soup. Many of the prisoners had their meals brought in -from a restaurant, but Jurgis had no money for that. Some had books -to read and cards to play, with candles to burn by night, but Jurgis -was all alone in darkness and silence. He could not sleep again; -there was the same maddening procession of thoughts that lashed him -like whips upon his naked back. When night fell he was pacing up -and down his cell like a wild beast that breaks its teeth upon the -bars of its cage. Now and then in his frenzy he would fling himself -against the walls of the place, beating his hands upon them. They cut -him and bruised him--they were cold and merciless as the men who had -built them. - -In the distance there was a church-tower bell that tolled the hours -one by one. When it came to midnight Jurgis was lying upon the floor -with his head in his arms, listening. Instead of falling silent at -the end, the bell broke into a sudden clangor. Jurgis raised his head; -what could that mean--a fire? God! Suppose there were to be a fire -in this jail! But then he made out a melody in the ringing; -there were chimes. And they seemed to waken the city--all around, -far and near, there were bells, ringing wild music; for fully a minute -Jurgis lay lost in wonder, before, all at once, the meaning of it -broke over him--that this was Christmas Eve! - -Christmas Eve--he had forgotten it entirely! There was a breaking -of floodgates, a whirl of new memories and new griefs rushing into -his mind. In far Lithuania they had celebrated Christmas; and it -came to him as if it had been yesterday--himself a little child, -with his lost brother and his dead father in the cabin--in the deep -black forest, where the snow fell all day and all night and buried -them from the world. It was too far off for Santa Claus in Lithuania, -but it was not too far for peace and good will to men, for the -wonder-bearing vision of the Christ Child. And even in Packingtown -they had not forgotten it--some gleam of it had never failed to break -their darkness. Last Christmas Eve and all Christmas Day Jurgis -had toiled on the killing beds, and Ona at wrapping hams, and still -they had found strength enough to take the children for a walk upon -the avenue, to see the store windows all decorated with Christmas trees -and ablaze with electric lights. In one window there would be live -geese, in another marvels in sugar--pink and white canes big enough -for ogres, and cakes with cherubs upon them; in a third there would be -rows of fat yellow turkeys, decorated with rosettes, and rabbits and -squirrels hanging; in a fourth would be a fairyland of toys--lovely -dolls with pink dresses, and woolly sheep and drums and soldier hats. -Nor did they have to go without their share of all this, either. -The last time they had had a big basket with them and all their -Christmas marketing to do--a roast of pork and a cabbage and some -rye bread, and a pair of mittens for Ona, and a rubber doll that -squeaked, and a little green cornucopia full of candy to be hung -from the gas jet and gazed at by half a dozen pairs of longing eyes. - -Even half a year of the sausage machines and the fertilizer mill had -not been able to kill the thought of Christmas in them; there was -a choking in Jurgis' throat as he recalled that the very night Ona -had not come home Teta Elzbieta had taken him aside and shown him -an old valentine that she had picked up in a paper store for three -cents--dingy and shopworn, but with bright colors, and figures of -angels and doves. She had wiped all the specks off this, and was -going to set it on the mantel, where the children could see it. -Great sobs shook Jurgis at this memory--they would spend their -Christmas in misery and despair, with him in prison and Ona ill -and their home in desolation. Ah, it was too cruel! Why at least -had they not left him alone--why, after they had shut him in jail, -must they be ringing Christmas chimes in his ears! - -But no, their bells were not ringing for him--their Christmas was not -meant for him, they were simply not counting him at all. He was of -no consequence--he was flung aside, like a bit of trash, the carcass -of some animal. It was horrible, horrible! His wife might be dying, -his baby might be starving, his whole family might be perishing in -the cold--and all the while they were ringing their Christmas chimes! -And the bitter mockery of it--all this was punishment for him! -They put him in a place where the snow could not beat in, where the -cold could not eat through his bones; they brought him food and -drink--why, in the name of heaven, if they must punish him, did they -not put his family in jail and leave him outside--why could they find -no better way to punish him than to leave three weak women and six -helpless children to starve and freeze? That was their law, that was -their justice! - -Jurgis stood upright; trembling with passion, his hands clenched and -his arms upraised, his whole soul ablaze with hatred and defiance. -Ten thousand curses upon them and their law! Their justice--it was -a lie, it was a lie, a hideous, brutal lie, a thing too black and -hateful for any world but a world of nightmares. It was a sham and -a loathsome mockery. There was no justice, there was no right, -anywhere in it--it was only force, it was tyranny, the will and -the power, reckless and unrestrained! They had ground him beneath -their heel, they had devoured all his substance; they had murdered -his old father, they had broken and wrecked his wife, they had crushed -and cowed his whole family; and now they were through with him, -they had no further use for him--and because he had interfered -with them, had gotten in their way, this was what they had done -to him! They had put him behind bars, as if he had been a wild -beast, a thing without sense or reason, without rights, without -affections, without feelings. Nay, they would not even have treated -a beast as they had treated him! Would any man in his senses have -trapped a wild thing in its lair, and left its young behind to die? - -These midnight hours were fateful ones to Jurgis; in them was -the beginning of his rebellion, of his outlawry and his unbelief. -He had no wit to trace back the social crime to its far sources-- -he could not say that it was the thing men have called "the system" -that was crushing him to the earth that it was the packers, his masters, -who had bought up the law of the land, and had dealt out their brutal -will to him from the seat of justice. He only knew that he was wronged, -and that the world had wronged him; that the law, that society, with all -its powers, had declared itself his foe. And every hour his soul grew -blacker, every hour he dreamed new dreams of vengeance, of defiance, -of raging, frenzied hate. - - The vilest deeds, like poison weeds, - Bloom well in prison air; - It is only what is good in Man - That wastes and withers there; - Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, - And the Warder is Despair. - -So wrote a poet, to whom the world had dealt its justice-- - - I know not whether Laws be right, - Or whether Laws be wrong; - All that we know who lie in gaol - Is that the wall is strong. - And they do well to hide their hell, - For in it things are done - That Son of God nor son of Man - Ever should look upon! - - - -Chapter 17 - - -At seven o'clock the next morning Jurgis was let out to get water -to wash his cell--a duty which he performed faithfully, but which -most of the prisoners were accustomed to shirk, until their cells -became so filthy that the guards interposed. Then he had more -"duffers and dope," and afterward was allowed three hours for exercise, -in a long, cement-walked court roofed with glass. Here were all the -inmates of the jail crowded together. At one side of the court was -a place for visitors, cut off by two heavy wire screens, a foot apart, -so that nothing could be passed in to the prisoners; here Jurgis -watched anxiously, but there came no one to see him. - -Soon after he went back to his cell, a keeper opened the door to let -in another prisoner. He was a dapper young fellow, with a light -brown mustache and blue eyes, and a graceful figure. He nodded -to Jurgis, and then, as the keeper closed the door upon him, began -gazing critically about him. - -"Well, pal," he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again, -"good morning." - -"Good morning," said Jurgis. - -"A rum go for Christmas, eh?" added the other. - -Jurgis nodded. - -The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he lifted -up the mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. "My God!" -he said, "that's the worst yet." - -He glanced at Jurgis again. "Looks as if it hadn't been slept in -last night. Couldn't stand it, eh?" - -"I didn't want to sleep last night," said Jurgis. - -"When did you come in?" - -"Yesterday." - -The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose. -"There's the devil of a stink in here," he said, suddenly. "What is it?" - -"It's me," said Jurgis. - -"You?" - -"Yes, me." - -"Didn't they make you wash?" - -"Yes, but this don't wash." - -"What is it?" - -"Fertilizer." - -"Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?" - -"I work in the stockyards--at least I did until the other day. -It's in my clothes." - -"That's a new one on me," said the newcomer. "I thought I'd been up -against 'em all. What are you in for?" - -"I hit my boss." "Oh--that's it. What did he do?" - -"He--he treated me mean." - -"I see. You're what's called an honest workingman!" - -"What are you?" Jurgis asked. - -"I?" The other laughed. "They say I'm a cracksman," he said. - -"What's that?" asked Jurgis. - -"Safes, and such things," answered the other. - -"Oh," said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stated at the speaker in awe. -"You mean you break into them--you--you--" - -"Yes," laughed the other, "that's what they say." - -He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgis -found afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education, -like what the world calls a "gentleman." - -"Is that what you're here for?" Jurgis inquired. - -"No," was the answer. "I'm here for disorderly conduct. They were -mad because they couldn't get any evidence. - -"What's your name?" the young fellow continued after a pause. -"My name's Duane--Jack Duane. I've more than a dozen, but that's my -company one." He seated himself on the floor with his back to the wall -and his legs crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put Jurgis -on a friendly footing--he was evidently a man of the world, used to -getting on, and not too proud to hold conversation with a mere -laboring man. He drew Jurgis out, and heard all about his life all -but the one unmentionable thing; and then he told stories about his -own life. He was a great one for stories, not always of the choicest. -Being sent to jail had apparently not disturbed his cheerfulness; -he had "done time" twice before, it seemed, and he took it all with -a frolic welcome. What with women and wine and the excitement of -his vocation, a man could afford to rest now and then. - -Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by the -arrival of a cell mate. He could not turn his face to the wall -and sulk, he had to speak when he was spoken to; nor could he help -being interested in the conversation of Duane--the first educated -man with whom he had ever talked. How could he help listening with -wonder while the other told of midnight ventures and perilous escapes, -of feastings and orgies, of fortunes squandered in a night? The young -fellow had an amused contempt for Jurgis, as a sort of working mule; -he, too, had felt the world's injustice, but instead of bearing it -patiently, he had struck back, and struck hard. He was striking all -the time--there was war between him and society. He was a genial -freebooter, living off the enemy, without fear or shame. He was not -always victorious, but then defeat did not mean annihilation, and need -not break his spirit. - -Withal he was a goodhearted fellow--too much so, it appeared. -His story came out, not in the first day, nor the second, but in the -long hours that dragged by, in which they had nothing to do but talk -and nothing to talk of but themselves. Jack Duane was from the East; -he was a college-bred man--had been studying electrical engineering. -Then his father had met with misfortune in business and killed himself; -and there had been his mother and a younger brother and sister. -Also, there was an invention of Duane's; Jurgis could not understand -it clearly, but it had to do with telegraphing, and it was a very -important thing--there were fortunes in it, millions upon millions -of dollars. And Duane had been robbed of it by a great company, -and got tangled up in lawsuits and lost all his money. Then somebody -had given him a tip on a horse race, and he had tried to retrieve -his fortune with another person's money, and had to run away, -and all the rest had come from that. The other asked him what had -led him to safebreaking--to Jurgis a wild and appalling occupation -to think about. A man he had met, his cell mate had replied--one -thing leads to another. Didn't he ever wonder about his family, -Jurgis asked. Sometimes, the other answered, but not often--he didn't -allow it. Thinking about it would make it no better. This wasn't -a world in which a man had any business with a family; sooner or -later Jurgis would find that out also, and give up the fight and -shift for himself. - -Jurgis was so transparently what he pretended to be that his cell mate -was as open with him as a child; it was pleasant to tell him adventures, -he was so full of wonder and admiration, he was so new to the ways -of the country. Duane did not even bother to keep back names and -places--he told all his triumphs and his failures, his loves and -his griefs. Also he introduced Jurgis to many of the other prisoners, -nearly half of whom he knew by name. The crowd had already given -Jurgis a name--they called him "he stinker." This was cruel, -but they meant no harm by it, and he took it with a goodnatured grin. - -Our friend had caught now and then a whiff from the sewers over -which he lived, but this was the first time that he had ever been -splashed by their filth. This jail was a Noah's ark of the city's -crime--there were murderers, "hold-up men" and burglars, embezzlers, -counterfeiters and forgers, bigamists, "shoplifters," "confidence men," -petty thieves and pickpockets, gamblers and procurers, brawlers, -beggars, tramps and drunkards; they were black and white, old and -young, Americans and natives of every nation under the sun. There were -hardened criminals and innocent men too poor to give bail; old men, -and boys literally not yet in their teens. They were the drainage -of the great festering ulcer of society; they were hideous to look -upon, sickening to talk to. All life had turned to rottenness and -stench in them--love was a beastliness, joy was a snare, and God was -an imprecation. They strolled here and there about the courtyard, -and Jurgis listened to them. He was ignorant and they were wise; -they had been everywhere and tried everything. They could tell the -whole hateful story of it, set forth the inner soul of a city in -which justice and honor, women's bodies and men's souls, were for -sale in the marketplace, and human beings writhed and fought and -fell upon each other like wolves in a pit; in which lusts were -raging fires, and men were fuel, and humanity was festering and -stewing and wallowing in its own corruption. Into this wild-beast -tangle these men had been born without their consent, they had taken -part in it because they could not help it; that they were in jail -was no disgrace to them, for the game had never been fair, the dice -were loaded. They were swindlers and thieves of pennies and dimes, -and they had been trapped and put out of the way by the swindlers -and thieves of millions of dollars. - - -To most of this Jurgis tried not to listen. They frightened him -with their savage mockery; and all the while his heart was far away, -where his loved ones were calling. Now and then in the midst of it -his thoughts would take flight; and then the tears would come into -his eyes--and he would be called back by the jeering laughter of -his companions. - -He spent a week in this company, and during all that time he had -no word from his home. He paid one of his fifteen cents for a -postal card, and his companion wrote a note to the family, telling -them where he was and when he would be tried. There came no answer -to it, however, and at last, the day before New Year's, Jurgis bade -good-by to Jack Duane. The latter gave him his address, or rather -the address of his mistress, and made Jurgis promise to look him up. -"Maybe I could help you out of a hole some day," he said, and added -that he was sorry to have him go. Jurgis rode in the patrol wagon -back to Justice Callahan's court for trial. - -One of the first things he made out as he entered the room was Teta -Elzbieta and little Kotrina, looking pale and frightened, seated far -in the rear. His heart began to pound, but he did not dare to try -to signal to them, and neither did Elzbieta. He took his seat in -the prisoners' pen and sat gazing at them in helpless agony. -He saw that Ona was not with them, and was full of foreboding as to -what that might mean. He spent half an hour brooding over this-- -and then suddenly he straightened up and the blood rushed into -his face. A man had come in--Jurgis could not see his features for -the bandages that swathed him, but he knew the burly figure. -It was Connor! A trembling seized him, and his limbs bent as if -for a spring. Then suddenly he felt a hand on his collar, and heard -a voice behind him: "Sit down, you son of a--!" - -He subsided, but he never took his eyes off his enemy. The fellow -was still alive, which was a disappointment, in one way; and yet it -was pleasant to see him, all in penitential plasters. He and the -company lawyer, who was with him, came and took seats within the -judge's railing; and a minute later the clerk called Jurgis' name, -and the policeman jerked him to his feet and led him before the bar, -gripping him tightly by the arm, lest he should spring upon the boss. - -Jurgis listened while the man entered the witness chair, took the oath, -and told his story. The wife of the prisoner had been employed in -a department near him, and had been discharged for impudence to him. -Half an hour later he had been violently attacked, knocked down, -and almost choked to death. He had brought witnesses-- - -"They will probably not be necessary," observed the judge and he -turned to Jurgis. "You admit attacking the plaintiff?" he asked. - -"Him?" inquired Jurgis, pointing at the boss. - -"Yes," said the judge. "I hit him, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Say 'your Honor,'" said the officer, pinching his arm hard. - -"Your Honor," said Jurgis, obediently. - -"You tried to choke him?" - -"Yes, sir, your Honor." - -"Ever been arrested before?" - -"No, sir, your Honor." - -"What have you to say for yourself?" - -Jurgis hesitated. What had he to say? In two years and a half he -had learned to speak English for practical purposes, but these had -never included the statement that some one had intimidated and -seduced his wife. He tried once or twice, stammering and balking, -to the annoyance of the judge, who was gasping from the odor of -fertilizer. Finally, the prisoner made it understood that his -vocabulary was inadequate, and there stepped up a dapper young man -with waxed mustaches, bidding him speak in any language he knew. - -Jurgis began; supposing that he would be given time, he explained -how the boss had taken advantage of his wife's position to make -advances to her and had threatened her with the loss of her place. -When the interpreter had translated this, the judge, whose calendar -was crowded, and whose automobile was ordered for a certain hour, -interrupted with the remark: "Oh, I see. Well, if he made love to -your wife, why didn't she complain to the superintendent or leave -the place?" - -Jurgis hesitated, somewhat taken aback; he began to explain that -they were very poor--that work was hard to get-- - -"I see," said Justice Callahan; "so instead you thought you would -knock him down." He turned to the plaintiff, inquiring, "Is there -any truth in this story, Mr. Connor?" - -"Not a particle, your Honor," said the boss. "It is very unpleasant-- -they tell some such tale every time you have to discharge a woman--" - -"Yes, I know," said the judge. "I hear it often enough. The fellow -seems to have handled you pretty roughly. Thirty days and costs. -Next case." - -Jurgis had been listening in perplexity. It was only when the -policeman who had him by the arm turned and started to lead him away -that he realized that sentence had been passed. He gazed round him -wildly. "Thirty days!" he panted and then he whirled upon the judge. -"What will my family do?" he cried frantically. "I have a wife and baby, -sir, and they have no money--my God, they will starve to death!" - -"You would have done well to think about them before you committed -the assault," said the judge dryly, as he turned to look at the -next prisoner. - -Jurgis would have spoken again, but the policeman had seized him by -the collar and was twisting it, and a second policeman was making -for him with evidently hostile intentions. So he let them lead -him away. Far down the room he saw Elzbieta and Kotrina, risen from -their seats, staring in fright; he made one effort to go to them, -and then, brought back by another twist at his throat, he bowed his -head and gave up the struggle. They thrust him into a cell room, -where other prisoners were waiting; and as soon as court had adjourned -they led him down with them into the "Black Maria," and drove him away. - -This time Jurgis was bound for the "Bridewell," a petty jail where -Cook County prisoners serve their time. It was even filthier and -more crowded than the county jail; all the smaller fry out of the -latter had been sifted into it--the petty thieves and swindlers, -the brawlers and vagrants. For his cell mate Jurgis had an Italian -fruit seller who had refused to pay his graft to the policeman, -and been arrested for carrying a large pocketknife; as he did not -understand a word of English our friend was glad when he left. -He gave place to a Norwegian sailor, who had lost half an ear in -a drunken brawl, and who proved to be quarrelsome, cursing Jurgis -because he moved in his bunk and caused the roaches to drop upon -the lower one. It would have been quite intolerable, staying in -a cell with this wild beast, but for the fact that all day long -the prisoners were put at work breaking stone. - -Ten days of his thirty Jurgis spent thus, without hearing a word -from his family; then one day a keeper came and informed him that -there was a visitor to see him. Jurgis turned white, and so weak -at the knees that he could hardly leave his cell. - -The man led him down the corridor and a flight of steps to the -visitors' room, which was barred like a cell. Through the grating -Jurgis could see some one sitting in a chair; and as he came into the -room the person started up, and he saw that it was little Stanislovas. -At the sight of some one from home the big fellow nearly went to -pieces--he had to steady himself by a chair, and he put his other hand -to his forehead, as if to clear away a mist. "Well?" he said, weakly. - -Little Stanislovas was also trembling, and all but too frightened -to speak. "They--they sent me to tell you--" he said, with a gulp. - -"Well?" Jurgis repeated. He followed the boy's glance to where the -keeper was standing watching them. "Never mind that," Jurgis cried, -wildly. "How are they?" - -"Ona is very sick," Stanislovas said; "and we are almost starving. -We can't get along; we thought you might be able to help us." - -Jurgis gripped the chair tighter; there were beads of perspiration -on his forehead, and his hand shook. "I--can't help you," he said. - -"Ona lies in her room all day," the boy went on, breathlessly. -"She won't eat anything, and she cries all the time. She won't tell -what is the matter and she won't go to work at all. Then a long time -ago the man came for the rent. He was very cross. He came again -last week. He said he would turn us out of the house. And then Marija--" - -A sob choked Stanislovas, and he stopped. "What's the matter with -Marija?" cried Jurgis. - -"She's cut her hand!" said the boy. "She's cut it bad, this time, -worse than before. She can't work and it's all turning green, -and the company doctor says she may--she may have to have it cut off. -And Marija cries all the time--her money is nearly all gone, too, -and we can't pay the rent and the interest on the house; and we have -no coal and nothing more to eat, and the man at the store, he says--" - -The little fellow stopped again, beginning to whimper. "Go on!" -the other panted in frenzy--"Go on!" - -"I--I will," sobbed Stanislovas. "It's so--so cold all the time. -And last Sunday it snowed again--a deep, deep snow--and I couldn't-- -couldn't get to work." - -"God!" Jurgis half shouted, and he took a step toward the child. -There was an old hatred between them because of the snow--ever since -that dreadful morning when the boy had had his fingers frozen and -Jurgis had had to beat him to send him to work. Now he clenched -his hands, looking as if he would try to break through the grating. -"You little villain," he cried, "you didn't try!" - -"I did--I did!" wailed Stanislovas, shrinking from him in terror. -"I tried all day--two days. Elzbieta was with me, and she couldn't -either. We couldn't walk at all, it was so deep. And we had nothing -to eat, and oh, it was so cold! I tried, and then the third day Ona -went with me--" - -"Ona!" - -"Yes. She tried to get to work, too. She had to. We were all -starving. But she had lost her place--" - -Jurgis reeled, and gave a gasp. "She went back to that place?" -he screamed. "She tried to," said Stanislovas, gazing at him in -perplexity. "Why not, Jurgis?" - -The man breathed hard, three or four times. "Go--on," he panted, -finally. - -"I went with her," said Stanislovas, "but Miss Henderson wouldn't take -her back. And Connor saw her and cursed her. He was still bandaged -up--why did you hit him, Jurgis?" (There was some fascinating mystery -about this, the little fellow knew; but he could get no satisfaction.) - -Jurgis could not speak; he could only stare, his eyes starting out. -"She has been trying to get other work," the boy went on; "but she's -so weak she can't keep up. And my boss would not take me back, -either--Ona says he knows Connor, and that's the reason; they've all -got a grudge against us now. So I've got to go downtown and sell -papers with the rest of the boys and Kotrina--" - -"Kotrina!" - -"Yes, she's been selling papers, too. She does best, because she's -a girl. Only the cold is so bad--it's terrible coming home at night, -Jurgis. Sometimes they can't come home at all--I'm going to try to -find them tonight and sleep where they do, it's so late and it's such -a long ways home. I've had to walk, and I didn't know where it was-- -I don't know how to get back, either. Only mother said I must come, -because you would want to know, and maybe somebody would help your -family when they had put you in jail so you couldn't work. And I -walked all day to get here--and I only had a piece of bread for -breakfast, Jurgis. Mother hasn't any work either, because the -sausage department is shut down; and she goes and begs at houses -with a basket, and people give her food. Only she didn't get much -yesterday; it was too cold for her fingers, and today she was crying--" - -So little Stanislovas went on, sobbing as he talked; and Jurgis stood, -gripping the table tightly, saying not a word, but feeling that his -head would burst; it was like having weights piled upon him, one after -another, crushing the life out of him. He struggled and fought -within himself--as if in some terrible nightmare, in which a man -suffers an agony, and cannot lift his hand, nor cry out, but feels -that he is going mad, that his brain is on fire-- - -Just when it seemed to him that another turn of the screw would -kill him, little Stanislovas stopped. "You cannot help us?" he -said weakly. - -Jurgis shook his head. - -"They won't give you anything here?" - -He shook it again. - -"When are you coming out?" - -"Three weeks yet," Jurgis answered. - -And the boy gazed around him uncertainly. "Then I might as well go," -he said. - -Jurgis nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting, he put his hand into -his pocket and drew it out, shaking. "Here," he said, holding out -the fourteen cents. "Take this to them." - -And Stanislovas took it, and after a little more hesitation, started -for the door. "Good-by, Jurgis," he said, and the other noticed -that he walked unsteadily as he passed out of sight. - -For a minute or so Jurgis stood clinging to his chair, reeling and -swaying; then the keeper touched him on the arm, and he turned and -went back to breaking stone. - - - -Chapter 18 - - -Jurgis did not get out of the Bridewell quite as soon as he had -expected. To his sentence there were added "court costs" of a dollar -and a half--he was supposed to pay for the trouble of putting him -in jail, and not having the money, was obliged to work it off by -three days more of toil. Nobody had taken the trouble to tell him -this--only after counting the days and looking forward to the end -in an agony of impatience, when the hour came that he expected to -be free he found himself still set at the stone heap, and laughed -at when he ventured to protest. Then he concluded he must have -counted wrong; but as another day passed, he gave up all hope-- -and was sunk in the depths of despair, when one morning after -breakfast a keeper came to him with the word that his time was up -at last. So he doffed his prison garb, and put on his old fertilizer -clothing, and heard the door of the prison clang behind him. - -He stood upon the steps, bewildered; he could hardly believe that -it was true,--that the sky was above him again and the open street -before him; that he was a free man. But then the cold began to -strike through his clothes, and he started quickly away. - -There had been a heavy snow, and now a thaw had set in; fine sleety -rain was falling, driven by a wind that pierced Jurgis to the bone. -He had not stopped for his-overcoat when he set out to "do up" Connor, -and so his rides in the patrol wagons had been cruel experiences; -his clothing was old and worn thin, and it never had been very warm. -Now as he trudged on the rain soon wet it through; there were six inches -of watery slush on the sidewalks, so that his feet would soon have -been soaked, even had there been no holes in his shoes. - -Jurgis had had enough to eat in the jail, and the work had been -the least trying of any that he had done since he came to Chicago; -but even so, he had not grown strong--the fear and grief that had -preyed upon his mind had worn him thin. Now he shivered and shrunk -from the rain, hiding his hands in his pockets and hunching his -shoulders together. The Bridewell grounds were on the outskirts -of the city and the country around them was unsettled and wild-- -on one side was the big drainage canal, and on the other a maze of -railroad tracks, and so the wind had full sweep. - -After walking a ways, Jurgis met a little ragamuffin whom he hailed: -"Hey, sonny!" The boy cocked one eye at him--he knew that Jurgis -was a "jailbird" by his shaven head. "Wot yer want?" he queried. - -"How do you go to the stockyards?" Jurgis demanded. - -"I don't go," replied the boy. - -Jurgis hesitated a moment, nonplussed. Then he said, "I mean which -is the way?" - -"Why don't yer say so then?" was the response, and the boy pointed -to the northwest, across the tracks. "That way." - -"How far is it?" Jurgis asked. "I dunno," said the other. -"Mebbe twenty miles or so." - -"Twenty miles!" Jurgis echoed, and his face fell. He had to walk -every foot of it, for they had turned him out of jail without a penny -in his pockets. - -Yet, when he once got started, and his blood had warmed with walking, -he forgot everything in the fever of his thoughts. All the dreadful -imaginations that had haunted him in his cell now rushed into his -mind at once. The agony was almost over--he was going to find out; -and he clenched his hands in his pockets as he strode, following his -flying desire, almost at a run. Ona--the baby--the family--the house-- -he would know the truth about them all! And he was coming to the -rescue--he was free again! His hands were his own, and he could -help them, he could do battle for them against the world. - -For an hour or so he walked thus, and then he began to look about him. -He seemed to be leaving the city altogether. The street was turning -into a country road, leading out to the westward; there were -snow-covered fields on either side of him. Soon he met a farmer -driving a two-horse wagon loaded with straw, and he stopped him. - -"Is this the way to the stockyards?" he asked. - -The farmer scratched his head. "I dunno jest where they be," he said. -"But they're in the city somewhere, and you're going dead away from -it now." - -Jurgis looked dazed. "I was told this was the way," he said. - -"Who told you?" - -"A boy." - -"Well, mebbe he was playing a joke on ye. The best thing ye kin do -is to go back, and when ye git into town ask a policeman. I'd take -ye in, only I've come a long ways an' I'm loaded heavy. Git up!" - -So Jurgis turned and followed, and toward the end of the morning -he began to see Chicago again. Past endless blocks of two-story -shanties he walked, along wooden sidewalks and unpaved pathways -treacherous with deep slush holes. Every few blocks there would be -a railroad crossing on the level with the sidewalk, a deathtrap for -the unwary; long freight trains would be passing, the cars clanking -and crashing together, and Jurgis would pace about waiting, burning up -with a fever of impatience. Occasionally the cars would stop for -some minutes, and wagons and streetcars would crowd together waiting, -the drivers swearing at each other, or hiding beneath umbrellas out -of the rain; at such times Jurgis would dodge under the gates and run -across the tracks and between the cars, taking his life into his hands. - -He crossed a long bridge over a river frozen solid and covered -with slush. Not even on the river bank was the snow white--the rain -which fell was a diluted solution of smoke, and Jurgis' hands and -face were streaked with black. Then he came into the business -part of the city, where the streets were sewers of inky blackness, -with horses sleeping and plunging, and women and children flying -across in panic-stricken droves. These streets were huge canyons -formed by towering black buildings, echoing with the clang of car -gongs and the shouts of drivers; the people who swarmed in them were -as busy as ants--all hurrying breathlessly, never stopping to look at -anything nor at each other. The solitary trampish-looking foreigner, -with water-soaked clothing and haggard face and anxious eyes, was as -much alone as he hurried past them, as much unheeded and as lost, -as if he had been a thousand miles deep in a wilderness. - -A policeman gave him his direction and told him that he had five miles -to go. He came again to the slum districts, to avenues of saloons -and cheap stores, with long dingy red factory buildings, and coalyards -and railroad tracks; and then Jurgis lifted up his head and began -to sniff the air like a startled animal--scenting the far-off odor -of home. It was late afternoon then, and he was hungry, but the dinner -invitations hung out of the saloons were not for him. - -So he came at last to the stockyards, to the black volcanoes of smoke -and the lowing cattle and the stench. Then, seeing a crowded car, -his impatience got the better of him and he jumped aboard, hiding -behind another man, unnoticed by the conductor. In ten minutes more -he had reached his street, and home. - -He was half running as he came round the corner. There was the house, -at any rate--and then suddenly he stopped and stared. What was the -matter with the house? - -Jurgis looked twice, bewildered; then he glanced at the house next -door and at the one beyond--then at the saloon on the corner. -Yes, it was the right place, quite certainly--he had not made -any mistake. But the house--the house was a different color! - -He came a couple of steps nearer. Yes; it had been gray and now it -was yellow! The trimmings around the windows had been red, and now -they were green! It was all newly painted! How strange it made it seem! - -Jurgis went closer yet, but keeping on the other side of the street. -A sudden and horrible spasm of fear had come over him. His knees -were shaking beneath him, and his mind was in a whirl. New paint on -the house, and new weatherboards, where the old had begun to rot off, -and the agent had got after them! New shingles over the hole in -the roof, too, the hole that had for six months been the bane of his -soul--he having no money to have it fixed and no time to fix it himself, -and the rain leaking in, and overflowing the pots and pans he put to -catch it, and flooding the attic and loosening the plaster. And now -it was fixed! And the broken windowpane replaced! And curtains in -the windows! New, white curtains, stiff and shiny! - -Then suddenly the front door opened. Jurgis stood, his chest heaving -as he struggled to catch his breath. A boy had come out, a stranger -to him; a big, fat, rosy-cheeked youngster, such as had never been -seen in his home before. - -Jurgis stared at the boy, fascinated. He came down the steps -whistling, kicking off the snow. He stopped at the foot, and picked -up some, and then leaned against the railing, making a snowball. -A moment later he looked around and saw Jurgis, and their eyes met; -it was a hostile glance, the boy evidently thinking that the other -had suspicions of the snowball. When Jurgis started slowly across -the street toward him, he gave a quick glance about, meditating -retreat, but then he concluded to stand his ground. - -Jurgis took hold of the railing of the steps, for he was a little -unsteady. "What--what are you doing here?" he managed to gasp. - -"Go on!" said the boy. - -"You--" Jurgis tried again. "What do you want here?" - -"Me?" answered the boy, angrily. "I live here." - -"You live here!" Jurgis panted. He turned white and clung more -tightly to the railing. "You live here! Then where's my family?" - -The boy looked surprised. "Your family!" he echoed. - -And Jurgis started toward him. "I--this is my house!" he cried. - -"Come off!" said the boy; then suddenly the door upstairs opened, -and he called: "Hey, ma! Here's a fellow says he owns this house." - -A stout Irishwoman came to the top of the steps. "What's that?" -she demanded. - -Jurgis turned toward her. "Where is my family?" he cried, wildly. -"I left them here! This is my home! What are you doing in my home?" - -The woman stared at him in frightened wonder, she must have thought -she was dealing with a maniac--Jurgis looked like one. "Your home!" -she echoed. - -"My home!" he half shrieked. "I lived here, I tell you." - -"You must be mistaken," she answered him. "No one ever lived here. -This is a new house. They told us so. They--" - -"What have they done with my family?" shouted Jurgis, frantically. - -A light had begun to break upon the woman; perhaps she had had doubts -of what "they" had told her. "I don't know where your family is," -she said. "I bought the house only three days ago, and there was -nobody here, and they told me it was all new. Do you really mean -you had ever rented it?" - -"Rented it!" panted Jurgis. "I bought it! I paid for it! I own it! -And they--my God, can't you tell me where my people went?" - -She made him understand at last that she knew nothing. Jurgis' brain -was so confused that he could not grasp the situation. It was as if -his family had been wiped out of existence; as if they were proving -to be dream people, who never had existed at all. He was quite -lost--but then suddenly he thought of Grandmother Majauszkiene, -who lived in the next block. She would know! He turned and -started at a run. - -Grandmother Majauszkiene came to the door herself. She cried out when -she saw Jurgis, wild-eyed and shaking. Yes, yes, she could tell him. -The family had moved; they had not been able to pay the rent and they -had been turned out into the snow, and the house had been repainted -and sold again the next week. No, she had not heard how they were, -but she could tell him that they had gone back to Aniele Jukniene, -with whom they had stayed when they first came to the yards. -Wouldn't Jurgis come in and rest? It was certainly too bad--if only -he had not got into jail-- - -And so Jurgis turned and staggered away. He did not go very far -round the corner he gave out completely, and sat down on the steps -of a saloon, and hid his face in his hands, and shook all over with dry, -racking sobs. - -Their home! Their home! They had lost it! Grief, despair, rage, -overwhelmed him--what was any imagination of the thing to this -heartbreaking, crushing reality of it--to the sight of strange people -living in his house, hanging their curtains to his windows, staring -at him with hostile eyes! It was monstrous, it was unthinkable-- -they could not do it--it could not be true! Only think what he -had suffered for that house--what miseries they had all suffered -for it--the price they had paid for it! - -The whole long agony came back to him. Their sacrifices in the -beginning, their three hundred dollars that they had scraped -together, all they owned in the world, all that stood between them -and starvation! And then their toil, month by month, to get together -the twelve dollars, and the interest as well, and now and then the -taxes, and the other charges, and the repairs, and what not! Why, -they had put their very souls into their payments on that house, -they had paid for it with their sweat and tears--yes, more, with their -very lifeblood. Dede Antanas had died of the struggle to earn that -money--he would have been alive and strong today if he had not had -to work in Durham's dark cellars to earn his share. And Ona, too, -had given her health and strength to pay for it--she was wrecked and -ruined because of it; and so was he, who had been a big, strong man -three years ago, and now sat here shivering, broken, cowed, weeping -like a hysterical child. Ah! they had cast their all into the fight; -and they had lost, they had lost! All that they had paid was gone-- -every cent of it. And their house was gone--they were back where -they had started from, flung out into the cold to starve and freeze! - -Jurgis could see all the truth now--could see himself, through the -whole long course of events, the victim of ravenous vultures that -had torn into his vitals and devoured him; of fiends that had -racked and tortured him, mocking him, meantime, jeering in his face. -Ah, God, the horror of it, the monstrous, hideous, demoniacal -wickedness of it! He and his family, helpless women and children, -struggling to live, ignorant and defenseless and forlorn as they -were--and the enemies that had been lurking for them, crouching upon -their trail and thirsting for their blood! That first lying circular, -that smooth-tongued slippery agent! That trap of the extra payments, -the interest, and all the other charges that they had not the means -to pay, and would never have attempted to pay! And then all the -tricks of the packers, their masters, the tyrants who ruled them-- -the shutdowns and the scarcity of work, the irregular hours and -the cruel speeding-up, the lowering of wages, the raising of prices! -The mercilessness of nature about them, of heat and cold, rain and snow; -the mercilessness of the city, of the country in which they lived, -of its laws and customs that they did not understand! All of these -things had worked together for the company that had marked them for -its prey and was waiting for its chance. And now, with this last -hideous injustice, its time had come, and it had turned them out -bag and baggage, and taken their house and sold it again! And they -could do nothing, they were tied hand and foot--the law was against -them, the whole machinery of society was at their oppressors' command! -If Jurgis so much as raised a hand against them, back he would go -into that wild-beast pen from which he had just escaped! - -To get up and go away was to give up, to acknowledge defeat, to leave -the strange family in possession; and Jurgis might have sat shivering -in the rain for hours before he could do that, had it not been for -the thought of his family. It might be that he had worse things yet -to learn--and so he got to his feet and started away, walking on, -wearily, half-dazed. - -To Aniele's house, in back of the yards, was a good two miles; -the distance had never seemed longer to Jurgis, and when he saw -the familiar dingy-gray shanty his heart was beating fast. He ran -up the steps and began to hammer upon the door. - -The old woman herself came to open it. She had shrunk all up with -her rheumatism since Jurgis had seen her last, and her yellow -parchment face stared up at him from a little above the level of -the doorknob. She gave a start when she saw him. "Is Ona here?" -he cried, breathlessly. - -"Yes," was the answer, "she's here." - -"How--" Jurgis began, and then stopped short, clutching convulsively -at the side of the door. From somewhere within the house had come -a sudden cry, a wild, horrible scream of anguish. And the voice -was Ona's. For a moment Jurgis stood half-paralyzed with fright; -then he bounded past the old woman and into the room. - -It was Aniele's kitchen, and huddled round the stove were half a -dozen women, pale and frightened. One of them started to her feet -as Jurgis entered; she was haggard and frightfully thin, with one -arm tied up in bandages--he hardly realized that it was Marija. -He looked first for Ona; then, not seeing her, he stared at the women, -expecting them to speak. But they sat dumb, gazing back at him, -panic-stricken; and a second later came another piercing scream. - -It was from the rear of the house, and upstairs. Jurgis bounded to -a door of the room and flung it open; there was a ladder leading -through a trap door to the garret, and he was at the foot of it when -suddenly he heard a voice behind him, and saw Marija at his heels. -She seized him by the sleeve with her good hand, panting wildly, -"No, no, Jurgis! Stop!" - -"What do you mean?" he gasped. - -"You mustn't go up," she cried. - -Jurgis was half-crazed with bewilderment and fright. "What's the -matter?" he shouted. "What is it?" - -Marija clung to him tightly; he could hear Ona sobbing and moaning -above, and he fought to get away and climb up, without waiting for -her reply. "No, no," she rushed on. "Jurgis! You mustn't go up! -It's--it's the child!" - -"The child?" he echoed in perplexity. "Antanas?" - -Marija answered him, in a whisper: "The new one!" - -And then Jurgis went limp, and caught himself on the ladder. He stared -at her as if she were a ghost. "The new one!" he gasped. "But it -isn't time," he added, wildly. - -Marija nodded. "I know," she said; "but it's come." - -And then again came Ona's scream, smiting him like a blow in the face, -making him wince and turn white. Her voice died away into a wail-- -then he heard her sobbing again, "My God--let me die, let me die!" -And Marija hung her arms about him, crying: "Come out! Come away!" - - -She dragged him back into the kitchen, half carrying him, for he had -gone all to pieces. It was as if the pillars of his soul had fallen -in--he was blasted with horror. In the room he sank into a chair, -trembling like a leaf, Marija still holding him, and the women staring -at him in dumb, helpless fright. - -And then again Ona cried out; he could hear it nearly as plainly here, -and he staggered to his feet. "How long has this been going on?" -he panted. - -"Not very long," Marija answered, and then, at a signal from Aniele, -she rushed on: "You go away, Jurgis you can't help--go away and come -back later. It's all right--it's--" - -"Who's with her?" Jurgis demanded; and then, seeing Marija hesitating, -he cried again, "Who's with her?" - -"She's--she's all right," she answered. "Elzbieta's with her." - -"But the doctor!" he panted. "Some one who knows!" - -He seized Marija by the arm; she trembled, and her voice sank beneath -a whisper as she replied, "We--we have no money." Then, frightened -at the look on his face, she exclaimed: "It's all right, Jurgis! -You don't understand--go away--go away! Ah, if you only had waited!" - -Above her protests Jurgis heard Ona again; he was almost out of -his mind. It was all new to him, raw and horrible--it had fallen -upon him like a lightning stroke. When little Antanas was born he -had been at work, and had known nothing about it until it was over; -and now he was not to be controlled. The frightened women were at -their wits' end; one after another they tried to reason with him, -to make him understand that this was the lot of woman. In the end -they half drove him out into the rain, where he began to pace up -and down, bareheaded and frantic. Because he could hear Ona from -the street, he would first go away to escape the sounds, and then -come back because he could not help it. At the end of a quarter -of an hour he rushed up the steps again, and for fear that he would -break in the door they had to open it and let him in. - -There was no arguing with him. They could not tell him that all -was going well--how could they know, he cried--why, she was dying, -she was being torn to pieces! Listen to her--listen! Why, it was -monstrous--it could not be allowed--there must be some help for it! -Had they tried to get a doctor? They might pay him afterward--they -could promise-- - -"We couldn't promise, Jurgis," protested Marija. "We had no money-- -we have scarcely been able to keep alive." - -"But I can work," Jurgis exclaimed. "I can earn money!" - -"Yes," she answered--"but we thought you were in jail. How could we -know when you would return? They will not work for nothing." - -Marija went on to tell how she had tried to find a midwife, and how -they had demanded ten, fifteen, even twenty-five dollars, and that -in cash. "And I had only a quarter," she said. "I have spent every -cent of my money--all that I had in the bank; and I owe the doctor -who has been coming to see me, and he has stopped because he thinks -I don't mean to pay him. And we owe Aniele for two weeks' rent, -and she is nearly starving, and is afraid of being turned out. -We have been borrowing and begging to keep alive, and there is nothing -more we can do--" - -"And the children?" cried Jurgis. - -"The children have not been home for three days, the weather has been -so bad. They could not know what is happening--it came suddenly, -two months before we expected it." - -Jurgis was standing by the table, and he caught himself with his hand; -his head sank and his arms shook--it looked as if he were going to -collapse. Then suddenly Aniele got up and came hobbling toward him, -fumbling in her skirt pocket. She drew out a dirty rag, in one corner -of which she had something tied. - -"Here, Jurgis!" she said, "I have some money. Palauk! See!" - -She unwrapped it and counted it out--thirty-four cents. "You go, now," -she said, "and try and get somebody yourself. And maybe the rest can -help--give him some money, you; he will pay you back some day, and it -will do him good to have something to think about, even if he doesn't -succeed. When he comes back, maybe it will be over." - -And so the other women turned out the contents of their pocketbooks; -most of them had only pennies and nickels, but they gave him all. -Mrs. Olszewski, who lived next door, and had a husband who was a -skilled cattle butcher, but a drinking man, gave nearly half a dollar, -enough to raise the whole sum to a dollar and a quarter. Then Jurgis -thrust it into his pocket, still holding it tightly in his fist, -and started away at a run. - - - -Chapter 19 - - -"Madame Haupt, Hebamme, ran a sign, swinging from a second-story -window over a saloon on the avenue; at a side door was another sign, -with a hand pointing up a dingy flight of stairs. Jurgis went up them, -three at a time. - -Madame Haupt was frying pork and onions, and had her door half open -to let out the smoke. When he tried to knock upon it, it swung open -the rest of the way, and he had a glimpse of her, with a black bottle -turned up to her lips. Then he knocked louder, and she started and -put it away. She was a Dutchwoman, enormously fat--when she walked -she rolled like a small boat on the ocean, and the dishes in the -cupboard jostled each other. She wore a filthy blue wrapper, and her -teeth were black. - -"Vot is it?" she said, when she saw Jurgis. - -He had run like mad all the way and was so out of breath he could -hardly speak. His hair was flying and his eyes wild--he looked -like a man that had risen from the tomb. "My wife!" he panted. -"Come quickly!" Madame Haupt set the frying pan to one side and -wiped her hands on her wrapper. - -"You vant me to come for a case?" she inquired. - -"Yes," gasped Jurgis. - -"I haf yust come back from a case," she said. "I haf had no time to -eat my dinner. Still--if it is so bad--" - -"Yes--it is!" cried he. "Vell, den, perhaps--vot you pay?" - -"I--I--how much do you want?" Jurgis stammered. - -"Tventy-five dollars." His face fell. "I can't pay that," he said. - -The woman was watching him narrowly. "How much do you pay?" she demanded. - -"Must I pay now--right away?" - -"Yes; all my customers do." - -"I--I haven't much money," Jurgis began in an agony of dread. -"I've been in--in trouble--and my money is gone. But I'll pay you-- -every cent--just as soon as I can; I can work--" - -"Vot is your work?" - -"I have no place now. I must get one. But I--" - -"How much haf you got now?" - -He could hardly bring himself to reply. When he said "A dollar and -a quarter," the woman laughed in his face. - -"I vould not put on my hat for a dollar and a quarter," she said. - -"It's all I've got," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I must get -some one--my wife will die. I can't help it--I--" - -Madame Haupt had put back her pork and onions on the stove. She turned -to him and answered, out of the steam and noise: "Git me ten dollars -cash, und so you can pay me the rest next mont'." - -"I can't do it--I haven't got it!" Jurgis protested. "I tell you I -have only a dollar and a quarter." - -The woman turned to her work. "I don't believe you," she said. -"Dot is all to try to sheat me. Vot is de reason a big man like -you has got only a dollar und a quarter?" - -"I've just been in jail," Jurgis cried--he was ready to get down upon -his knees to the woman--"and I had no money before, and my family has -almost starved." - -"Vere is your friends, dot ought to help you?" - -"They are all poor," he answered. "They gave me this. I have done -everything I can--" - -"Haven't you got notting you can sell?" - -"I have nothing, I tell you--I have nothing," he cried, -frantically. - -"Can't you borrow it, den? Don't your store people trust you?" -Then, as he shook his head, she went on: "Listen to me--if you git -me you vill be glad of it. I vill save your wife und baby for you, -and it vill not seem like mooch to you in de end. If you loose dem -now how you tink you feel den? Und here is a lady dot knows her -business--I could send you to people in dis block, und dey vould -tell you--" - -Madame Haupt was pointing her cooking-fork at Jurgis persuasively; -but her words were more than he could bear. He flung up his hands -with a gesture of despair and turned and started away. "It's no use," -he exclaimed--but suddenly he heard the woman's voice behind him again-- - -"I vill make it five dollars for you." - -She followed behind him, arguing with him. "You vill be foolish not -to take such an offer," she said. "You von't find nobody go out on -a rainy day like dis for less. Vy, I haf never took a case in my life -so sheap as dot. I couldn't pay mine room rent--" - -Jurgis interrupted her with an oath of rage. "If I haven't got it," -he shouted, "how can I pay it? Damn it, I would pay you if I could, -but I tell you I haven't got it. I haven't got it! Do you hear me -I haven't got it!" - -He turned and started away again. He was halfway down the stairs -before Madame Haupt could shout to him: "Vait! I vill go mit you! -Come back!" - -He went back into the room again. - -"It is not goot to tink of anybody suffering," she said, in a -melancholy voice. "I might as vell go mit you for noffing as vot -you offer me, but I vill try to help you. How far is it?" - -"Three or four blocks from here." - -"Tree or four! Und so I shall get soaked! Gott in Himmel, it ought -to be vorth more! Vun dollar und a quarter, und a day like dis!-- -But you understand now--you vill pay me de rest of twenty-five -dollars soon?" - -"As soon as I can." - -"Some time dis mont'?" - -"Yes, within a month," said poor Jurgis. "Anything! Hurry up!" - -"Vere is de dollar und a quarter?" persisted Madame Haupt, relentlessly. - -Jurgis put the money on the table and the woman counted it and stowed -it away. Then she wiped her greasy hands again and proceeded to -get ready, complaining all the time; she was so fat that it was -painful for her to move, and she grunted and gasped at every step. -She took off her wrapper without even taking the trouble to turn her -back to Jurgis, and put on her corsets and dress. Then there was -a black bonnet which had to be adjusted carefully, and an umbrella -which was mislaid, and a bag full of necessaries which had to be -collected from here and there--the man being nearly crazy with -anxiety in the meantime. When they were on the street he kept about -four paces ahead of her, turning now and then, as if he could hurry -her on by the force of his desire. But Madame Haupt could only go -so far at a step, and it took all her attention to get the needed -breath for that. - -They came at last to the house, and to the group of frightened women -in the kitchen. It was not over yet, Jurgis learned--he heard Ona -crying still; and meantime Madame Haupt removed her bonnet and laid -it on the mantelpiece, and got out of her bag, first an old dress -and then a saucer of goose grease, which she proceeded to rub upon -her hands. The more cases this goose grease is used in, the better -luck it brings to the midwife, and so she keeps it upon her kitchen -mantelpiece or stowed away in a cupboard with her dirty clothes, -for months, and sometimes even for years. - -Then they escorted her to the ladder, and Jurgis heard her give an -exclamation of dismay. "Gott in Himmel, vot for haf you brought me -to a place like dis? I could not climb up dot ladder. I could not -git troo a trap door! I vill not try it--vy, I might kill myself -already. Vot sort of a place is dot for a woman to bear a child in-- -up in a garret, mit only a ladder to it? You ought to be ashamed of -yourselves!" Jurgis stood in the doorway and listened to her scolding, -half drowning out the horrible moans and screams of Ona. - -At last Aniele succeeded in pacifying her, and she essayed the ascent; -then, however, she had to be stopped while the old woman cautioned -her about the floor of the garret. They had no real floor--they had -laid old boards in one part to make a place for the family to live; -it was all right and safe there, but the other part of the garret had -only the joists of the floor, and the lath and plaster of the ceiling -below, and if one stepped on this there would be a catastrophe. -As it was half dark up above, perhaps one of the others had best go up -first with a candle. Then there were more outcries and threatening, -until at last Jurgis had a vision of a pair of elephantine legs -disappearing through the trap door, and felt the house shake as -Madame Haupt started to walk. Then suddenly Aniele came to him and -took him by the arm. - -"Now," she said, "you go away. Do as I tell you--you have done all -you can, and you are only in the way. Go away and stay away." - -"But where shall I go?" Jurgis asked, helplessly. - -"I don't know where," she answered. "Go on the street, if there is -no other place--only go! And stay all night!" - -In the end she and Marija pushed him out of the door and shut it -behind him. It was just about sundown, and it was turning cold-- -the rain had changed to snow, and the slush was freezing. Jurgis -shivered in his thin clothing, and put his hands into his pockets -and started away. He had not eaten since morning, and he felt weak -and ill; with a sudden throb of hope he recollected he was only a few -blocks from the saloon where he had been wont to eat his dinner. -They might have mercy on him there, or he might meet a friend. He set -out for the place as fast as he could walk. - -"Hello, Jack," said the saloonkeeper, when he entered--they call all -foreigners and unskilled men "Jack" in Packingtown. "Where've you been?" - -Jurgis went straight to the bar. "I've been in jail," he said, -"and I've just got out. I walked home all the way, and I've not -a cent, and had nothing to eat since this morning. And I've lost -my home, and my wife's ill, and I'm done up." - -The saloonkeeper gazed at him, with his haggard white face and -his blue trembling lips. Then he pushed a big bottle toward him. -"Fill her up!" he said. - -Jurgis could hardly hold the bottle, his hands shook so. - -"Don't be afraid," said the saloonkeeper, "fill her up!" - -So Jurgis drank a large glass of whisky, and then turned to the -lunch counter, in obedience to the other's suggestion. He ate all -he dared, stuffing it in as fast as he could; and then, after trying -to speak his gratitude, he went and sat down by the big red stove -in the middle of the room. - -It was too good to last, however--like all things in this hard world. -His soaked clothing began to steam, and the horrible stench of -fertilizer to fill the room. In an hour or so the packing houses -would be closing and the men coming in from their work; and they -would not come into a place that smelt of Jurgis. Also it was -Saturday night, and in a couple of hours would come a violin and -a cornet, and in the rear part of the saloon the families of the -neighborhood would dance and feast upon wienerwurst and lager, -until two or three o'clock in the morning. The saloon-keeper coughed -once or twice, and then remarked, "Say, Jack, I'm afraid you'll have -to quit." - -He was used to the sight of human wrecks, this saloonkeeper; he "fired" -dozens of them every night, just as haggard and cold and forlorn as -this one. But they were all men who had given up and been counted out, -while Jurgis was still in the fight, and had reminders of decency -about him. As he got up meekly, the other reflected that he had -always been a steady man, and might soon be a good customer again. -"You've been up against it, I see," he said. "Come this way." - -In the rear of the saloon were the cellar stairs. There was a door -above and another below, both safely padlocked, making the stairs -an admirable place to stow away a customer who might still chance -to have money, or a political light whom it was not advisable to -kick out of doors. - -So Jurgis spent the night. The whisky had only half warmed him, -and he could not sleep, exhausted as he was; he would nod forward, -and then start up, shivering with the cold, and begin to remember -again. Hour after hour passed, until he could only persuade himself -that it was not morning by the sounds of music and laughter and singing -that were to be heard from the room. When at last these ceased, -he expected that he would be turned out into the street; as this did -not happen, he fell to wondering whether the man had forgotten him. - -In the end, when the silence and suspense were no longer to be borne, -he got up and hammered on the door; and the proprietor came, yawning -and rubbing his eyes. He was keeping open all night, and dozing -between customers. - -"I want to go home," Jurgis said. "I'm worried about my wife--I can't -wait any longer." - -"Why the hell didn't you say so before?" said the man. "I thought -you didn't have any home to go to." Jurgis went outside. It was -four o'clock in the morning, and as black as night. There were three -or four inches of fresh snow on the ground, and the flakes were falling -thick and fast. He turned toward Aniele's and started at a run. - - -There was a light burning in the kitchen window and the blinds -were drawn. The door was unlocked and Jurgis rushed in. - -Aniele, Marija, and the rest of the women were huddled about the stove, -exactly as before; with them were several newcomers, Jurgis noticed-- -also he noticed that the house was silent. - -"Well?" he said. - -No one answered him, they sat staring at him with their pale faces. -He cried again: "Well?" - -And then, by the light of the smoky lamp, he saw Marija who sat -nearest him, shaking her head slowly. "Not yet," she said. - -And Jurgis gave a cry of dismay. "Not yet?" - -Again Marija's head shook. The poor fellow stood dumfounded. "I don't -hear her," he gasped. - -"She's been quiet a long time," replied the other. - -There was another pause--broken suddenly by a voice from the attic: -"Hello, there!" - -Several of the women ran into the next room, while Marija sprang -toward Jurgis. "Wait here!" she cried, and the two stood, pale and -trembling, listening. In a few moments it became clear that Madame -Haupt was engaged in descending the ladder, scolding and exhorting -again, while the ladder creaked in protest. In a moment or two she -reached the ground, angry and breathless, and they heard her coming -into the room. Jurgis gave one glance at her, and then turned white -and reeled. She had her jacket off, like one of the workers on the -killing beds. Her hands and arms were smeared with blood, and blood -was splashed upon her clothing and her face. - -She stood breathing hard, and gazing about her; no one made a sound. -"I haf done my best," she began suddenly. "I can do noffing more-- -dere is no use to try." - -Again there was silence. - -"It ain't my fault," she said. "You had ought to haf had a doctor, -und not vaited so long--it vas too late already ven I come." Once more -there was deathlike stillness. Marija was clutching Jurgis with all -the power of her one well arm. - -Then suddenly Madame Haupt turned to Aniele. "You haf not got -something to drink, hey?" she queried. "Some brandy?" - -Aniele shook her head. - -"Herr Gott!" exclaimed Madame Haupt. "Such people! Perhaps you vill -give me someting to eat den--I haf had noffing since yesterday morning, -und I haf vorked myself near to death here. If I could haf known it -vas like dis, I vould never haf come for such money as you gif me." -At this moment she chanced to look round, and saw Jurgis: She shook -her finger at him. "You understand me," she said, "you pays me dot -money yust de same! It is not my fault dat you send for me so late -I can't help your vife. It is not my fault if der baby comes mit -one arm first, so dot I can't save it. I haf tried all night, -und in dot place vere it is not fit for dogs to be born, und mit -notting to eat only vot I brings in mine own pockets." - -Here Madame Haupt paused for a moment to get her breath; and Marija, -seeing the beads of sweat on Jurgis's forehead, and feeling the -quivering of his frame, broke out in a low voice: "How is Ona?" - -"How is she?" echoed Madame Haupt. "How do you tink she can be ven -you leave her to kill herself so? I told dem dot ven they send for -de priest. She is young, und she might haf got over it, und been -vell und strong, if she had been treated right. She fight hard, -dot girl--she is not yet quite dead." - -And Jurgis gave a frantic scream. "Dead!" - -"She vill die, of course," said the other angrily. "Der baby is -dead now." - -The garret was lighted by a candle stuck upon a board; it had almost -burned itself out, and was sputtering and smoking as Jurgis rushed -up the ladder. He could make out dimly in one corner a pallet of -rags and old blankets, spread upon the floor; at the foot of it was -a crucifix, and near it a priest muttering a prayer. In a far corner -crouched Elzbieta, moaning and wailing. Upon the pallet lay Ona. - -She was covered with a blanket, but he could see her shoulders and -one arm lying bare; she was so shrunken he would scarcely have known -her--she was all but a skeleton, and as white as a piece of chalk. -Her eyelids were closed, and she lay still as death. He staggered -toward her and fell upon his knees with a cry of anguish: "Ona! Ona!" - -She did not stir. He caught her hand in his, and began to clasp it -frantically, calling: "Look at me! Answer me! It is Jurgis come -back--don't you hear me?" - -There was the faintest quivering of the eyelids, and he called again -in frenzy: "Ona! Ona!" - -Then suddenly her eyes opened one instant. One instant she looked -at him--there was a flash of recognition between them, he saw her -afar off, as through a dim vista, standing forlorn. He stretched out -his arms to her, he called her in wild despair; a fearful yearning -surged up in him, hunger for her that was agony, desire that was a -new being born within him, tearing his heartstrings, torturing him. -But it was all in vain--she faded from him, she slipped back and -was gone. And a wail of anguish burst from him, great sobs shook -all his frame, and hot tears ran down his cheeks and fell upon her. -He clutched her hands, he shook her, he caught her in his arms and -pressed her to him but she lay cold and still--she was gone--she was gone! - -The word rang through him like the sound of a bell, echoing in the far -depths of him, making forgotten chords to vibrate, old shadowy fears -to stir--fears of the dark, fears of the void, fears of annihilation. -She was dead! She was dead! He would never see her again, never hear -her again! An icy horror of loneliness seized him; he saw himself -standing apart and watching all the world fade away from him--a world -of shadows, of fickle dreams. He was like a little child, in his -fright and grief; he called and called, and got no answer, and his -cries of despair echoed through the house, making the women downstairs -draw nearer to each other in fear. He was inconsolable, beside -himself--the priest came and laid his hand upon his shoulder and -whispered to him, but he heard not a sound. He was gone away himself, -stumbling through the shadows, and groping after the soul that had fled. - - -So he lay. The gray dawn came up and crept into the attic. -The priest left, the women left, and he was alone with the still, -white figure--quieter now, but moaning and shuddering, wrestling with -the grisly fiend. Now and then he would raise himself and stare at -the white mask before him, then hide his eyes because he could not -bear it. Dead! dead! And she was only a girl, she was barely -eighteen! Her life had hardly begun--and here she lay murdered-- -mangled, tortured to death! - -It was morning when he rose up and came down into the kitchen-- -haggard and ashen gray, reeling and dazed. More of the neighbors -had come in, and they stared at him in silence as he sank down upon -a chair by the table and buried his face in his arms. - -A few minutes later the front door opened; a blast of cold and snow -rushed in, and behind it little Kotrina, breathless from running, -and blue with the cold. "I'm home again!" she exclaimed. "I could -hardly--" - -And then, seeing Jurgis, she stopped with an exclamation. Looking -from one to another she saw that something had happened, and she asked, -in a lower voice: "What's the matter?" - -Before anyone could reply, Jurgis started up; he went toward her, -walking unsteadily. "Where have you been?" he demanded. - -"Selling papers with the boys," she said. "The snow--" - -"Have you any money?" he demanded. - -"Yes." - -"How much?" - -"Nearly three dollars, Jurgis." - -"Give it to me." - -Kotrina, frightened by his manner, glanced at the others. "Give it -to me!" he commanded again, and she put her hand into her pocket and -pulled out a lump of coins tied in a bit of rag. Jurgis took it -without a word, and went out of the door and down the street. - -Three doors away was a saloon. "Whisky," he said, as he entered, -and as the man pushed him some, he tore at the rag with his teeth -and pulled out half a dollar. "How much is the bottle?" he said. -"I want to get drunk." - - - -Chapter 20 - - -But a big man cannot stay drunk very long on three dollars. That was -Sunday morning, and Monday night Jurgis came home, sober and sick, -realizing that he had spent every cent the family owned, and had not -bought a single instant's forgetfulness with it. - -Ona was not yet buried; but the police had been notified, and on the -morrow they would put the body in a pine coffin and take it to the -potter's field. Elzbieta was out begging now, a few pennies from -each of the neighbors, to get enough to pay for a mass for her; -and the children were upstairs starving to death, while he, -good-for-nothing rascal, had been spending their money on drink. -So spoke Aniele, scornfully, and when he started toward the fire -she added the information that her kitchen was no longer for him -to fill with his phosphate stinks. She had crowded all her boarders -into one room on Ona's account, but now he could go up in the garret -where he belonged--and not there much longer, either, if he did not -pay her some rent. - -Jurgis went without a word, and, stepping over half a dozen sleeping -boarders in the next room, ascended the ladder. It was dark up above; -they could not afford any light; also it was nearly as cold as outdoors. -In a corner, as far away from the corpse as possible, sat Marija, -holding little Antanas in her one good arm and trying to soothe him -to sleep. In another corner crouched poor little Juozapas, wailing -because he had had nothing to eat all day. Marija said not a word -to Jurgis; he crept in like a whipped cur, and went and sat down -by the body. - -Perhaps he ought to have meditated upon the hunger of the children, -and upon his own baseness; but he thought only of Ona, he gave himself -up again to the luxury of grief. He shed no tears, being ashamed -to make a sound; he sat motionless and shuddering with his anguish. -He had never dreamed how much he loved Ona, until now that she was gone; -until now that he sat here, knowing that on the morrow they would -take her away, and that he would never lay eyes upon her again--never -all the days of his life. His old love, which had been starved -to death, beaten to death, awoke in him again; the floodgates of -memory were lifted--he saw all their life together, saw her as he -had seen her in Lithuania, the first day at the fair, beautiful as -the flowers, singing like a bird. He saw her as he had married her, -with all her tenderness, with her heart of wonder; the very words -she had spoken seemed to ring now in his ears, the tears she had shed -to be wet upon his cheek. The long, cruel battle with misery and -hunger had hardened and embittered him, but it had not changed her-- -she had been the same hungry soul to the end, stretching out her arms -to him, pleading with him, begging him for love and tenderness. -And she had suffered--so cruelly she had suffered, such agonies, -such infamies--ah, God, the memory of them was not to be borne. -What a monster of wickedness, of heartlessness, he had been! -Every angry word that he had ever spoken came back to him and cut -him like a knife; every selfish act that he had done--with what -torments he paid for them now! And such devotion and awe as welled -up in his soul--now that it could never be spoken, now that it was -too late, too late! His bosom-was choking with it, bursting with it; -he crouched here in the darkness beside her, stretching out his arms -to her--and she was gone forever, she was dead! He could have -screamed aloud with the horror and despair of it; a sweat of agony -beaded his forehead, yet he dared not make a sound--he scarcely dared -to breathe, because of his shame and loathing of himself. - -Late at night came Elzbieta, having gotten the money for a mass, -and paid for it in advance, lest she should be tempted too sorely -at home. She brought also a bit of stale rye bread that some one -had given her, and with that they quieted the children and got them -to sleep. Then she came over to Jurgis and sat down beside him. - -She said not a word of reproach--she and Marija had chosen that -course before; she would only plead with him, here by the corpse of -his dead wife. Already Elzbieta had choked down her tears, grief -being crowded out of her soul by fear. She had to bury one of her -children--but then she had done it three times before, and each time -risen up and gone back to take up the battle for the rest. Elzbieta -was one of the primitive creatures: like the angleworm, which goes -on living though cut in half; like a hen, which, deprived of her -chickens one by one, will mother the last that is left her. She did -this because it was her nature--she asked no questions about the -justice of it, nor the worth-whileness of life in which destruction -and death ran riot. - -And this old common-sense view she labored to impress upon Jurgis, -pleading with him with tears in her eyes. Ona was dead, but the -others were left and they must be saved. She did not ask for her -own children. She and Marija could care for them somehow, but there -was Antanas, his own son. Ona had given Antanas to him--the little -fellow was the only remembrance of her that he had; he must treasure -it and protect it, he must show himself a man. He knew what Ona would -have had him do, what she would ask of him at this moment, if she -could speak to him. It was a terrible thing that she should have -died as she had; but the life had been too hard for her, and she -had to go. It was terrible that they were not able to bury her, -that he could not even have a day to mourn her--but so it was. -Their fate was pressing; they had not a cent, and the children would -perish--some money must be had. Could he not be a man for Ona's sake, -and pull himself together? In a little while they would be out of -danger--now that they had given up the house they could live more -cheaply, and with all the children working they could get along, -if only he would not go to pieces. So Elzbieta went on, with feverish -intensity. It was a struggle for life with her; she was not afraid -that Jurgis would go on drinking, for he had no money for that, -but she was wild with dread at the thought that he might desert them, -might take to the road, as Jonas had done. - -But with Ona's dead body beneath his eyes, Jurgis could not well -think of treason to his child. Yes, he said, he would try, for the -sake of Antanas. He would give the little fellow his chance--would -get to work at once, yes, tomorrow, without even waiting for Ona to be -buried. They might trust him, he would keep his word, come what might. - -And so he was out before daylight the next morning, headache, -heartache, and all. He went straight to Graham's fertilizer mill, -to see if he could get back his job. But the boss shook his head -when he saw him--no, his place had been filled long ago, and there -was no room for him. - -"Do you think there will be?" Jurgis asked. "I may have to wait." - -"No," said the other, "it will not be worth your while to wait--there -will be nothing for you here." - -Jurgis stood gazing at him in perplexity. "What is the matter?" -he asked. "Didn't I do my work?" - -The other met his look with one of cold indifference, and answered, -"There will be nothing for you here, I said." - -Jurgis had his suspicions as to the dreadful meaning of that incident, -and he went away with a sinking at the heart. He went and took his -stand with the mob of hungry wretches who were standing about in -the snow before the time station. Here he stayed, breakfastless, -for two hours, until the throng was driven away by the clubs of -the police. There was no work for him that day. - -Jurgis had made a good many acquaintances in his long services at the -yards--there were saloonkeepers who would trust him for a drink and a -sandwich, and members of his old union who would lend him a dime at -a pinch. It was not a question of life and death for him, therefore; -he might hunt all day, and come again on the morrow, and try hanging -on thus for weeks, like hundreds and thousands of others. Meantime, -Teta Elzbieta would go and beg, over in the Hyde Park district, -and the children would bring home enough to pacify Aniele, and keep -them all alive. - -It was at the end of a week of this sort of waiting, roaming about -in the bitter winds or loafing in saloons, that Jurgis stumbled on -a chance in one of the cellars of Jones's big packing plant. He saw -a foreman passing the open doorway, and hailed him for a job. - -"Push a truck?" inquired the man, and Jurgis answered, "Yes, sir!" -before the words were well out of his mouth. - -"What's your name?" demanded the other. - -"Jurgis Rudkus." - -"Worked in the yards before?" - -"Yes." - -"Whereabouts?" - -"Two places--Brown's killing beds and Durham's fertilizer mill." - -"Why did you leave there?" - -"The first time I had an accident, and the last time I was sent up -for a month." - -"I see. Well, I'll give you a trial. Come early tomorrow and ask -for Mr. Thomas." - -So Jurgis rushed home with the wild tidings that he had a job--that -the terrible siege was over. The remnants of the family had quite -a celebration that night; and in the morning Jurgis was at the place -half an hour before the time of opening. The foreman came in shortly -afterward, and when he saw Jurgis he frowned. - -"Oh," he said, "I promised you a job, didn't I?" - -"Yes, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Well, I'm sorry, but I made a mistake. I can't use you." - -Jurgis stared, dumfounded. "What's the matter?" he gasped. - -"Nothing," said the man, "only I can't use you." - -There was the same cold, hostile stare that he had had from the boss -of the fertilizer mill. He knew that there was no use in saying -a word, and he turned and went away. - -Out in the saloons the men could tell him all about the meaning of it; -they gazed at him with pitying eyes--poor devil, he was blacklisted! -What had he done? they asked--knocked down his boss? Good heavens, -then he might have known! Why, he stood as much chance of getting -a job in Packingtown as of being chosen mayor of Chicago. Why had -he wasted his time hunting? They had him on a secret list in every -office, big and little, in the place. They had his name by this time -in St. Louis and New York, in Omaha and Boston, in Kansas City and -St. Joseph. He was condemned and sentenced, without trial and -without appeal; he could never work for the packers again--he could -not even clean cattle pens or drive a truck in any place where they -controlled. He might try it, if he chose, as hundreds had tried it, -and found out for themselves. He would never be told anything about it; -he would never get any more satisfaction than he had gotten just now; -but he would always find when the time came that he was not needed. -It would not do for him to give any other name, either--they had -company "spotters" for just that purpose, and he wouldn't keep a job -in Packingtown three days. It was worth a fortune to the packers to -keep their blacklist effective, as a warning to the men and a means -of keeping down union agitation and political discontent. - -Jurgis went home, carrying these new tidings to the family council. -It was a most cruel thing; here in this district was his home, -such as it was, the place he was used to and the friends he knew-- -and now every possibility of employment in it was closed to him. -There was nothing in Packingtown but packing houses; and so it was -the same thing as evicting him from his home. - -He and the two women spent all day and half the night discussing it. -It would be convenient, downtown, to the children's place of work; -but then Marija was on the road to recovery, and had hopes of getting -a job in the yards; and though she did not see her old-time lover -once a month, because of the misery of their state, yet she could -not make up her mind to go away and give him up forever. Then, too, -Elzbieta had heard something about a chance to scrub floors in -Durham's offices and was waiting every day for word. In the end -it was decided that Jurgis should go downtown to strike out for -himself, and they would decide after he got a job. As there was -no one from whom he could borrow there, and he dared not beg for -fear of being arrested, it was arranged that every day he should -meet one of the children and be given fifteen cents of their earnings, -upon which he could keep going. Then all day he was to pace the -streets with hundreds and thousands of other homeless wretches -inquiring at stores, warehouses, and factories for a chance; and at -night he was to crawl into some doorway or underneath a truck, -and hide there until midnight, when he might get into one of the -station houses, and spread a newspaper upon the floor, and lie down -in the midst of a throng of "bums" and beggars, reeking with alcohol -and tobacco, and filthy with vermin and disease. - - -So for two weeks more Jurgis fought with the demon of despair. -Once he got a chance to load a truck for half a day, and again he -carried an old woman's valise and was given a quarter. This let -him into a lodginghouse on several nights when he might otherwise -have frozen to death; and it also gave him a chance now and then -to buy a newspaper in the morning and hunt up jobs while his rivals -were watching and waiting for a paper to be thrown away. This, however, -was really not the advantage it seemed, for the newspaper advertisements -were a cause of much loss of precious time and of many weary journeys. -A full half of these were "fakes," put in by the endless variety of -establishments which preyed upon the helpless ignorance of the -unemployed. If Jurgis lost only his time, it was because he had -nothing else to lose; whenever a smooth-tongued agent would tell -him of the wonderful positions he had on hand, he could only shake -his head sorrowfully and say that he had not the necessary dollar -to deposit; when it was explained to him what "big money" he and all -his family could make by coloring photographs, he could only promise -to come in again when he had two dollars to invest in the outfit. - -In the end Jurgis got a chance through an accidental meeting with -an old-time acquaintance of his union days. He met this man on his -way to work in the giant factories of the Harvester Trust; and his -friend told him to come along and he would speak a good word for him -to his boss, whom he knew well. So Jurgis trudged four or five miles, -and passed through a waiting throng of unemployed at the gate under -the escort of his friend. His knees nearly gave way beneath him when -the foreman, after looking him over and questioning him, told him -that he could find an opening for him. - -How much this accident meant to Jurgis he realized only by stages; -for he found that the harvester works were the sort of place to -which philanthropists and reformers pointed with pride. It had -some thought for its employees; its workshops were big and roomy, -it provided a restaurant where the workmen could buy good food -at cost, it had even a reading room, and decent places where its -girl-hands could rest; also the work was free from many of the -elements of filth and repulsiveness that prevailed at the stockyards. -Day after day Jurgis discovered these things--things never expected -nor dreamed of by him--until this new place came to seem a kind of -a heaven to him. - -It was an enormous establishment, covering a hundred and sixty acres -of ground, employing five thousand people, and turning out over -three hundred thousand machines every year--a good part of all the -harvesting and mowing machines used in the country. Jurgis saw very -little of it, of course--it was all specialized work, the same as at -the stockyards; each one of the hundreds of parts of a mowing machine -was made separately, and sometimes handled by hundreds of men. -Where Jurgis worked there was a machine which cut and stamped a -certain piece of steel about two square inches in size; the pieces -came tumbling out upon a tray, and all that human hands had to do -was to pile them in regular rows, and change the trays at intervals. -This was done by a single boy, who stood with eyes and thought -centered upon it, and fingers flying so fast that the sounds of the -bits of steel striking upon each other was like the music of an -express train as one hears it in a sleeping car at night. This was -"piece-work," of course; and besides it was made certain that the boy -did not idle, by setting the machine to match the highest possible -speed of human hands. Thirty thousand of these pieces he handled -every day, nine or ten million every year--how many in a lifetime -it rested with the gods to say. Near by him men sat bending over -whirling grindstones, putting the finishing touches to the steel -knives of the reaper; picking them out of a basket with the right -hand, pressing first one side and then the other against the stone -and finally dropping them with the left hand into another basket. -One of these men told Jurgis that he had sharpened three thousand -pieces of steel a day for thirteen years. In the next room were -wonderful machines that ate up long steel rods by slow stages, -cutting them off, seizing the pieces, stamping heads upon them, -grinding them and polishing them, threading them, and finally -dropping them into a basket, all ready to bolt the harvesters -together. From yet another machine came tens of thousands of steel -burs to fit upon these bolts. In other places all these various -parts were dipped into troughs of paint and hung up to dry, and then -slid along on trolleys to a room where men streaked them with red -and yellow, so that they might look cheerful in the harvest fields. - -Jurgis's friend worked upstairs in the casting rooms, and his task -was to make the molds of a certain part. He shoveled black sand -into an iron receptacle and pounded it tight and set it aside to -harden; then it would be taken out, and molten iron poured into it. -This man, too, was paid by the mold--or rather for perfect castings, -nearly half his work going for naught. You might see him, along with -dozens of others, toiling like one possessed by a whole community -of demons; his arms working like the driving rods of an engine, -his long, black hair flying wild, his eyes starting out, the sweat -rolling in rivers down his face. When he had shoveled the mold full -of sand, and reached for the pounder to pound it with, it was after -the manner of a canoeist running rapids and seizing a pole at sight -of a submerged rock. All day long this man would toil thus, his whole -being centered upon the purpose of making twenty-three instead of -twenty-two and a half cents an hour; and then his product would be -reckoned up by the census taker, and jubilant captains of industry -would boast of it in their banquet halls, telling how our workers -are nearly twice as efficient as those of any other country. If we -are the greatest nation the sun ever shone upon, it would seem to be -mainly because we have been able to goad our wage-earners to this -pitch of frenzy; though there are a few other things that are great -among us including our drink-bill, which is a billion and a quarter -of dollars a year, and doubling itself every decade. - - -There was a machine which stamped out the iron plates, and then -another which, with a mighty thud, mashed them to the shape of the -sitting-down portion of the American farmer. Then they were piled -upon a truck, and it was Jurgis's task to wheel them to the room -where the machines were "assembled." This was child's play for him, -and he got a dollar and seventy-five cents a day for it; on Saturday -he paid Aniele the seventy-five cents a week he owed her for the use -of her garret, and also redeemed his overcoat, which Elzbieta had -put in pawn when he was in jail. - -This last was a great blessing. A man cannot go about in midwinter -in Chicago with no overcoat and not pay for it, and Jurgis had to -walk or ride five or six miles back and forth to his work. lt so -happened that half of this was in one direction and half in another, -necessitating a change of cars; the law required that transfers be -given at all intersecting points, but the railway corporation had -gotten round this by arranging a pretense at separate ownership. -So whenever he wished to ride, he had to pay ten cents each way, -or over ten per cent of his income to this power, which had gotten -its franchises long ago by buying up the city council, in the face -of popular clamor amounting almost to a rebellion. Tired as he felt -at night, and dark and bitter cold as it was in the morning, Jurgis -generally chose to walk; at the hours other workmen were traveling, -the streetcar monopoly saw fit to put on so few cars that there -would be men hanging to every foot of the backs of them and often -crouching upon the snow-covered roof. Of course the doors could -never be closed, and so the cars were as cold as outdoors; Jurgis, -like many others, found it better to spend his fare for a drink and -a free lunch, to give him strength to walk. - -These, however, were all slight matters to a man who had escaped from -Durham's fertilizer mill. Jurgis began to pick up heart again and -to make plans. He had lost his house but then the awful load of -the rent and interest was off his shoulders, and when Marija was -well again they could start over and save. In the shop where he -worked was a man, a Lithuanian like himself, whom the others spoke -of in admiring whispers, because of the mighty feats he was performing. -All day he sat at a machine turning bolts; and then in the evening -he went to the public school to study English and learn to read. -In addition, because he had a family of eight children to support -and his earnings were not enough, on Saturdays and Sundays he served -as a watchman; he was required to press two buttons at opposite ends -of a building every five minutes, and as the walk only took him two -minutes, he had three minutes to study between each trip. Jurgis felt -jealous of this fellow; for that was the sort of thing he himself -had dreamed of, two or three years ago. He might do it even yet, -if he had a fair chance--he might attract attention and become -a skilled man or a boss, as some had done in this place. Suppose -that Marija could get a job in the big mill where they made binder -twine--then they would move into this neighborhood, and he would -really have a chance. With a hope like that, there was some use -in living; to find a place where you were treated like a human being-- -by God! he would show them how he could appreciate it. He laughed -to himself as he thought how he would hang on to this job! - -And then one afternoon, the ninth of his work in the place, when he -went to get his overcoat he saw a group of men crowded before a -placard on the door, and when he went over and asked what it was, -they told him that beginning with the morrow his department of the -harvester works would be closed until further notice! - - - - -Chapter 21 - - -That was the way they did it! There was not half an hour's -warning--the works were closed! It had happened that way before, -said the men, and it would happen that way forever. They had -made all the harvesting machines that the world needed, and now -they had to wait till some wore out! It was nobody's fault-- -that was the way of it; and thousands of men and women were turned out -in the dead of winter, to live upon their savings if they had -any, and otherwise to die. So many tens of thousands already in -the city, homeless and begging for work, and now several thousand -more added to them! - -Jurgis walked home-with his pittance of pay in his pocket, -heartbroken, overwhelmed. One more bandage had been torn from -his eyes, one more pitfall was revealed to him! Of what help was -kindness and decency on the part of employers--when they could -not keep a job for him, when there were more harvesting machines -made than the world was able to buy! What a hellish mockery it -was, anyway, that a man should slave to make harvesting machines -for the country, only to be turned out to starve for doing his -duty too well! - -It took him two days to get over this heartsickening -disappointment. He did not drink anything, because Elzbieta got -his money for safekeeping, and knew him too well to be in the -least frightened by his angry demands. He stayed up in the -garret however, and sulked--what was the use of a man's hunting a -job when it was taken from him before he had time to learn the -work? But then their money was going again, and little Antanas -was hungry, and crying with the bitter cold of the garret. -Also Madame Haupt, the midwife, was after him for some money. -So he went out once more. - -For another ten days he roamed the streets and alleys of the huge -city, sick and hungry, begging for any work. He tried in stores -and offices, in restaurants and hotels, along the docks and in -the railroad yards, in warehouses and mills and factories where -they made products that went to every corner of the world. There -were often one or two chances--but there were always a hundred -men for every chance, and his turn would not come. At night he -crept into sheds and cellars and doorways--until there came a -spell of belated winter weather, with a raging gale, and the -thermometer five degrees below zero at sundown and falling all -night. Then Jurgis fought like a wild beast to get into the big -Harrison Street police station, and slept down in a corridor, -crowded with two other men upon a single step. - -He had to fight often in these days to fight for a place near the -factory gates, and now and again with gangs on the street. He -found, for instance, that the business of carrying satchels for -railroad passengers was a pre-empted one--whenever he essayed it, -eight or ten men and boys would fall upon him and force him to -run for his life. They always had the policeman "squared," and -so there was no use in expecting protection. - -That Jurgis did not starve to death was due solely to the -pittance the children brought him. And even this was never -certain. For one thing the cold was almost more than the -children could bear; and then they, too, were in perpetual peril -from rivals who plundered and beat them. The law was against -them, too--little Vilimas, who was really eleven, but did not -look to be eight, was stopped on the streets by a severe old lady -in spectacles, who told him that he was too young to be working -and that if he did not stop selling papers she would send a -truant officer after him. Also one night a strange man caught -little Kotrina by the arm and tried to persuade her into a dark -cellarway, an experience which filled her with such terror that -she was hardly to be kept at work. - -At last, on a Sunday, as there was no use looking for work, -Jurgis went home by stealing rides on the cars. He found that -they had been waiting for him for three days--there was a chance -of a job for him. - -It was quite a story. Little Juozapas, who was near crazy with -hunger these days, had gone out on the street to beg for himself. -Juozapas had only one leg, having been run over by a wagon when a -little child, but he had got himself a broomstick, which he put -under his arm for a crutch. He had fallen in with some other -children and found the way to Mike Scully's dump, which lay three -or four blocks away. To this place there came every day many -hundreds of wagonloads of garbage and trash from the lake front, -where the rich people lived; and in the heaps the children raked -for food--there were hunks of bread and potato peelings and apple -cores and meat bones, all of it half frozen and quite unspoiled. -Little Juozapas gorged himself, and came home with a newspaper -full, which he was feeding to Antanas when his mother came in. -Elzbieta was horrified, for she did not believe that the food out -of the dumps was fit to eat. The next day, however, when no harm -came of it and Juozapas began to cry with hunger, she gave in and -said that he might go again. And that afternoon he came home -with a story of how while he had been digging away with a stick, -a lady upon the street had called him. A real fine lady, -the little boy explained, a beautiful lady; and she wanted to know -all about him, and whether he got the garbage for chickens, -and why he walked with a broomstick, and why Ona had died, and how -Jurgis had come to go to jail, and what was the matter with -Marija, and everything. In the end she had asked where he lived, -and said that she was coming to see him, and bring him a new -crutch to walk with. She had on a hat with a bird upon it, -Juozapas added, and a long fur snake around her neck. - -She really came, the very next morning, and climbed the ladder to -the garret, and stood and stared about her, turning pale at the -sight of the blood stains on the floor where Ona had died. She -was a "settlement worker," she explained to Elzbieta--she lived -around on Ashland Avenue. Elzbieta knew the place, over a feed -store; somebody had wanted her to go there, but she had not cared -to, for she thought that it must have something to do with -religion, and the priest did not like her to have anything to do -with strange religions. They were rich people who came to live -there to find out about the poor people; but what good they -expected it would do them to know, one could not imagine. So -spoke Elzbieta, naively, and the young lady laughed and was -rather at a loss for an answer--she stood and gazed about her, -and thought of a cynical remark that had been made to her, that -she was standing upon the brink of the pit of hell and throwing -in snowballs to lower the temperature. - -Elzbieta was glad to have somebody to listen, and she told all -their woes--what had happened to Ona, and the jail, and the loss -of their home, and Marija's accident, and how Ona had died, and -how Jurgis could get no work. As she listened the pretty young -lady's eyes filled with tears, and in the midst of it she burst -into weeping and hid her face on Elzbieta's shoulder, quite -regardless of the fact that the woman had on a dirty old wrapper -and that the garret was full of fleas. Poor Elzbieta was ashamed -of herself for having told so woeful a tale, and the other had to -beg and plead with her to get her to go on. The end of it was -that the young lady sent them a basket of things to eat, and left -a letter that Jurgis was to take to a gentleman who was -superintendent in one of the mills of the great steelworks in -South Chicago. "He will get Jurgis something to do," the young -lady had said, and added, smiling through her tears--"If he -doesn't, he will never marry me." - -The steel-works were fifteen miles away, and as usual it was so -contrived that one had to pay two fares to get there. Far and -wide the sky was flaring with the red glare that leaped from rows -of towering chimneys--for it was pitch dark when Jurgis arrived. -The vast works, a city in themselves, were surrounded by a -stockade; and already a full hundred men were waiting at the gate -where new hands were taken on. Soon after daybreak whistles -began to blow, and then suddenly thousands of men appeared, -streaming from saloons and boardinghouses across the way, leaping -from trolley cars that passed--it seemed as if they rose out of -the ground, in the dim gray light. A river of them poured in -through the gate--and then gradually ebbed away again, until -there were only a few late ones running, and the watchman pacing -up and down, and the hungry strangers stamping and shivering. - -Jurgis presented his precious letter. The gatekeeper was surly, -and put him through a catechism, but he insisted that he knew -nothing, and as he had taken the precaution to seal his letter, -there was nothing for the gatekeeper to do but send it to the -person to whom it was addressed. A messenger came back to say -that Jurgis should wait, and so he came inside of the gate, -perhaps not sorry enough that there were others less fortunate -watching him with greedy eyes. The great mills were getting -under way--one could hear a vast stirring, a rolling and rumbling -and hammering. Little by little the scene grew plain: towering, -black buildings here and there, long rows of shops and sheds, -little railways branching everywhere, bare gray cinders underfoot -and oceans of billowing black smoke above. On one side of the -grounds ran a railroad with a dozen tracks, and on the other side -lay the lake, where steamers came to load. - -Jurgis had time enough to stare and speculate, for it was two -hours before he was summoned. He went into the office building, -where a company timekeeper interviewed him. The superintendent -was busy, he said, but he (the timekeeper) would try to find -Jurgis a job. He had never worked in a steel mill before? But -he was ready for anything? Well, then, they would go and see. - -So they began a tour, among sights that made Jurgis stare amazed. -He wondered if ever he could get used to working in a place like -this, where the air shook with deafening thunder, and whistles -shrieked warnings on all sides of him at once; where miniature -steam engines came rushing upon him, and sizzling, quivering, -white-hot masses of metal sped past him, and explosions of fire -and flaming sparks dazzled him and scorched his face. Then men -in these mills were all black with soot, and hollow-eyed and -gaunt; they worked with fierce intensity, rushing here and there, -and never lifting their eyes from their tasks. Jurgis clung to -his guide like a scared child to its nurse, and while the latter -hailed one foreman after another to ask if they could use another -unskilled man, he stared about him and marveled. - -He was taken to the Bessemer furnace, where they made billets of -steel--a domelike building, the size of a big theater. Jurgis -stood where the balcony of the theater would have been, -and opposite, by the stage, he saw three giant caldrons, big enough -for all the devils of hell to brew their broth in, full of -something white and blinding, bubbling and splashing, roaring as -if volcanoes were blowing through it--one had to shout to be -heard in the place. Liquid fire would leap from these caldrons -and scatter like bombs below--and men were working there, seeming -careless, so that Jurgis caught his breath with fright. Then a -whistle would toot, and across the curtain of the theater would -come a little engine with a carload of something to be dumped -into one of the receptacles; and then another whistle would toot, -down by the stage, and another train would back up--and suddenly, -without an instant's warning, one of the giant kettles began to -tilt and topple, flinging out a jet of hissing, roaring flame. -Jurgis shrank back appalled, for he thought it was an accident; -there fell a pillar of white flame, dazzling as the sun, swishing -like a huge tree falling in the forest. A torrent of sparks -swept all the way across the building, overwhelming everything, -hiding it from sight; and then Jurgis looked through the fingers -of his hands, and saw pouring out of the caldron a cascade of -living, leaping fire, white with a whiteness not of earth, -scorching the eyeballs. Incandescent rainbows shone above it, -blue, red, and golden lights played about it; but the stream -itself was white, ineffable. Out of regions of wonder it -streamed, the very river of life; and the soul leaped up at the -sight of it, fled back upon it, swift and resistless, back into -far-off lands, where beauty and terror dwell. Then the great -caldron tilted back again, empty, and Jurgis saw to his relief -that no one was hurt, and turned and followed his guide out into -the sunlight. - -They went through the blast furnaces, through rolling mills where -bars of steel were tossed about and chopped like bits of cheese. -All around and above giant machine arms were flying, giant wheels -were turning, great hammers crashing; traveling cranes creaked -and groaned overhead, reaching down iron hands and seizing iron -prey--it was like standing in the center of the earth, where the -machinery of time was revolving. - -By and by they came to the place where steel rails were made; and -Jurgis heard a toot behind him, and jumped out of the way of a -car with a white-hot ingot upon it, the size of a man's body. -There was a sudden crash and the car came to a halt, and the -ingot toppled out upon a moving platform, where steel fingers and -arms seized hold of it, punching it and prodding it into place, -and hurrying it into the grip of huge rollers. Then it came out -upon the other side, and there were more crashings and -clatterings, and over it was flopped, like a pancake on a -gridiron, and seized again and rushed back at you through another -squeezer. So amid deafening uproar it clattered to and fro, -growing thinner and flatter and longer. The ingot seemed almost -a living thing; it did not want to run this mad course, but it -was in the grip of fate, it was tumbled on, screeching and -clanking and shivering in protest. By and by it was long and -thin, a great red snake escaped from purgatory; and then, as it -slid through the rollers, you would have sworn that it was -alive--it writhed and squirmed, and wriggles and shudders passed -out through its tail, all but flinging it off by their violence. -There was no rest for it until it was cold and black--and then it -needed only to be cut and straightened to be ready for a -railroad. - -It was at the end of this rail's progress that Jurgis got his -chance. They had to be moved by men with crowbars, and the boss -here could use another man. So he took off his coat and set to -work on the spot. - - -It took him two hours to get to this place every day and cost him -a dollar and twenty cents a week. As this was out of the -question, he wrapped his bedding in a bundle and took it with -him, and one of his fellow workingmen introduced him to a Polish -lodginghouse, where he might have the privilege of sleeping upon -the floor for ten cents a night. He got his meals at free-lunch -counters, and every Saturday night he went home--bedding and -all--and took the greater part of his money to the family. -Elzbieta was sorry for this arrangement, for she feared that it -would get him into the habit of living without them, and once a -week was not very often for him to see his baby; but there was no -other way of arranging it. There was no chance for a woman at -the steelworks, and Marija was now ready for work again, and -lured on from day to day by the hope of finding it at the yards. - - -In a week Jurgis got over his sense of helplessness and -bewilderment in the rail mill. He learned to find his way about -and to take all the miracles and terrors for granted, to work -without hearing the rumbling and crashing. From blind fear he -went to the other extreme; he became reckless and indifferent, -like all the rest of the men, who took but little thought of -themselves in the ardor of their work. It was wonderful, when -one came to think of it, that these men should have taken an -interest in the work they did--they had no share in it--they were -paid by the hour, and paid no more for being interested. Also -they knew that if they were hurt they would be flung aside and -forgotten--and still they would hurry to their task by dangerous -short cuts, would use methods that were quicker and more -effective in spite of the fact that they were also risky. His -fourth day at his work Jurgis saw a man stumble while running in -front of a car, and have his foot mashed off, and before he had -been there three weeks he was witness of a yet more dreadful -accident. There was a row of brick furnaces, shining white -through every crack with the molten steel inside. Some of these -were bulging dangerously, yet men worked before them, wearing -blue glasses when they opened and shut the doors. One morning as -Jurgis was passing, a furnace blew out, spraying two men with a -shower of liquid fire. As they lay screaming and rolling upon -the ground in agony, Jurgis rushed to help them, and as a result -he lost a good part of the skin from the inside of one of his -hands. The company doctor bandaged it up, but he got no other -thanks from any one, and was laid up for eight working days -without any pay. - -Most fortunately, at this juncture, Elzbieta got the long-awaited -chance to go at five o'clock in the morning and help scrub the -office floors of one of the packers. Jurgis came home and -covered himself with blankets to keep warm, and divided his time -between sleeping and playing with little Antanas. Juozapas was -away raking in the dump a good part of the time, and Elzbieta and -Marija were hunting for more work. - -Antanas was now over a year and a half old, and was a perfect -talking machine. He learned so fast that every week when Jurgis -came home it seemed to him as if he had a new child. He would -sit down and listen and stare at him, and give vent to delighted -exclamations--"Palauk! Muma! Tu mano szirdele!" The little -fellow was now really the one delight that Jurgis had in the -world--his one hope, his one victory. Thank God, Antanas was a -boy! And he was as tough as a pine knot, and with the appetite -of a wolf. Nothing had hurt him, and nothing could hurt him; he -had come through all the suffering and deprivation -unscathed--only shriller-voiced and more determined in his grip -upon life. He was a terrible child to manage, was Antanas, but -his father did not mind that--he would watch him and smile to -himself with satisfaction. The more of a fighter he was the -better--he would need to fight before he got through. - -Jurgis had got the habit of buying the Sunday paper whenever he -had the money; a most wonderful paper could be had for only five -cents, a whole armful, with all the news of the world set forth -in big headlines, that Jurgis could spell out slowly, with the -children to help him at the long words. There was battle and -murder and sudden death--it was marvelous how they ever heard -about so many entertaining and thrilling happenings; the stories -must be all true, for surely no man could have made such things -up, and besides, there were pictures of them all, as real as -life. One of these papers was as good as a circus, and nearly as -good as a spree--certainly a most wonderful treat for a workingman, -who was tired out and stupefied, and had never had any -education, and whose work was one dull, sordid grind, day -after day, and year after year, with never a sight of a green -field nor an hour's entertainment, nor anything but liquor to -stimulate his imagination. Among other things, these papers had -pages full of comical pictures, and these were the main joy in -life to little Antanas. He treasured them up, and would drag -them out and make his father tell him about them; there were all -sorts of animals among them, and Antanas could tell the names of -all of them, lying upon the floor for hours and pointing them out -with his chubby little fingers. Whenever the story was plain -enough for Jurgis to make out, Antanas would have it repeated to -him, and then he would remember it, prattling funny little -sentences and mixing it up with other stories in an irresistible -fashion. Also his quaint pronunciation of words was such a -delight--and the phrases he would pick up and remember, the most -outlandish and impossible things! The first time that the little -rascal burst out with "God damn," his father nearly rolled off -the chair with glee; but in the end he was sorry for this, for -Antanas was soon "God-damning" everything and everybody. - -And then, when he was able to use his hands, Jurgis took his -bedding again and went back to his task of shifting rails. It -was now April, and the snow had given place to cold rains, and -the unpaved street in front of Aniele's house was turned into a -canal. Jurgis would have to wade through it to get home, and if -it was late he might easily get stuck to his waist in the mire. -But he did not mind this much--it was a promise that summer was -coming. Marija had now gotten a place as beef-trimmer in one of -the smaller packing plants; and he told himself that he had -learned his lesson now, and would meet with no more accidents-- -so that at last there was prospect of an end to their long agony. -They could save money again, and when another winter came they -would have a comfortable place; and the children would be off the -streets and in school again, and they might set to work to nurse -back into life their habits of decency and kindness. So once -more Jurgis began to make plans and dream dreams. - -And then one Saturday night he jumped off the car and started -home, with the sun shining low under the edge of a bank of clouds -that had been pouring floods of water into the mud-soaked street. -There was a rainbow in the sky, and another in his breast--for he -had thirty-six hours' rest before him, and a chance to see his -family. Then suddenly he came in sight of the house, and noticed -that there was a crowd before the door. He ran up the steps and -pushed his way in, and saw Aniele's kitchen crowded with excited -women. It reminded him so vividly of the time when he had come -home from jail and found Ona dying, that his heart almost stood -still. "What's the matter?" he cried. - -A dead silence had fallen in the room, and he saw that every one -was staring at him. "What's the matter?" he exclaimed again. - -And then, up in the garret, he heard sounds of wailing, in -Marija's voice. He started for the ladder--and Aniele seized him -by the arm. "No, no!" she exclaimed. "Don't go up there!" - -"What is it?" he shouted. - -And the old woman answered him weakly: "It's Antanas. He's dead. -He was drowned out in the street!" - - -Chapter 22 - - -Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned deadly pale, -but he caught himself, and for half a minute stood in the middle -of the room, clenching his hands tightly and setting his teeth. -Then he pushed Aniele aside and strode into the next room and -climbed the ladder. - -In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing beneath it; -and beside it lay Elzbieta, whether crying or in a faint, Jurgis -could not tell. Marija was pacing the room, screaming and -wringing her hands. He clenched his hands tighter yet, and his -voice was hard as he spoke. - -"How did it happen?" he asked. - -Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated the -question, louder and yet more harshly. "He fell off the -sidewalk!" she wailed. The sidewalk in front of the house was a -platform made of half-rotten boards, about five feet above the -level of the sunken street. - -"How did he come to be there?" he demanded. - -"He went--he went out to play," Marija sobbed, her voice choking -her. "We couldn't make him stay in. He must have got caught in -the mud!" - -"Are you sure that he is dead?" he demanded. - -"Ai! ai!" she wailed. "Yes; we had the doctor." - -Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He did not shed a -tear. He took one glance more at the blanket with the little -form beneath it, and then turned suddenly to the ladder and -climbed down again. A silence fell once more in the room as he -entered. He went straight to the door, passed out, and started -down the street. - -When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest saloon, but -he did not do that now, though he had his week's wages in his -pocket. He walked and walked, seeing nothing, splashing through -mud and water. Later on he sat down upon a step and hid his face -in his hands and for half an hour or so he did not move. Now and -then he would whisper to himself: "Dead! Dead!" - -Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was about sunset, and -he went on and on until it was dark, when he was stopped by a -railroad crossing. The gates were down, and a long train of -freight cars was thundering by. He stood and watched it; and all -at once a wild impulse seized him, a thought that had been -lurking within him, unspoken, unrecognized, leaped into sudden -life. He started down the track, and when he was past the -gate-keeper's shanty he sprang forward and swung himself on to -one of the cars. - -By and by the train stopped again, and Jurgis sprang down and ran -under the car, and hid himself upon the truck. Here he sat, and -when the train started again, he fought a battle with his soul. -He gripped his hands and set his teeth together--he had not wept, -and he would not--not a tear! It was past and over, and he was -done with it--he would fling it off his shoulders, be free of it, -the whole business, that night. It should go like a black, -hateful nightmare, and in the morning he would be a new man. And -every time that a thought of it assailed him--a tender memory, a -trace of a tear--he rose up, cursing with rage, and pounded it -down. - -He was fighting for his life; he gnashed his teeth together in -his desperation. He had been a fool, a fool! He had wasted his -life, he had wrecked himself, with his accursed weakness; and now -he was done with it--he would tear it out of him, root and -branch! There should be no more tears and no more tenderness; -he had had enough of them--they had sold him into slavery! Now he -was going to be free, to tear off his shackles, to rise up and -fight. He was glad that the end had come--it had to come some -time, and it was just as well now. This was no world for women -and children, and the sooner they got out of it the better for -them. Whatever Antanas might suffer where he was, he could -suffer no more than he would have had he stayed upon earth. -And meantime his father had thought the last thought about him that -he meant to; he was going to think of himself, he was going to -fight for himself, against the world that had baffled him and -tortured him! - -So he went on, tearing up all the flowers from the garden of his -soul, and setting his heel upon them. The train thundered -deafeningly, and a storm of dust blew in his face; but though it -stopped now and then through the night, he clung where he was-- -he would cling there until he was driven off, for every mile that he -got from Packingtown meant another load from his mind. - -Whenever the cars stopped a warm breeze blew upon him, a breeze -laden with the perfume of fresh fields, of honeysuckle and -clover. He snuffed it, and it made his heart beat wildly--he was -out in the country again! He was going to live in the country! -When the dawn came he was peering out with hungry eyes, getting -glimpses of meadows and woods and rivers. At last he could stand -it no longer, and when the train stopped again he crawled out. -Upon the top of the car was a brakeman, who shook his fist and -swore; Jurgis waved his hand derisively, and started across the -country. - -Only think that he had been a countryman all his life; and for -three long years he had never seen a country sight nor heard a -country sound! Excepting for that one walk when he left jail, -when he was too much worried to notice anything, and for a few -times that he had rested in the city parks in the winter time -when he was out of work, he had literally never seen a tree! -And now he felt like a bird lifted up and borne away upon a gale; -he stopped and stared at each new sight of wonder--at a herd of -cows, and a meadow full of daisies, at hedgerows set thick with -June roses, at little birds singing in the trees. - -Then he came to a farm-house, and after getting himself a stick -for protection, he approached it. The farmer was greasing a -wagon in front of the barn, and Jurgis went to him. "I would -like to get some breakfast, please," he said. - -"Do you want to work?" said the farmer. - -"No," said Jurgis. "I don't." - -"Then you can't get anything here," snapped the other. - -"I meant to pay for it," said Jurgis. - -"Oh," said the farmer; and then added sarcastically, "We don't -serve breakfast after 7 A.M." - -"I am very hungry," said Jurgis gravely; "I would like to buy -some food." - -"Ask the woman," said the farmer, nodding over his shoulder. The -"woman" was more tractable, and for a dime Jurgis secured two -thick sandwiches and a piece of pie and two apples. He walked -off eating the pie, as the least convenient thing to carry. In a -few minutes he came to a stream, and he climbed a fence and -walked down the bank, along a woodland path. By and by he found -a comfortable spot, and there he devoured his meal, slaking his -thirst at the stream. Then he lay for hours, just gazing and -drinking in joy; until at last he felt sleepy, and lay down in -the shade of a bush. - -When he awoke the sun was shining hot in his face. He sat up and -stretched his arms, and then gazed at the water sliding by. -There was a deep pool, sheltered and silent, below him, and a -sudden wonderful idea rushed upon him. He might have a bath! -The water was free, and he might get into it--all the way into -it! It would be the first time that he had been all the way into -the water since he left Lithuania! - -When Jurgis had first come to the stockyards he had been as clean -as any workingman could well be. But later on, what with -sickness and cold and hunger and discouragement, and the -filthiness of his work, and the vermin in his home, he had given -up washing in winter, and in summer only as much of him as would -go into a basin. He had had a shower bath in jail, but nothing -since--and now he would have a swim! - -The water was warm, and he splashed about like a very boy in his -glee. Afterward he sat down in the water near the bank, and -proceeded to scrub himself--soberly and methodically, scouring -every inch of him with sand. While he was doing it he would do -it thoroughly, and see how it felt to be clean. He even scrubbed -his head with sand, and combed what the men called "crumbs" out -of his long, black hair, holding his head under water as long as -he could, to see if he could not kill them all. Then, seeing -that the sun was still hot, he took his clothes from the bank -and proceeded to wash them, piece by piece; as the dirt and grease -went floating off downstream he grunted with satisfaction and -soused the clothes again, venturing even to dream that he might -get rid of the fertilizer. - -He hung them all up, and while they were drying he lay down in -the sun and had another long sleep. They were hot and stiff as -boards on top, and a little damp on the underside, when he -awakened; but being hungry, he put them on and set out again. -He had no knife, but with some labor he broke himself a good stout -club, and, armed with this, he marched down the road again. - -Before long he came to a big farmhouse, and turned up the lane -that led to it. It was just suppertime, and the farmer was -washing his hands at the kitchen door. "Please, sir," said -Jurgis, "can I have something to eat? I can pay." To which the -farmer responded promptly, "We don't feed tramps here. Get out!" - -Jurgis went without a word; but as he passed round the barn he -came to a freshly ploughed and harrowed field, in which the -farmer had set out some young peach trees; and as he walked he -jerked up a row of them by the roots, more than a hundred trees -in all, before he reached the end of the field. That was his -answer, and it showed his mood; from now on he was fighting, -and the man who hit him would get all that he gave, every time. - -Beyond the orchard Jurgis struck through a patch of woods, and -then a field of winter grain, and came at last to another road. -Before long he saw another farmhouse, and, as it was beginning -to cloud over a little, he asked here for shelter as well as food. -Seeing the farmer eying him dubiously, he added, "I'll be glad -to sleep in the barn." - -"Well, I dunno," said the other. "Do you smoke?" - -"Sometimes," said Jurgis, "but I'll do it out of doors." When the -man had assented, he inquired, "How much will it cost me? I -haven't very much money." - -"I reckon about twenty cents for supper," replied the farmer. "I -won't charge ye for the barn." - -So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer's -wife and half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal--there -were baked beans and mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped and -stewed, and a dish of strawberries, and great, thick slices of -bread, and a pitcher of milk. Jurgis had not had such a feast -since his wedding day, and he made a mighty effort to put in his -twenty cents' worth. - -They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they sat -upon the steps and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest. -When Jurgis had explained that he was a workingman from Chicago, -and that he did not know just whither he was bound, the other -said, "Why don't you stay here and work for me?" - -"I'm not looking for work just now," Jurgis answered. - -"I'll pay ye good," said the other, eying his big form--"a dollar -a day and board ye. Help's terrible scarce round here." - -"Is that winter as well as summer?" Jurgis demanded quickly. - -"N--no," said the farmer; "I couldn't keep ye after November--I -ain't got a big enough place for that." - -"I see," said the other, "that's what I thought. When you get -through working your horses this fall, will you turn them out in -the snow?" (Jurgis was beginning to think for himself nowadays.) - -"It ain't quite the same," the farmer answered, seeing the point. -"There ought to be work a strong fellow like you can find to do, -in the cities, or some place, in the winter time." - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's what they all think; and so they -crowd into the cities, and when they have to beg or steal to -live, then people ask 'em why they don't go into the country, -where help is scarce." The farmer meditated awhile. - -"How about when your money's gone?" he inquired, finally. -"You'll have to, then, won't you?" - -"Wait till she's gone," said Jurgis; "then I'll see." - -He had a long sleep in the barn and then a big breakfast of -coffee and bread and oatmeal and stewed cherries, for which the -man charged him only fifteen cents, perhaps having been -influenced by his arguments. Then Jurgis bade farewell, and went -on his way. - - -Such was the beginning of his life as a tramp. It was seldom he -got as fair treatment as from this last farmer, and so as time -went on he learned to shun the houses and to prefer sleeping in -the fields. When it rained he would find a deserted building, -if he could, and if not, he would wait until after dark and then, -with his stick ready, begin a stealthy approach upon a barn. -Generally he could get in before the dog got scent of him, and -then he would hide in the hay and be safe until morning; if not, -and the dog attacked him, he would rise up and make a retreat in -battle order. Jurgis was not the mighty man he had once been, -but his arms were still good, and there were few farm dogs he -needed to hit more than once. - -Before long there came raspberries, and then blackberries, to -help him save his money; and there were apples in the orchards -and potatoes in the ground--he learned to note the places and -fill his pockets after dark. Twice he even managed to capture a -chicken, and had a feast, once in a deserted barn and the other -time in a lonely spot alongside of a stream. When all of these -things failed him he used his money carefully, but without worry ---for he saw that he could earn more whenever he chose. Half an -hour's chopping wood in his lively fashion was enough to bring -him a meal, and when the farmer had seen him working he would -sometimes try to bribe him to stay. - -But Jurgis was not staying. He was a free man now, a buccaneer. -The old wanderlust had got into his blood, the joy of the unbound -life, the joy of seeking, of hoping without limit. There were -mishaps and discomforts--but at least there was always something -new; and only think what it meant to a man who for years had been -penned up in one place, seeing nothing but one dreary prospect of -shanties and factories, to be suddenly set loose beneath the open -sky, to behold new landscapes, new places, and new people every -hour! To a man whose whole life had consisted of doing one -certain thing all day, until he was so exhausted that he could -only lie down and sleep until the next day--and to be now his own -master, working as he pleased and when he pleased, and facing a -new adventure every hour! - -Then, too, his health came back to him, all his lost youthful -vigor, his joy and power that he had mourned and forgotten! -It came with a sudden rush, bewildering him, startling him; it was -as if his dead childhood had come back to him, laughing and -calling! What with plenty to eat and fresh air and exercise that -was taken as it pleased him, he would waken from his sleep and -start off not knowing what to do with his energy, stretching his -arms, laughing, singing old songs of home that came back to him. -Now and then, of course, he could not help but think of little -Antanas, whom he should never see again, whose little voice he -should never hear; and then he would have to battle with himself. -Sometimes at night he would waken dreaming of Ona, and stretch -out his arms to her, and wet the ground with his tears. But in -the morning he would get up and shake himself, and stride away -again to battle with the world. - -He never asked where he was nor where he was going; the country -was big enough, he knew, and there was no danger of his coming to -the end of it. And of course he could always have company for -the asking--everywhere he went there were men living just as he -lived, and whom he was welcome to join. He was a stranger at the -business, but they were not clannish, and they taught him all -their tricks--what towns and villages it was best to keep away -from, and how to read the secret signs upon the fences, and when -to beg and when to steal, and just how to do both. They laughed -at his ideas of paying for anything with money or with work--for -they got all they wanted without either. Now and then Jurgis -camped out with a gang of them in some woodland haunt, and -foraged with them in the neighborhood at night. And then among -them some one would "take a shine" to him, and they would go off -together and travel for a week, exchanging reminiscences. - -Of these professional tramps a great many had, of course, been -shiftless and vicious all their lives. But the vast majority of -them had been workingmen, had fought the long fight as Jurgis -had, and found that it was a losing fight, and given up. Later -on he encountered yet another sort of men, those from whose ranks -the tramps were recruited, men who were homeless and wandering, -but still seeking work--seeking it in the harvest fields. Of -these there was an army, the huge surplus labor army of society; -called into being under the stern system of nature, to do the -casual work of the world, the tasks which were transient and -irregular, and yet which had to be done. They did not know that -they were such, of course; they only knew that they sought the -job, and that the job was fleeting. In the early summer they -would be in Texas, and as the crops were ready they would follow -north with the season, ending with the fall in Manitoba. Then -they would seek out the big lumber camps, where there was winter -work; or failing in this, would drift to the cities, and live -upon what they had managed to save, with the help of such -transient work as was there the loading and unloading of -steamships and drays, the digging of ditches and the shoveling -of snow. If there were more of them on hand than chanced to be -needed, the weaker ones died off of cold and hunger, again -according to the stern system of nature. - -It was in the latter part of July, when Jurgis was in Missouri, -that he came upon the harvest work. Here were crops that men had -worked for three or four months to prepare, and of which they -would lose nearly all unless they could find others to help them -for a week or two. So all over the land there was a cry for -labor--agencies were set up and all the cities were drained of -men, even college boys were brought by the carload, and hordes of -frantic farmers would hold up trains and carry off wagonloads of -men by main force. Not that they did not pay them well--any man -could get two dollars a day and his board, and the best men could -get two dollars and a half or three. - -The harvest-fever was in the very air, and no man with any spirit -in him could be in that region and not catch it. Jurgis joined a -gang and worked from dawn till dark, eighteen hours a day, for -two weeks without a break. Then he had a sum of money that would -have been a fortune to him in the old days of misery--but what -could he do with it now? To be sure he might have put it in a -bank, and, if he were fortunate, get it back again when he wanted -it. But Jurgis was now a homeless man, wandering over a -continent; and what did he know about banking and drafts and -letters of credit? If he carried the money about with him, he -would surely be robbed in the end; and so what was there for him -to do but enjoy it while he could? On a Saturday night he -drifted into a town with his fellows; and because it was raining, -and there was no other place provided for him, he went to a -saloon. And there were some who treated him and whom he had to -treat, and there was laughter and singing and good cheer; -and then out of the rear part of the saloon a girl's face, -red-cheeked and merry, smiled at Jurgis, and his heart thumped -suddenly in his throat. He nodded to her, and she came and sat -by him, and they had more drink, and then he went upstairs into a -room with her, and the wild beast rose up within him and -screamed, as it has screamed in the Jungle from the dawn of time. -And then because of his memories and his shame, he was glad when -others joined them, men and women; and they had more drink and -spent the night in wild rioting and debauchery. In the van of -the surplus-labor army, there followed another, an army of women, -they also struggling for life under the stern system of nature. -Because there were rich men who sought pleasure, there had been -ease and plenty for them so long as they were young and -beautiful; and later on, when they were crowded out by others -younger and more beautiful, they went out to follow upon the -trail of the workingmen. Sometimes they came of themselves, -and the saloon-keepers shared with them; or sometimes they were -handled by agencies, the same as the labor army. They were in -the towns in harvest time, near the lumber camps in the winter, -in the cities when the men came there; if a regiment were -encamped, or a railroad or canal being made, or a great -exposition getting ready, the crowd of women were on hand, living -in shanties or saloons or tenement rooms, sometimes eight or ten -of them together. - -In the morning Jurgis had not a cent, and he went out upon the -road again. He was sick and disgusted, but after the new plan of -his life, he crushed his feelings down. He had made a fool of -himself, but he could not help it now--all he could do was to see -that it did not happen again. So he tramped on until exercise -and fresh air banished his headache, and his strength and joy -returned. This happened to him every time, for Jurgis was still -a creature of impulse, and his pleasures had not yet become -business. It would be a long time before he could be like the -majority of these men of the road, who roamed until the hunger -for drink and for women mastered them, and then went to work with -a purpose in mind, and stopped when they had the price of a -spree. - -On the contrary, try as he would, Jurgis could not help being -made miserable by his conscience. It was the ghost that would -not down. It would come upon him in the most unexpected -places--sometimes it fairly drove him to drink. - -One night he was caught by a thunderstorm, and he sought shelter -in a little house just outside of a town. It was a working-man's -home, and the owner was a Slav like himself, a new emigrant from -White Russia; he bade Jurgis welcome in his home language, and -told him to come to the kitchen-fire and dry himself. He had no -bed for him, but there was straw in the garret, and he could make -out. The man's wife was cooking the supper, and their children -were playing about on the floor. Jurgis sat and exchanged -thoughts with him about the old country, and the places where -they had been and the work they had done. Then they ate, and -afterward sat and smoked and talked more about America, and how -they found it. In the middle of a sentence, however, Jurgis -stopped, seeing that the woman had brought a big basin of water -and was proceeding to undress her youngest baby. The rest had -crawled into the closet where they slept, but the baby was to -have a bath, the workingman explained. The nights had begun to -be chilly, and his mother, ignorant as to the climate in America, -had sewed him up for the winter; then it had turned warm again, -and some kind of a rash had broken out on the child. The doctor -had said she must bathe him every night, and she, foolish woman, -believed him. - -Jurgis scarcely heard the explanation; he was watching the baby. -He was about a year old, and a sturdy little fellow, with soft -fat legs, and a round ball of a stomach, and eyes as black as -coals. His pimples did not seem to bother him much, and he was -wild with glee over the bath, kicking and squirming and chuckling -with delight, pulling at his mother's face and then at his own -little toes. When she put him into the basin he sat in the midst -of it and grinned, splashing the water over himself and squealing -like a little pig. He spoke in Russian, of which Jurgis knew -some; he spoke it with the quaintest of baby accents--and every -word of it brought back to Jurgis some word of his own dead -little one, and stabbed him like a knife. He sat perfectly -motionless, silent, but gripping his hands tightly, while a storm -gathered in his bosom and a flood heaped itself up behind his -eyes. And in the end he could bear it no more, but buried his -face in his hands and burst into tears, to the alarm and -amazement of his hosts. Between the shame of this and his woe -Jurgis could not stand it, and got up and rushed out into the -rain. - -He went on and on down the road, finally coming to a black woods, -where he hid and wept as if his heart would break. Ah, what -agony was that, what despair, when the tomb of memory was rent -open and the ghosts of his old life came forth to scourge him! -What terror to see what he had been and now could never be--to -see Ona and his child and his own dead self stretching out their -arms to him,calling to him across a bottomless abyss--and to know -that they were gone from him forever, and he writhing and -suffocating in the mire of his own vileness! - - -Chapter 23 - - -Early in the fall Jurgis set out for Chicago again. All the joy -went out of tramping as soon as a man could not keep warm in the -hay; and, like many thousands of others, he deluded himself with -the hope that by coming early he could avoid the rush. He -brought fifteen dollars with him, hidden away in one of his -shoes, a sum which had been saved from the saloon-keepers, not so -much by his conscience, as by the fear which filled him at the -thought of being out of work in the city in the winter time. - -He traveled upon the railroad with several other men, hiding in -freight cars at night, and liable to be thrown off at any time, -regardless of the speed of the train. When he reached the city -he left the rest, for he had money and they did not, and he meant -to save himself in this fight. He would bring to it all the -skill that practice had brought him, and he would stand, whoever -fell. On fair nights he would sleep in the park or on a truck or -an empty barrel or box, and when it was rainy or cold he would -stow himself upon a shelf in a ten-cent lodginghouse, or pay -three cents for the privileges of a "squatter" in a tenement -hallway. He would eat at free lunches, five cents a meal, and -never a cent more--so he might keep alive for two months and -more, and in that time he would surely find a job. He would have -to bid farewell to his summer cleanliness, of course, for he -would come out of the first night's lodging with his clothes -alive with vermin. There was no place in the city where he could -wash even his face, unless he went down to the lake front-- -and there it would soon be all ice. - -First he went to the steel mill and the harvester works, and -found that his places there had been filled long ago. He was -careful to keep away from the stockyards--he was a single man -now, he told himself, and he meant to stay one, to have his wages -for his own when he got a job. He began the long, weary round of -factories and warehouses, tramping all day, from one end of the -city to the other, finding everywhere from ten to a hundred men -ahead of him. He watched the newspapers, too--but no longer was -he to be taken in by smooth-spoken agents. He had been told of -all those tricks while "on the road." - -In the end it was through a newspaper that he got a job, after -nearly a month of seeking. It was a call for a hundred laborers, -and though he thought it was a "fake," he went because the place -was near by. He found a line of men a block long, but as a wagon -chanced to come out of an alley and break the line, he saw his -chance and sprang to seize a place. Men threatened him and tried -to throw him out, but he cursed and made a disturbance to attract -a policeman, upon which they subsided, knowing that if the latter -interfered it would be to "fire" them all. - -An hour or two later he entered a room and confronted a big -Irishman behind a desk. - -"Ever worked in Chicago before?" the man inquired; and whether it -was a good angel that put it into Jurgis's mind, or an intuition -of his sharpened wits, he was moved to answer, "No, sir." - -"Where do you come from?" - -"Kansas City, sir." - -"Any references?" - -"No, sir. I'm just an unskilled man. I've got good arms." - -"I want men for hard work--it's all underground, digging tunnels -for telephones. Maybe it won't suit you." - -"I'm willing, sir--anything for me. What's the pay?" - -"Fifteen cents an hour." - -"I'm willing, sir." - -"All right; go back there and give your name." - -So within half an hour he was at work, far underneath the streets -of the city. The tunnel was a peculiar one for telephone wires; -it was about eight feet high, and with a level floor nearly as -wide. It had innumerable branches--a perfect spider web beneath -the city; Jurgis walked over half a mile with his gang to the -place where they were to work. Stranger yet, the tunnel was -lighted by electricity, and upon it was laid a double-tracked, -narrow-gauge railroad! - -But Jurgis was not there to ask questions, and he did not give -the matter a thought. It was nearly a year afterward that he -finally learned the meaning of this whole affair. The City -Council had passed a quiet and innocent little bill allowing a -company to construct telephone conduits under the city streets; -and upon the strength of this, a great corporation had proceeded -to tunnel all Chicago with a system of railway freight-subways. -In the city there was a combination of employers, representing -hundreds of millions of capital, and formed for the purpose of -crushing the labor unions. The chief union which troubled it was -the teamsters'; and when these freight tunnels were completed, -connecting all the big factories and stores with the railroad -depots, they would have the teamsters' union by the throat. -Now and then there were rumors and murmurs in the Board of Aldermen, -and once there was a committee to investigate--but each time -another small fortune was paid over, and the rumors died away; -until at last the city woke up with a start to find the work -completed. There was a tremendous scandal, of course; it was -found that the city records had been falsified and other crimes -committed, and some of Chicago's big capitalists got into -jail--figuratively speaking. The aldermen declared that they had -had no idea of it all, in spite of the fact that the main -entrance to the work had been in the rear of the saloon of one of -them. - -It was in a newly opened cut that Jurgis worked, and so he knew -that he had an all-winter job. He was so rejoiced that he -treated himself to a spree that night, and with the balance of -his money he hired himself a place in a tenement room, where he -slept upon a big homemade straw mattress along with four other -workingmen. This was one dollar a week, and for four more he got -his food in a boardinghouse near his work. This would leave him -four dollars extra each week, an unthinkable sum for him. At the -outset he had to pay for his digging tools, and also to buy a -pair of heavy boots, since his shoes were falling to pieces, -and a flannel shirt, since the one he had worn all summer was in -shreds. He spent a week meditating whether or not he should also -buy an overcoat. There was one belonging to a Hebrew collar -button peddler, who had died in the room next to him, and which -the landlady was holding for her rent; in the end, however, -Jurgis decided to do without it, as he was to be underground by -day and in bed at night. - -This was an unfortunate decision, however, for it drove him more -quickly than ever into the saloons. From now on Jurgis worked -from seven o'clock until half-past five, with half an hour for -dinner; which meant that he never saw the sunlight on weekdays. -In the evenings there was no place for him to go except a -barroom; no place where there was light and warmth, where he -could hear a little music or sit with a companion and talk. -He had now no home to go to; he had no affection left in his -life--only the pitiful mockery of it in the camaraderie of vice. -On Sundays the churches were open--but where was there a church -in which an ill-smelling workingman, with vermin crawling upon -his neck, could sit without seeing people edge away and look -annoyed? He had, of course, his corner in a close though -unheated room, with a window opening upon a blank wall two feet -away; and also he had the bare streets, with the winter gales -sweeping through them; besides this he had only the saloons--and, -of course, he had to drink to stay in them. If he drank now and -then he was free to make himself at home, to gamble with dice or -a pack of greasy cards, to play at a dingy pool table for money, -or to look at a beer-stained pink "sporting paper," with pictures -of murderers and half-naked women. It was for such pleasures as -these that he spent his money; and such was his life during the -six weeks and a half that he toiled for the merchants of Chicago, -to enable them to break the grip of their teamsters' union. - -In a work thus carried out, not much thought was given to the -welfare of the laborers. On an average, the tunneling cost a -life a day and several manglings; it was seldom, however, that -more than a dozen or two men heard of any one accident. The work -was all done by the new boring machinery, with as little blasting -as possible; but there would be falling rocks and crushed -supports, and premature explosions--and in addition all the -dangers of railroading. So it was that one night, as Jurgis was -on his way out with his gang, an engine and a loaded car dashed -round one of the innumerable right-angle branches and struck him -upon the shoulder, hurling him against the concrete wall and -knocking him senseless. - -When he opened his eyes again it was to the clanging of the bell -of an ambulance. He was lying in it, covered by a blanket, and -it was threading its way slowly through the holiday-shopping -crowds. They took him to the county hospital, where a young -surgeon set his arm; then he was washed and laid upon a bed in a -ward with a score or two more of maimed and mangled men. - -Jurgis spent his Christmas in this hospital, and it was the -pleasantest Christmas he had had in America. Every year there -were scandals and investigations in this institution, the -newspapers charging that doctors were allowed to try fantastic -experiments upon the patients; but Jurgis knew nothing of -this--his only complaint was that they used to feed him upon -tinned meat, which no man who had ever worked in Packingtown -would feed to his dog. Jurgis had often wondered just who ate -the canned corned beef and "roast beef" of the stockyards; now he -began to understand--that it was what you might call "graft -meat," put up to be sold to public officials and contractors, -and eaten by soldiers and sailors, prisoners and inmates of -institutions, "shantymen" and gangs of railroad laborers. - -Jurgis was ready to leave the hospital at the end of two weeks. -This did not mean that his arm was strong and that he was able to -go back to work, but simply that he could get along without -further attention, and that his place was needed for some one -worse off than he. That he was utterly helpless, and had no -means of keeping himself alive in the meantime, was something -which did not concern the hospital authorities, nor any one else -in the city. - -As it chanced, he had been hurt on a Monday, and had just paid -for his last week's board and his room rent, and spent nearly all -the balance of his Saturday's pay. He had less than seventy-five -cents in his pockets, and a dollar and a half due him for the -day's work he had done before he was hurt. He might possibly -have sued the company, and got some damages for his injuries, -but he did not know this, and it was not the company's business to -tell him. He went and got his pay and his tools, which he left -in a pawnshop for fifty cents. Then he went to his landlady, -who had rented his place and had no other for him; and then to his -boardinghouse keeper, who looked him over and questioned him. -As he must certainly be helpless for a couple of months, and had -boarded there only six weeks, she decided very quickly that it -would not be worth the risk to keep him on trust. - -So Jurgis went out into the streets, in a most dreadful plight. -It was bitterly cold, and a heavy snow was falling, beating into -his face. He had no overcoat, and no place to go, and two -dollars and sixty-five cents in his pocket, with the certainty -that he could not earn another cent for months. The snow meant -no chance to him now; he must walk along and see others -shoveling, vigorous and active--and he with his left arm bound to -his side! He could not hope to tide himself over by odd jobs of -loading trucks; he could not even sell newspapers or carry -satchels, because he was now at the mercy of any rival. Words -could not paint the terror that came over him as he realized all -this. He was like a wounded animal in the forest; he was forced -to compete with his enemies upon unequal terms. There would be -no consideration for him because of his weakness--it was no one's -business to help him in such distress, to make the fight the -least bit easier for him. Even if he took to begging, he would -be at a disadvantage, for reasons which he was to discover in -good time. - -In the beginning he could not think of anything except getting -out of the awful cold. He went into one of the saloons he had -been wont to frequent and bought a drink, and then stood by the -fire shivering and waiting to be ordered out. According to an -unwritten law, the buying a drink included the privilege of -loafing for just so long; then one had to buy another drink or -move on. That Jurgis was an old customer entitled him to a -somewhat longer stop; but then he had been away two weeks, -and was evidently "on the bum." He might plead and tell his -"hard luck story," but that would not help him much; a saloon-keeper -who was to be moved by such means would soon have his place -jammed to the doors with "hoboes" on a day like this. - -So Jurgis went out into another place, and paid another nickel. -He was so hungry this time that he could not resist the hot beef -stew, an indulgence which cut short his stay by a considerable -time. When he was again told to move on, he made his way to a -"tough" place in the "Levee" district, where now and then he had -gone with a certain rat-eyed Bohemian workingman of his -acquaintance, seeking a woman. It was Jurgis's vain hope that -here the proprietor would let him remain as a "sitter." In -low-class places, in the dead of winter, saloon-keepers would -often allow one or two forlorn-looking bums who came in covered -with snow or soaked with rain to sit by the fire and look -miserable to attract custom. A workingman would come in, feeling -cheerful after his day's work was over, and it would trouble him -to have to take his glass with such a sight under his nose; and -so he would call out: "Hello, Bub, what's the matter? You look -as if you'd been up against it!" And then the other would begin -to pour out some tale of misery, and the man would say, "Come -have a glass, and maybe that'll brace you up." And so they would -drink together, and if the tramp was sufficiently -wretched-looking, or good enough at the "gab," they might have -two; and if they were to discover that they were from the same -country, or had lived in the same city or worked at the same -trade, they might sit down at a table and spend an hour or two in -talk--and before they got through the saloon-keeper would have -taken in a dollar. All of this might seem diabolical, but the -saloon-keeper was in no wise to blame for it. He was in the same -plight as the manufacturer who has to adulterate and misrepresent -his product. If he does not, some one else will; and the -saloon-keeper, unless he is also an alderman, is apt to be in debt to -the big brewers, and on the verge of being sold out. - -The market for "sitters" was glutted that afternoon, however, -and there was no place for Jurgis. In all he had to spend six -nickels in keeping a shelter over him that frightful day, and -then it was just dark, and the station houses would not open -until midnight! At the last place, however, there was a -bartender who knew him and liked him, and let him doze at one of -the tables until the boss came back; and also, as he was going -out, the man gave him a tip--on the next block there was a -religious revival of some sort, with preaching and singing, -and hundreds of hoboes would go there for the shelter and warmth. - -Jurgis went straightway, and saw a sign hung out, saying that the -door would open at seven-thirty; then he walked, or half ran, -a block, and hid awhile in a doorway and then ran again, and so on -until the hour. At the end he was all but frozen, and fought his -way in with the rest of the throng (at the risk of having his arm -broken again), and got close to the big stove. - -By eight o'clock the place was so crowded that the speakers ought -to have been flattered; the aisles were filled halfway up, and at -the door men were packed tight enough to walk upon. There were -three elderly gentlemen in black upon the platform, and a young -lady who played the piano in front. First they sang a hymn, and -then one of the three, a tall, smooth-shaven man, very thin, and -wearing black spectacles, began an address. Jurgis heard -smatterings of it, for the reason that terror kept him awake-- -he knew that he snored abominably, and to have been put out just -then would have been like a sentence of death to him. - -The evangelist was preaching "sin and redemption," the infinite -grace of God and His pardon for human frailty. He was very much -in earnest, and he meant well, but Jurgis, as he listened, found -his soul filled with hatred. What did he know about sin and -suffering--with his smooth, black coat and his neatly starched -collar, his body warm, and his belly full, and money in his -pocket--and lecturing men who were struggling for their lives, -men at the death grapple with the demon powers of hunger and -cold!--This, of course, was unfair; but Jurgis felt that these -men were out of touch with the life they discussed, that they -were unfitted to solve its problems; nay, they themselves were -part of the problem--they were part of the order established that -was crushing men down and beating them! They were of the -triumphant and insolent possessors; they had a hall, and a fire, -and food and clothing and money, and so they might preach to -hungry men, and the hungry men must be humble and listen! They -were trying to save their souls--and who but a fool could fail to -see that all that was the matter with their souls was that they -had not been able to get a decent existence for their bodies? - -At eleven the meeting closed, and the desolate audience filed out -into the snow, muttering curses upon the few traitors who had got -repentance and gone up on the platform. It was yet an hour -before the station house would open, and Jurgis had no -overcoat--and was weak from a long illness. During that hour he -nearly perished. He was obliged to run hard to keep his blood -moving at all--and then he came back to the station house and -found a crowd blocking the street before the door! This was in -the month of January, 1904, when the country was on the verge of -"hard times," and the newspapers were reporting the shutting down -of factories every day--it was estimated that a million and a -half men were thrown out of work before the spring. So all the -hiding places of the city were crowded, and before that station -house door men fought and tore each other like savage beasts. -When at last the place was jammed and they shut the doors, half -the crowd was still outside; and Jurgis, with his helpless arm, -was among them. There was no choice then but to go to a -lodginghouse and spend another dime. It really broke his heart -to do this, at half-past twelve o'clock, after he had wasted the -night at the meeting and on the street. He would be turned out -of the lodginghouse promptly at seven they had the shelves which -served as bunks so contrived that they could be dropped, and any -man who was slow about obeying orders could be tumbled to the -floor. - -This was one day, and the cold spell lasted for fourteen of them. -At the end of six days every cent of Jurgis' money was gone; -and then he went out on the streets to beg for his life. - -He would begin as soon as the business of the city was moving. -He would sally forth from a saloon, and, after making sure there -was no policeman in sight, would approach every likely-looking -person who passed him, telling his woeful story and pleading for -a nickel or a dime. Then when he got one, he would dart round -the corner and return to his base to get warm; and his victim, -seeing him do this, would go away, vowing that he would never -give a cent to a beggar again. The victim never paused to ask -where else Jurgis could have gone under the circumstances--where -he, the victim, would have gone. At the saloon Jurgis could not -only get more food and better food than he could buy in any -restaurant for the same money, but a drink in the bargain to warm -him up. Also he could find a comfortable seat by a fire, and -could chat with a companion until he was as warm as toast. At -the saloon, too, he felt at home. Part of the saloon-keeper's -business was to offer a home and refreshments to beggars in -exchange for the proceeds of their foragings; and was there any -one else in the whole city who would do this--would the victim -have done it himself? - -Poor Jurgis might have been expected to make a successful beggar. -He was just out of the hospital, and desperately sick-looking, -and with a helpless arm; also he had no overcoat, and shivered -pitifully. But, alas, it was again the case of the honest -merchant, who finds that the genuine and unadulterated article is -driven to the wall by the artistic counterfeit. Jurgis, as a -beggar, was simply a blundering amateur in competition with -organized and scientific professionalism. He was just out of the -hospital--but the story was worn threadbare, and how could he -prove it? He had his arm in a sling--and it was a device a -regular beggar's little boy would have scorned. He was pale and -shivering--but they were made up with cosmetics, and had studied -the art of chattering their teeth. As to his being without an -overcoat, among them you would meet men you could swear had on -nothing but a ragged linen duster and a pair of cotton -trousers--so cleverly had they concealed the several suits of -all-wool underwear beneath. Many of these professional -mendicants had comfortable homes, and families, and thousands of -dollars in the bank; some of them had retired upon their -earnings, and gone into the business of fitting out and doctoring -others, or working children at the trade. There were some who -had both their arms bound tightly to their sides, and padded -stumps in their sleeves, and a sick child hired to carry a cup -for them. There were some who had no legs, and pushed themselves -upon a wheeled platform--some who had been favored with -blindness, and were led by pretty little dogs. Some less -fortunate had mutilated themselves or burned themselves, or had -brought horrible sores upon themselves with chemicals; you might -suddenly encounter upon the street a man holding out to you a -finger rotting and discolored with gangrene--or one with livid -scarlet wounds half escaped from their filthy bandages. These -desperate ones were the dregs of the city's cesspools, wretches -who hid at night in the rain-soaked cellars of old ramshackle -tenements, in "stale-beer dives" and opium joints, with abandoned -women in the last stages of the harlot's progress--women who had -been kept by Chinamen and turned away at last to die. Every day -the police net would drag hundreds of them off the streets, and -in the detention hospital you might see them, herded together in -a miniature inferno, with hideous, beastly faces, bloated and -leprous with disease, laughing, shouting, screaming in all stages -of drunkenness, barking like dogs, gibbering like apes, raving -and tearing themselves in delirium. - - - -Chapter 24 - - -In the face of all his handicaps, Jurgis was obliged to make the -price of a lodging, and of a drink every hour or two, under -penalty of freezing to death. Day after day he roamed about in -the arctic cold, his soul filled full of bitterness and despair. -He saw the world of civilization then more plainly than ever he -had seen it before; a world in which nothing counted but brutal -might, an order devised by those who possessed it for the -subjugation of those who did not. He was one of the latter; and -all outdoors, all life, was to him one colossal prison, which he -paced like a pent-up tiger, trying one bar after another, and -finding them all beyond his power. He had lost in the fierce -battle of greed, and so was doomed to be exterminated; and all -society was busied to see that he did not escape the sentence. -Everywhere that he turned were prison bars, and hostile eyes -following him; the well-fed, sleek policemen, from whose glances -he shrank, and who seemed to grip their clubs more tightly when -they saw him; the saloon-keepers, who never ceased to watch him -while he was in their places, who were jealous of every moment he -lingered after he had paid his money; the hurrying throngs upon -the streets, who were deaf to his entreaties, oblivious of his -very existence--and savage and contemptuous when he forced -himself upon them. They had their own affairs, and there was no -place for him among them. There was no place for him anywhere ---every direction he turned his gaze, this fact was forced upon -him: Everything was built to express it to him: the residences, -with their heavy walls and bolted doors, and basement windows -barred with iron; the great warehouses filled with the products -of the whole world, and guarded by iron shutters and heavy gates; -the banks with their unthinkable billions of wealth, all buried -in safes and vaults of steel. - - -And then one day there befell Jurgis the one adventure of his -life. It was late at night, and he had failed to get the price -of a lodging. Snow was falling, and he had been out so long that -he was covered with it, and was chilled to the bone. He was -working among the theater crowds, flitting here and there, taking -large chances with the police, in his desperation half hoping to -be arrested. When he saw a bluecoat start toward him, however, -his heart failed him, and he dashed down a side street and fled a -couple of blocks. When he stopped again he saw a man coming -toward him, and placed himself in his path. - -"Please, sir," he began, in the usual formula, "will you give me -the price of a lodging? I've had a broken arm, and I can't work, -and I've not a cent in my pocket. I'm an honest working-man, -sir, and I never begged before! It's not my fault, sir--" - -Jurgis usually went on until he was interrupted, but this man did -not interrupt, and so at last he came to a breathless stop. The -other had halted, and Jurgis suddenly noticed that he stood a -little unsteadily. "Whuzzat you say?" he queried suddenly, in a -thick voice. - -Jurgis began again, speaking more slowly and distinctly; before -he was half through the other put out his hand and rested it upon -his shoulder. "Poor ole chappie!" he said. "Been -up--hic--up--against it, hey?" - -Then he lurched toward Jurgis, and the hand upon his shoulder -became an arm about his neck. "Up against it myself, ole sport," -he said. "She's a hard ole world." - -They were close to a lamppost, and Jurgis got a glimpse of the -other. He was a young fellow--not much over eighteen, with a -handsome boyish face. He wore a silk hat and a rich soft -overcoat with a fur collar; and he smiled at Jurgis with -benignant sympathy. "I'm hard up, too, my goo' fren'," he said. -"I've got cruel parents, or I'd set you up. Whuzzamatter -whizyer?" - -"I've been in the hospital." - -"Hospital!" exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly, -"thass too bad! Same's my Aunt Polly--hic--my Aunt Polly's in -the hospital, too--ole auntie's been havin' twins! Whuzzamatter -whiz you?" - -"I've got a broken arm--" Jurgis began. - -"So," said the other, sympathetically. "That ain't so bad--you -get over that. I wish somebody'd break my arm, ole chappie-- -damfidon't! Then they'd treat me better--hic--hole me up, ole -sport! Whuzzit you wammme do?" - -"I'm hungry, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Hungry! Why don't you hassome supper?" - -"I've got no money, sir." - -"No money! Ho, ho--less be chums, ole boy--jess like me! No -money, either--a'most busted! Why don't you go home, then, -same's me?" - -"I haven't any home," said Jurgis. - -"No home! Stranger in the city, hey? Goo' God, thass bad! -Better come home wiz me--yes, by Harry, thass the trick, you'll -come home an' hassome supper--hic--wiz me! Awful -lonesome--nobody home! Guv'ner gone abroad--Bubby on's -honeymoon--Polly havin' twins--every damn soul gone away! -Nuff--hic--nuff to drive a feller to drink, I say! Only ole Ham -standin' by, passin' plates--damfican eat like that, no sir! The -club for me every time, my boy, I say. But then they won't lemme -sleep there--guv'ner's orders, by Harry--home every night, sir! -Ever hear anythin' like that? 'Every mornin' do?' I asked him. -'No, sir, every night, or no allowance at all, sir.' Thass my -guv'ner--'nice as nails, by Harry! Tole ole Ham to watch me, -too--servants spyin' on me--whuzyer think that, my fren'? A -nice, quiet--hic--goodhearted young feller like me, an' his daddy -can't go to Europe--hup!--an' leave him in peace! Ain't that a -shame, sir? An' I gotter go home every evenin' an' miss all the -fun, by Harry! Thass whuzzamatter now--thass why I'm here! -Hadda come away an' leave Kitty--hic--left her cryin', -too--whujja think of that, ole sport? 'Lemme go, Kittens,' -says I--'come early an' often--I go where duty--hic--calls me. -Farewell, farewell, my own true love--farewell, farewehell, -my--own true--love!'" - -This last was a song, and the young gentleman's voice rose -mournful and wailing, while he swung upon Jurgis's neck. The -latter was glancing about nervously, lest some one should -approach. They were still alone, however. - -"But I came all right, all right," continued the youngster, -aggressively, "I can--hic--I can have my own way when I want it, -by Harry--Freddie Jones is a hard man to handle when he gets -goin'! 'No, sir,' says I, 'by thunder, and I don't need anybody -goin' home with me, either--whujja take me for, hey? Think I'm -drunk, dontcha, hey?--I know you! But I'm no more drunk than you -are, Kittens,' says I to her. And then says she, 'Thass true, -Freddie dear' (she's a smart one, is Kitty), 'but I'm stayin' in -the flat, an' you're goin' out into the cold, cold night!' 'Put -it in a pome, lovely Kitty,' says I. 'No jokin', Freddie, my -boy,' says she. 'Lemme call a cab now, like a good dear'--but I -can call my own cabs, dontcha fool yourself--and I know what I'm -a-doin', you bet! Say, my fren', whatcha say--willye come home -an' see me, an' hassome supper? Come 'long like a good -feller--don't be haughty! You're up against it, same as me, an' -you can unerstan' a feller; your heart's in the right place, by -Harry--come 'long, ole chappie, an' we'll light up the house, an' -have some fizz, an' we'll raise hell, we will--whoop-la! -S'long's I'm inside the house I can do as I please--the guv'ner's -own very orders, b'God! Hip! hip!" - -They had started down the street, arm in arm, the young man -pushing Jurgis along, half dazed. Jurgis was trying to think -what to do--he knew he could not pass any crowded place with his -new acquaintance without attracting attention and being stopped. -It was only because of the falling snow that people who passed -here did not notice anything wrong. - -Suddenly, therefore, Jurgis stopped. "Is it very far?" he -inquired. - -"Not very," said the other, "Tired, are you, though? Well, we'll -ride--whatcha say? Good! Call a cab!" - -And then, gripping Jurgis tight with one hand, the young fellow -began searching his pockets with the other. "You call, ole -sport, an' I'll pay," he suggested. "How's that, hey?" - -And he pulled out from somewhere a big roll of bills. It was -more money than Jurgis had ever seen in his life before, and he -stared at it with startled eyes. - -"Looks like a lot, hey?" said Master Freddie, fumbling with it. -"Fool you, though, ole chappie--they're all little ones! I'll be -busted in one week more, sure thing--word of honor. An' not a -cent more till the first--hic--guv'ner's orders--hic--not a cent, -by Harry! Nuff to set a feller crazy, it is. I sent him a -cable, this af'noon--thass one reason more why I'm goin' home. -'Hangin' on the verge of starvation,' I says--'for the honor of -the family--hic--sen' me some bread. Hunger will compel me to -join you--Freddie.' Thass what I wired him, by Harry, an' I mean -it--I'll run away from school, b'God, if he don't sen' me some." - -After this fashion the young gentleman continued to prattle -on--and meantime Jurgis was trembling with excitement. He might -grab that wad of bills and be out of sight in the darkness before -the other could collect his wits. Should he do it? What better -had he to hope for, if he waited longer? But Jurgis had never -committed a crime in his life, and now he hesitated half a second -too long. "Freddie" got one bill loose, and then stuffed the -rest back into his trousers' pocket. - -"Here, ole man," he said, "you take it." He held it out -fluttering. They were in front of a saloon; and by the light of -the window Jurgis saw that it was a hundred-dollar bill! "You -take it," the other repeated. "Pay the cabbie an' keep the -change--I've got--hic--no head for business! Guv'ner says so -hisself, an' the guv'ner knows--the guv'ner's got a head for -business, you bet! 'All right, guv'ner,' I told him, 'you run -the show, and I'll take the tickets!' An' so he set Aunt Polly -to watch me--hic--an' now Polly's off in the hospital havin' -twins, an' me out raisin' Cain! Hello, there! Hey! Call him!" - -A cab was driving by; and Jurgis sprang and called, and it swung -round to the curb. Master Freddie clambered in with some -difficulty, and Jurgis had started to follow, when the driver -shouted: "Hi, there! Get out--you!" - -Jurgis hesitated, and was half obeying; but his companion broke -out: "Whuzzat? Whuzzamatter wiz you, hey?" - -And the cabbie subsided, and Jurgis climbed in. Then Freddie -gave a number on the Lake Shore Drive, and the carriage started -away. The youngster leaned back and snuggled up to Jurgis, -murmuring contentedly; in half a minute he was sound asleep, -Jurgis sat shivering, speculating as to whether he might not -still be able to get hold of the roll of bills. He was afraid to -try to go through his companion's pockets, however; and besides -the cabbie might be on the watch. He had the hundred safe, and -he would have to be content with that. - - -At the end of half an hour or so the cab stopped. They were out -on the waterfront, and from the east a freezing gale was blowing -off the ice-bound lake. "Here we are," called the cabbie, and -Jurgis awakened his companion. - -Master Freddie sat up with a start. - -"Hello!" he said. "Where are we? Whuzzis? Who are you, hey? -Oh, yes, sure nuff! Mos' forgot you--hic--ole chappie! Home, -are we? Lessee! Br-r-r--it's cold! Yes--come 'long--we're -home--it ever so--hic--humble!" - -Before them there loomed an enormous granite pile, set far back -from the street, and occupying a whole block. By the light of -the driveway lamps Jurgis could see that it had towers and huge -gables, like a medieval castle. He thought that the young fellow -must have made a mistake--it was inconceivable to him that any -person could have a home like a hotel or the city hall. But he -followed in silence, and they went up the long flight of steps, -arm in arm. - -"There's a button here, ole sport," said Master Freddie. "Hole -my arm while I find her! Steady, now--oh, yes, here she is! -Saved!" - -A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in -blue livery stood holding it, and gazing before him, silent as a -statue. - -They stood for a moment blinking in the light. Then Jurgis felt -his companion pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton -closed the door. Jurgis's heart was beating wildly; it was a -bold thing for him to do--into what strange unearthly place he -was venturing he had no idea. Aladdin entering his cave could -not have been more excited. - -The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a -vast hall, with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a -great staircase opening at the far end of it. The floor was of -tesselated marble, smooth as glass, and from the walls strange -shapes loomed out, woven into huge portieres in rich, harmonious -colors, or gleaming from paintings, wonderful and -mysterious-looking in the half-light, purple and red and golden, -like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest. - -The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie -took off his hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of -Jurgis' arm, tried to get out of his overcoat. After two or -three attempts he accomplished this, with the lackey's help, -and meantime a second man had approached, a tall and portly -personage, solemn as an executioner. He bore straight down upon -Jurgis, who shrank away nervously; he seized him by the arm -without a word, and started toward the door with him. Then -suddenly came Master Freddie's voice, "Hamilton! My fren' will -remain wiz me." - -The man paused and half released Jurgis. "Come 'long ole -chappie," said the other, and Jurgis started toward him. - -"Master Frederick!" exclaimed the man. - -"See that the cabbie--hic--is paid," was the other's response; -and he linked his arm in Jurgis'. Jurgis was about to say, -"I have the money for him," but he restrained himself. The stout -man in uniform signaled to the other, who went out to the cab, -while he followed Jurgis and his young master. - -They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were -two huge doors. - -"Hamilton," said Master Freddie. - -"Well, sir?" said the other. - -"Whuzzamatter wizze dinin'-room doors?" - -"Nothing is the matter, sir." - -"Then why dontcha openum?" - -The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the -darkness. "Lights," commanded Master Freddie; and the butler -pressed a button, and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed -from above, half-blinding Jurgis. He stared; and little by -little he made out the great apartment, with a domed ceiling from -which the light poured, and walls that were one enormous -painting--nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn -glade--Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through -a mountain streamlet--a group of maidens bathing in a forest -pool--all life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was -some work of enchantment, that he was in a dream palace. Then -his eye passed to the long table in the center of the hall, -a table black as ebony, and gleaming with wrought silver and gold. -In the center of it was a huge carven bowl, with the glistening -gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids, glowing -from a light hidden somewhere in their midst. - -"This's the dinin' room," observed Master Freddie. "How you like -it, hey, ole sport?" - -He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning -over Jurgis and smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it. - -"Rummy ole place to feed in all 'lone, though," was Freddie's -comment--"rummy's hell! Whuzya think, hey?" Then another idea -occurred to him and he went on, without waiting: "Maybe you never -saw anythin--hic--like this 'fore? Hey, ole chappie?" - -"No," said Jurgis. - -"Come from country, maybe--hey?" - -"Yes," said Jurgis. - -"Aha! I thosso! Lossa folks from country never saw such a -place. Guv'ner brings 'em--free show--hic--reg'lar circus! -Go home tell folks about it. Ole man lones's place--lones the -packer--beef-trust man. Made it all out of hogs, too, damn ole -scoundrel. Now we see where our pennies go--rebates, an' private -car lines--hic--by Harry! Bully place, though--worth seein' ! -Ever hear of lones the packer, hey, ole chappie?" - -Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes -missed nothing, demanded: "Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?" - -And Jurgis managed to stammer out: "I have worked for him in the -yards." - -"What!" cried Master Freddie, with a yell. "You! In the yards? -Ho, ho! Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man--by -Harry! Guv'ner ought to be here--glad to see you. Great fren's -with the men, guv'ner--labor an' capital, commun'ty 'f int'rests, -an' all that--hic! Funny things happen in this world, don't -they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme interduce you--fren' the -family--ole fren' the guv'ner's--works in the yards. Come to -spend the night wiz me, Hamilton--have a hot time. Me fren', -Mr.--whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name." - -"Rudkus--Jurgis Rudkus." - -"My fren', Mr. Rednose, Hamilton--shake han's." - -The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and -suddenly Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. "I know -whuzzamatter wiz you, Hamilton--lay you a dollar I know! You -think--hic--you think I'm drunk! Hey, now?" - -And the butler again bowed his head. "Yes, sir," he said, at -which Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis's neck and went -into a fit of laughter. "Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel," he -roared, "I'll 'scharge you for impudence, you see 'f I don't! -Ho, ho, ho! I'm drunk! Ho, ho!" - -The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new -whim would seize him. "Whatcha wanta do?" he queried suddenly. -"Wanta see the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv'ner--show -you roun'? State parlors--Looee Cans--Looee Sez--chairs cost -three thousand apiece. Tea room Maryanntnet--picture of -shepherds dancing--Ruysdael--twenty-three thousan'! -Ballroom--balc'ny pillars--hic--imported--special -ship--sixty-eight thousan'! Ceilin' painted in Rome--whuzzat -feller's name, Hamilton--Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this -place--silver bowl--Benvenuto Cellini--rummy ole Dago! An' the -organ--thirty thousan' dollars, sir--starter up, Hamilton, let -Mr. Rednose hear it. No--never mind--clean forgot--says he's -hungry, Hamilton--less have some supper. Only--hic--don't less -have it here--come up to my place, ole sport--nice an' cosy. -This way--steady now, don't slip on the floor. Hamilton, we'll -have a cole spread, an' some fizz--don't leave out the fizz, by -Harry. We'll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, -sir?" - -"Yes, sir," said the butler, "but, Master Frederick, your father -left orders--" - -And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. "My -father's orders were left to me--hic--an' not to you," he said. -Then, clasping Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of -the room; on the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked: -"Any--hic--cable message for me, Hamilton?" - -"No, sir," said the butler. - -"Guv'ner must be travelin'. An' how's the twins, Hamilton?" - -"They are doing well, sir." - -"Good!" said Master Freddie; and added fervently: "God bless 'em, -the little lambs!" - -They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top -of it there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a -nymph crouching by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, -the flesh warm and glowing with the hues of life. Above was a -huge court, with domed roof, the various apartments opening into -it. The butler had paused below but a few minutes to give -orders, and then followed them; now he pressed a button, and the -hall blazed with light. He opened a door before them, and then -pressed another button, as they staggered into the apartment. - -It was fitted up as a study. In the center was a mahogany table, -covered with books, and smokers' implements; the walls were -decorated with college trophies and colors--flags, posters, -photographs and knickknacks--tennis rackets, canoe paddles, golf -clubs, and polo sticks. An enormous moose head, with horns six -feet across, faced a buffalo head on the opposite wall, while -bear and tiger skins covered the polished floor. There were -lounging chairs and sofas, window seats covered with soft -cushions of fantastic designs; there was one corner fitted in -Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jeweled lamp beneath. -Beyond, a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a -swimming pool of the purest marble, that had cost about forty -thousand dollars. - -Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then -out of the next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most -hideous object that Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, -opening a mouth like a dragon's; and he came toward the young -man, wagging his tail. "Hello, Dewey!" cried his master. "Been -havin' a snooze, ole boy? Well, well--hello there, -whuzzamatter?" (The dog was snarling at Jurgis.) "Why, -Dewey--this' my fren', Mr. Rednose--ole fren' the guv'ner's! -Mr. Rednose, Admiral Dewey; shake han's--hic. Ain't he a daisy, -though--blue ribbon at the New York show--eighty-five hundred at -a clip! How's that, hey?" - -The speaker sank into one of the big armchairs, and Admiral Dewey -crouched beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took -his eyes off Jurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral. - -The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching -Jurgis every second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, -as he opened the door a man in livery entered, carrying a folding -table, and behind him two men with covered trays. They stood -like statues while the first spread the table and set out the -contents of the trays upon it. There were cold pates, and thin -slices of meat, tiny bread and butter sandwiches with the crust -cut off, a bowl of sliced peaches and cream (in January), little -fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow and white, and half a -dozen ice-cold bottles of wine. - -"Thass the stuff for you!" cried Master Freddie, exultantly, -as he spied them. "Come 'long, ole chappie, move up." - -And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, -and he took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in -succession down his throat. Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and -cried again to Jurgis to seat himself. - -The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, -and Jurgis thought it was to keep him out of it; but finally he -understand that it was the other's intention to put it under him, -and so he sat down, cautiously and mistrustingly. Master Freddie -perceived that the attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked -with a nod to them, "You may go." - -They went, all save the butler. - -"You may go too, Hamilton," he said. - -"Master Frederick--" the man began. - -"Go!" cried the youngster, angrily. "Damn you, don't you hear me?" - -The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as -he, observed that he took the key out of the lock, in order that -he might peer through the keyhole. - -Master Frederick turned to the table again. "Now," he said, "go -for it." - -Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. "Eat!" cried the other. "Pile -in, ole chappie!" - -"Don't you want anything?" Jurgis asked. - -"Ain't hungry," was the reply--"only thirsty. Kitty and me had -some candy--you go on." - -So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two -shovels, his fork in one hand and his knife in the other; when he -once got started his wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he -did not stop for breath until he had cleared every plate. -"Gee whiz!" said the other, who had been watching him in wonder. - -Then he held Jurgis the bottle. "Lessee you drink now," he said; -and Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a -wonderfully unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, -tickling every nerve of him, thrilling him with joy. He drank -the very last drop of it, and then he gave vent to a long-drawn -"Ah!" - -"Good stuff, hey?" said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned -back in the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing -at Jurgis. - -And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening -dress, was Freddie, and looked very handsome--he was a beautiful -boy, with light golden hair and the head of an Antinous. He -smiled at Jurgis confidingly, and then started talking again, -with his blissful insouciance. This time he talked for ten -minutes at a stretch, and in the course of the speech he told -Jurgis all of his family history. His big brother Charlie was in -love with the guileless maiden who played the part of "Little -Bright-Eyes" in "The Kaliph of Kamskatka." He had been on the -verge of marrying her once, only "the guv'ner" had sworn to -disinherit him, and had presented him with a sum that would -stagger the imagination, and that had staggered the virtue of -"Little Bright-Eyes." Now Charlie had got leave from college, -and had gone away in his automobile on the next best thing to a -honeymoon. "The guv'ner" had made threats to disinherit another -of his children also, sister Gwendolen, who had married an -Italian marquis with a string of titles and a dueling record. -They lived in his chateau, or rather had, until he had taken to -firing the breakfast dishes at her; then she had cabled for help, -and the old gentleman had gone over to find out what were his -Grace's terms. So they had left Freddie all alone, and he with -less than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in -arms and meant serious business, as they would find in the -end--if there was no other way of bringing them to terms he would -have his "Kittens" wire that she was about to marry him, and see -what happened then. - -So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. -He smiled his sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, -sleepily. Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and -finally closed them and forgot to open them. - -For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching -him, and reveling in the strange sensation of the champagne. -Once he stirred, and the dog growled; after that he sat almost -holding his breath--until after a while the door of the room -opened softly, and the butler came in. - -He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis -rose up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against -the wall, and then the butler came close, and pointed toward the -door. "Get out of here!" he whispered. - -Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring -softly. "If you do, you son of a--" hissed the butler, "I'll -mash in your face for you before you get out of here!" - -And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw "Admiral Dewey" -coming up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his -threats. Then he surrendered and started toward the door. - -They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing -staircase, and through the dark hall. At the front door he -paused, and the butler strode close to him. - -"Hold up your hands," he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, -clinching his one well fist. - -"What for?" he cried; and then understanding that the fellow -proposed to search him, he answered, "I'll see you in hell -first." - -"Do you want to go to jail?" demanded the butler, menacingly. -"I'll have the police--" - -"Have 'em!" roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. "But you won't -put your hands on me till you do! I haven't touched anything in -your damned house, and I'll not have you touch me!" - -So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should -waken, stepped suddenly to the door, and opened it. "Get out of -here!" he said; and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he -gave him a ferocious kick that sent him down the great stone -steps at a run, and landed him sprawling in the snow at the -bottom. - - -Chapter 25 - - -Jurgis got up, wild with rage, but the door was shut and the -great castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the -blast bit into him, and he turned and went away at a run. - -When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented -streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that -last humiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. -He had come out ahead on that deal! He put his hand into his -trousers' pocket every now and then, to make sure that the -precious hundred-dollar bill was still there. - -Yet he was in a plight--a curious and even dreadful plight, when -he came to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one -bill! And he had to find some shelter that night he had to -change it! - -Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. -There was no one he could go to for help--he had to manage it all -alone. To get it changed in a lodging-house would be to take his -life in his hands--he would almost certainly be robbed, and -perhaps murdered, before morning. He might go to some hotel or -railroad depot and ask to have it changed; but what would they -think, seeing a "bum" like him with a hundred dollars? He would -probably be arrested if he tried it; and what story could he -tell? On the morrow Freddie Jones would discover his loss, -and there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. -The only other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. -He might pay them to change it, if it could not be done otherwise. - -He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as -being too crowded--then finally, chancing upon one where the -bartender was all alone, he gripped his hands in sudden -resolution and went in. - -"Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?" he demanded. - -The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize -fighter, and a three weeks' stubble of hair upon it. He stared -at Jurgis. "What's that youse say?" he demanded. - -"I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?" - -"Where'd youse get it?" he inquired incredulously. - -"Never mind," said Jurgis; "I've got it, and I want it changed. -I'll pay you if you'll do it." - -The other stared at him hard. "Lemme see it," he said. - -"Will you change it?" Jurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his -pocket. - -"How the hell can I know if it's good or not?" retorted the -bartender. "Whatcher take me for, hey?" - -Then Jurgis slowly and warily approached him; he took out the -bill, and fumbled it for a moment, while the man stared at him -with hostile eyes across the counter. Then finally he handed it -over. - -The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it -between his fingers, and held it up to the light; he turned it -over, and upside down, and edgeways. It was new and rather -stiff, and that made him dubious. Jurgis was watching him like a -cat all the time. - -"Humph," he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him -up--a ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in -a sling--and a hundred-dollar bill! "Want to buy anything?" he -demanded. - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "I'll take a glass of beer." - -"All right," said the other, "I'll change it." And he put the -bill in his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, -and set it on the counter. Then he turned to the cash register, -and punched up five cents, and began to pull money out of the drawer. -Finally, he faced Jurgis, counting it out--two dimes, a quarter, -and fifty cents. "There," he said. - -For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. "My -ninety-nine dollars," he said. - -"What ninety-nine dollars?" demanded the bartender. - -"My change!" he cried--"the rest of my hundred!" - -"Go on," said the bartender, "you're nutty!" - -And Jurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror -reigned in him--black, paralyzing, awful horror, clutching him at -the heart; and then came rage, in surging, blinding floods-- -he screamed aloud, and seized the glass and hurled it at the other's -head. The man ducked, and it missed him by half an inch; he rose -again and faced Jurgis, who was vaulting over the bar with his -one well arm, and dealt him a smashing blow in the face, hurling -him backward upon the floor. Then, as Jurgis scrambled to his -feet again and started round the counter after him, he shouted at -the top of his voice, "Help! help!" - -Jurgis seized a bottle off the counter as he ran; and as the -bartender made a leap he hurled the missile at him with all his -force. It just grazed his head, and shivered into a thousand -pieces against the post of the door. Then Jurgis started back, -rushing at the man again in the middle of the room. This time, -in his blind frenzy, he came without a bottle, and that was all -the bartender wanted--he met him halfway and floored him with a -sledgehammer drive between the eyes. An instant later the screen -doors flew open, and two men rushed in--just as Jurgis was -getting to his feet again, foaming at the mouth with rage, -and trying to tear his broken arm out of its bandages. - -"Look out!" shouted the bartender. "He's got a knife!" Then, -seeing that the two were disposed to join the fray, he made -another rush at Jurgis, and knocked aside his feeble defense and -sent him tumbling again; and the three flung themselves upon him, -rolling and kicking about the place. - -A second later a policeman dashed in, and the bartender yelled -once more--"Look out for his knife!" Jurgis had fought himself -half to his knees, when the policeman made a leap at him, and -cracked him across the face with his club. Though the blow -staggered him, the wild-beast frenzy still blazed in him, and he -got to his feet, lunging into the air. Then again the club -descended, full upon his head, and he dropped like a log to the -floor. - -The policeman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for -him to try to rise again; and meantime the barkeeper got up, and -put his hand to his head. "Christ!" he said, "I thought I was -done for that time. Did he cut me?" - -"Don't see anything, Jake," said the policeman. "What's the -matter with him?" - -"Just crazy drunk," said the other. "A lame duck, too--but he -'most got me under the bar. Youse had better call the wagon, -Billy." - -"No," said the officer. "He's got no more fight in him, I -guess--and he's only got a block to go." He twisted his hand in -Jurgis's collar and jerked at him. "Git up here, you!" he -commanded. - -But Jurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, -and after stowing the hundred-dollar bill away in a safe hiding -place, came and poured a glass of water over Jurgis. Then, as -the latter began to moan feebly, the policeman got him to his -feet and dragged him out of the place. The station house was -just around the corner, and so in a few minutes Jurgis was in a -cell. - -He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance -moaning in torment, with a blinding headache and a racking -thirst. Now and then he cried aloud for a drink of water, -but there was no one to hear him. There were others in that same -station house with split heads and a fever; there were hundreds -of them in the great city, and tens of thousands of them in the -great land, and there was no one to hear any of them. - -In the morning Jurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of -bread, and then hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the -nearest police court. He sat in the pen with a score of others -until his turn came. - -The bartender--who proved to be a well-known bruiser--was called -to the stand, He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner -had come into his saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had -ordered a glass of beer and tendered a dollar bill in payment. -He had been given ninety-five cents' change, and had demanded -ninety-nine dollars more, and before the plaintiff could even -answer had hurled the glass at him and then attacked him with a -bottle of bitters, and nearly wrecked the place. - -Then the prisoner was sworn--a forlorn object, haggard and -unshorn, with an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and -head cut, and bloody, and one eye purplish black and entirely -closed. "What have you to say for yourself?" queried the -magistrate. - -"Your Honor," said Jurgis, "I went into his place and asked the -man if he could change me a hundred-dollar bill. And he said he -would if I bought a drink. I gave him the bill and then he -wouldn't give me the change." - -The magistrate was staring at him in perplexity. "You gave him a -hundred-dollar bill!" he exclaimed. - -"Yes, your Honor," said Jurgis. - -"Where did you get it?" - -"A man gave it to me, your Honor." - -"A man? What man, and what for?" - -"A young man I met upon the street, your Honor. I had been -begging." - -There was a titter in the courtroom; the officer who was holding -Jurgis put up his hand to hide a smile, and the magistrate smiled -without trying to hide it. "It's true, your Honor!" cried -Jurgis, passionately. - -"You had been drinking as well as begging last night, had you -not?" inquired the magistrate. "No, your Honor--" protested -Jurgis. "I--" - -"You had not had anything to drink?" - -"Why, yes, your Honor, I had--" - -"What did you have?" - -"I had a bottle of something--I don't know what it was--something -that burned--" - -There was again a laugh round the courtroom, stopping suddenly as -the magistrate looked up and frowned. "Have you ever been -arrested before?" he asked abruptly. - -The question took Jurgis aback. "I--I--" he stammered. - -"Tell me the truth, now!" commanded the other, sternly. - -"Yes, your Honor," said Jurgis. - -"How often?" - -"Only once, your Honor." - -"What for?" - -"For knocking down my boss, your Honor. I was working in the -stockyards, and he--" - -"I see," said his Honor; "I guess that will do. You ought to -stop drinking if you can't control yourself. Ten days and costs. -Next case." - -Jurgis gave vent to a cry of dismay, cut off suddenly by the -policeman, who seized him by the collar. He was jerked out of -the way, into a room with the convicted prisoners, where he sat -and wept like a child in his impotent rage. It seemed monstrous -to him that policemen and judges should esteem his word as -nothing in comparison with the bartender's--poor Jurgis could not -know that the owner of the saloon paid five dollars each week to -the policeman alone for Sunday privileges and general favors-- -nor that the pugilist bartender was one of the most trusted henchmen -of the Democratic leader of the district, and had helped only a -few months before to hustle out a record-breaking vote as a -testimonial to the magistrate, who had been made the target of -odious kid-gloved reformers. - -Jurgis was driven out to the Bridewell for the second time. In -his tumbling around he had hurt his arm again, and so could not -work, but had to be attended by the physician. Also his head and -his eye had to be tied up--and so he was a pretty-looking object -when, the second day after his arrival, he went out into the -exercise court and encountered--Jack Duane! - -The young fellow was so glad to see Jurgis that he almost hugged -him. "By God, if it isn't 'the Stinker'!" he cried. "And what -is it--have you been through a sausage machine?" - -"No," said Jurgis, "but I've been in a railroad wreck and a -fight." And then, while some of the other prisoners gathered -round he told his wild story; most of them were incredulous, -but Duane knew that Jurgis could never have made up such a yarn -as that. - -"Hard luck, old man," he said, when they were alone; "but maybe -it's taught you a lesson." - -"I've learned some things since I saw you last," said Jurgis -mournfully. Then he explained how he had spent the last summer, -"hoboing it," as the phrase was. "And you?" he asked finally. -"Have you been here ever since?" - -"Lord, no!" said the other. "I only came in the day before -yesterday. It's the second time they've sent me up on a -trumped-up charge--I've had hard luck and can't pay them what -they want. Why don't you quit Chicago with me, Jurgis?" - -"I've no place to go," said Jurgis, sadly. - -"Neither have I," replied the other, laughing lightly. "But -we'll wait till we get out and see." - -In the Bridewell Jurgis met few who had been there the last time, -but he met scores of others, old and young, of exactly the same -sort. It was like breakers upon a beach; there was new water, -but the wave looked just the same. He strolled about and talked -with them, and the biggest of them told tales of their prowess, -while those who were weaker, or younger and inexperienced, -gathered round and listened in admiring silence. The last time -he was there, Jurgis had thought of little but his family; -but now he was free to listen to these men, and to realize that he -was one of them--that their point of view was his point of view, -and that the way they kept themselves alive in the world was the -way he meant to do it in the future. - -And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny -in his pocket, he went straight to Jack Duane. He went full of -humility and gratitude; for Duane was a gentleman, and a man with -a profession--and it was remarkable that he should be willing to -throw in his lot with a humble workingman, one who had even been -a beggar and a tramp. Jurgis could not see what help he could be -to him; but he did not understand that a man like himself--who -could be trusted to stand by any one who was kind to him--was as -rare among criminals as among any other class of men. - -The address Jurgis had was a garret room in the Ghetto district, -the home of a pretty little French girl, Duane's mistress, who -sewed all day, and eked out her living by prostitution. He had -gone elsewhere, she told Jurgis--he was afraid to stay there now, -on account of the police. The new address was a cellar dive, -whose proprietor said that he had never heard of Duane; but after -he had put Jurgis through a catechism he showed him a back stairs -which led to a "fence" in the rear of a pawnbroker's shop, and -thence to a number of assignation rooms, in one of which Duane -was hiding. - -Duane was glad to see him; he was without a cent of money, -he said, and had been waiting for Jurgis to help him get some. -He explained his plan--in fact he spent the day in laying bare to -his friend the criminal world of the city, and in showing him how -he might earn himself a living in it. That winter he would have -a hard time, on account of his arm, and because of an unwonted -fit of activity of the police; but so long as he was unknown to -them he would be safe if he were careful. Here at "Papa" -Hanson's (so they called the old man who kept the dive) he might -rest at ease, for "Papa" Hanson was "square"--would stand by him -so long as he paid, and gave him an hour's notice if there were -to be a police raid. Also Rosensteg, the pawnbroker, would buy -anything he had for a third of its value, and guarantee to keep -it hidden for a year. - -There was an oil stove in the little cupboard of a room, and they -had some supper; and then about eleven o'clock at night they -sallied forth together, by a rear entrance to the place, Duane -armed with a slingshot. They came to a residence district, -and he sprang up a lamppost and blew out the light, and then the two -dodged into the shelter of an area step and hid in silence. - -Pretty soon a man came by, a workingman--and they let him go. -Then after a long interval came the heavy tread of a policeman, -and they held their breath till he was gone. Though half-frozen, -they waited a full quarter of an hour after that--and then again -came footsteps, walking briskly. Duane nudged Jurgis, and the -instant the man had passed they rose up. Duane stole out as -silently as a shadow, and a second later Jurgis heard a thud and -a stifled cry. He was only a couple of feet behind, and he -leaped to stop the man's mouth, while Duane held him fast by the -arms, as they had agreed. But the man was limp and showed a -tendency to fall, and so Jurgis had only to hold him by the -collar, while the other, with swift fingers, went through his -pockets--ripping open, first his overcoat, and then his coat, -and then his vest, searching inside and outside, and transferring the -contents into his own pockets. At last, after feeling of the -man's fingers and in his necktie, Duane whispered, "That's all!" -and they dragged him to the area and dropped him in. Then Jurgis -went one way and his friend the other, walking briskly. - -The latter arrived first, and Jurgis found him examining the -"swag." There was a gold watch, for one thing, with a chain and -locket; there was a silver pencil, and a matchbox, and a handful -of small change, and finally a cardcase. This last Duane opened -feverishly--there were letters and checks, and two -theater-tickets, and at last, in the back part, a wad of bills. -He counted them--there was a twenty, five tens, four fives, and -three ones. Duane drew a long breath. "That lets us out!" he -said. - -After further examination, they burned the cardcase and its -contents, all but the bills, and likewise the picture of a little -girl in the locket. Then Duane took the watch and trinkets -downstairs, and came back with sixteen dollars. "The old -scoundrel said the case was filled," he said. "It's a lie, but -he knows I want the money." - -They divided up the spoils, and Jurgis got as his share -fifty-five dollars and some change. He protested that it was too -much, but the other had agreed to divide even. That was a good -haul, he said, better than average. - -When they got up in the morning, Jurgis was sent out to buy a -paper; one of the pleasures of committing a crime was the reading -about it afterward. "I had a pal that always did it," Duane -remarked, laughing--"until one day he read that he had left three -thousand dollars in a lower inside pocket of his party's vest!" - -There was a half-column account of the robbery--it was evident -that a gang was operating in the neighborhood, said the paper, -for it was the third within a week, and the police were -apparently powerless. The victim was an insurance agent, and he -had lost a hundred and ten dollars that did not belong to him. -He had chanced to have his name marked on his shirt, otherwise he -would not have been identified yet. His assailant had hit him -too hard, and he was suffering from concussion of the brain; -and also he had been half-frozen when found, and would lose three -fingers on his right hand. The enterprising newspaper reporter -had taken all this information to his family, and told how they -had received it. - -Since it was Jurgis's first experience, these details naturally -caused him some worriment; but the other laughed coolly--it was -the way of the game, and there was no helping it. Before long -Jurgis would think no more of it than they did in the yards of -knocking out a bullock. "It's a case of us or the other fellow, -and I say the other fellow, every time," he observed. - -"Still," said Jurgis, reflectively, "he never did us any harm." - -"He was doing it to somebody as hard as he could, you can be sure -of that," said his friend. - - -Duane had already explained to Jurgis that if a man of their -trade were known he would have to work all the time to satisfy -the demands of the police. Therefore it would be better for -Jurgis to stay in hiding and never be seen in public with his -pal. But Jurgis soon got very tired of staying in hiding. In a -couple of weeks he was feeling strong and beginning to use his -arm, and then he could not stand it any longer. Duane, who had -done a job of some sort by himself, and made a truce with the -powers, brought over Marie, his little French girl, to share with -him; but even that did not avail for long, and in the end he had -to give up arguing, and take Jurgis out and introduce him to the -saloons and "sporting houses" where the big crooks and "holdup -men" hung out. - -And so Jurgis got a glimpse of the high-class criminal world of -Chicago. The city, which was owned by an oligarchy of -businessmen, being nominally ruled by the people, a huge army of -graft was necessary for the purpose of effecting the transfer of -power. Twice a year, in the spring and fall elections, millions -of dollars were furnished by the businessmen and expended by this -army; meetings were held and clever speakers were hired, bands -played and rockets sizzled, tons of documents and reservoirs of -drinks were distributed, and tens of thousands of votes were -bought for cash. And this army of graft had, of course, to be -maintained the year round. The leaders and organizers were -maintained by the businessmen directly--aldermen and legislators -by means of bribes, party officials out of the campaign funds, -lobbyists and corporation lawyers in the form of salaries, -contractors by means of jobs, labor union leaders by subsidies, -and newspaper proprietors and editors by advertisements. The -rank and file, however, were either foisted upon the city, or -else lived off the population directly. There was the police -department, and the fire and water departments, and the whole -balance of the civil list, from the meanest office boy to the -head of a city department; and for the horde who could find no -room in these, there was the world of vice and crime, there was -license to seduce, to swindle and plunder and prey. The law -forbade Sunday drinking; and this had delivered the saloon- -keepers into the hands of the police, and made an alliance -between them necessary. The law forbade prostitution; and this -had brought the "madames" into the combination. It was the same -with the gambling-house keeper and the poolroom man, and the same -with any other man or woman who had a means of getting "graft," -and was willing to pay over a share of it: the green-goods man -and the highwayman, the pickpocket and the sneak thief, and the -receiver of stolen goods, the seller of adulterated milk, of -stale fruit and diseased meat, the proprietor of unsanitary -tenements, the fake doctor and the usurer, the beggar and the -"pushcart man," the prize fighter and the professional slugger, -the race-track "tout," the procurer, the white-slave agent, and -the expert seducer of young girls. All of these agencies of -corruption were banded together, and leagued in blood brotherhood -with the politician and the police; more often than not they were -one and the same person,--the police captain would own the -brothel he pretended to raid, the politician would open his -headquarters in his saloon. "Hinkydink" or "Bathhouse John," -or others of that ilk, were proprietors of the most notorious dives -in Chicago, and also the "gray wolves" of the city council, -who gave away the streets of the city to the businessmen; and those -who patronized their places were the gamblers and prize fighters -who set the law at defiance, and the burglars and holdup men who -kept the whole city in terror. On election day all these powers -of vice and crime were one power; they could tell within one per -cent what the vote of their district would be, and they could -change it at an hour's notice. - -A month ago Jurgis had all but perished of starvation upon the -streets; and now suddenly, as by the gift of a magic key, he had -entered into a world where money and all the good things of life -came freely. He was introduced by his friend to an Irishman -named "Buck" Halloran, who was a political "worker" and on the -inside of things. This man talked with Jurgis for a while, and -then told him that he had a little plan by which a man who looked -like a workingman might make some easy money; but it was a -private affair, and had to be kept quiet. Jurgis expressed -himself as agreeable, and the other took him that afternoon -(it was Saturday) to a place where city laborers were being paid off. -The paymaster sat in a little booth, with a pile of envelopes -before him, and two policemen standing by. Jurgis went, -according to directions, and gave the name of "Michael -O'Flaherty," and received an envelope, which he took around the -corner and delivered to Halloran, who was waiting for him in a -saloon. Then he went again; and gave the name of "Johann -Schmidt," and a third time, and give the name of "Serge -Reminitsky." Halloran had quite a list of imaginary workingmen, -and Jurgis got an envelope for each one. For this work he -received five dollars, and was told that he might have it every -week, so long as he kept quiet. As Jurgis was excellent at -keeping quiet, he soon won the trust of "Buck" Halloran, and was -introduced to others as a man who could be depended upon. - -This acquaintance was useful to him in another way, also before -long Jurgis made his discovery of the meaning of "pull," and just -why his boss, Connor, and also the pugilist bartender, had been -able to send him to jail. One night there was given a ball, the -"benefit" of "One-eyed Larry," a lame man who played the violin -in one of the big "high-class" houses of prostitution on Clark -Street, and was a wag and a popular character on the "Levee." -This ball was held in a big dance hall, and was one of the -occasions when the city's powers of debauchery gave themselves up -to madness. Jurgis attended and got half insane with drink, -and began quarreling over a girl; his arm was pretty strong by then, -and he set to work to clean out the place, and ended in a cell in -the police station. The police station being crowded to the -doors, and stinking with "bums," Jurgis did not relish staying -there to sleep off his liquor, and sent for Halloran, who called -up the district leader and had Jurgis bailed out by telephone at -four o'clock in the morning. When he was arraigned that same -morning, the district leader had already seen the clerk of the -court and explained that Jurgis Rudkus was a decent fellow, who -had been indiscreet; and so Jurgis was fined ten dollars and the -fine was "suspended"--which meant that he did not have to pay for -it, and never would have to pay it, unless somebody chose to -bring it up against him in the future. - -Among the people Jurgis lived with now money was valued according -to an entirely different standard from that of the people of -Packingtown; yet, strange as it may seem, he did a great deal -less drinking than he had as a workingman. He had not the same -provocations of exhaustion and hopelessness; he had now something -to work for, to struggle for. He soon found that if he kept his -wits about him, he would come upon new opportunities; and being -naturally an active man, he not only kept sober himself, but -helped to steady his friend, who was a good deal fonder of both -wine and women than he. - -One thing led to another. In the saloon where Jurgis met "Buck" -Halloran he was sitting late one night with Duane, when a -"country customer" (a buyer for an out-of-town merchant) came in, -a little more than half "piped." There was no one else in the -place but the bartender, and as the man went out again Jurgis and -Duane followed him; he went round the corner, and in a dark place -made by a combination of the elevated railroad and an unrented -building, Jurgis leaped forward and shoved a revolver under his -nose, while Duane, with his hat pulled over his eyes, went -through the man's pockets with lightning fingers. They got his -watch and his "wad," and were round the corner again and into the -saloon before he could shout more than once. The bartender, to -whom they had tipped the wink, had the cellar door open for them, -and they vanished, making their way by a secret entrance to a -brothel next door. From the roof of this there was access to -three similar places beyond. By means of these passages the -customers of any one place could be gotten out of the way, in -case a falling out with the police chanced to lead to a raid; -and also it was necessary to have a way of getting a girl out of -reach in case of an emergency. Thousands of them came to Chicago -answering advertisements for "servants" and "factory hands," and -found themselves trapped by fake employment agencies, and locked -up in a bawdyhouse. It was generally enough to take all their -clothes away from them; but sometimes they would have to be -"doped" and kept prisoners for weeks; and meantime their parents -might be telegraphing the police, and even coming on to see why -nothing was done. Occasionally there was no way of satisfying -them but to let them search the place to which the girl had been -traced. - -For his help in this little job, the bartender received twenty -out of the hundred and thirty odd dollars that the pair secured; -and naturally this put them on friendly terms with him, and a few -days later he introduced them to a little "sheeny" named -Goldberger, one of the "runners" of the "sporting house" where -they had been hidden. After a few drinks Goldberger began, with -some hesitation, to narrate how he had had a quarrel over his -best girl with a professional "cardsharp," who had hit him in the -jaw. The fellow was a stranger in Chicago, and if he was found -some night with his head cracked there would be no one to care -very much. Jurgis, who by this time would cheerfully have -cracked the heads of all the gamblers in Chicago, inquired what -would be coming to him; at which the Jew became still more -confidential, and said that he had some tips on the New Orleans -races, which he got direct from the police captain of the -district, whom he had got out of a bad scrape, and who "stood in" -with a big syndicate of horse owners. Duane took all this in at -once, but Jurgis had to have the whole race-track situation -explained to him before he realized the importance of such an -opportunity. - -There was the gigantic Racing Trust. It owned the legislatures -in every state in which it did business; it even owned some of -the big newspapers, and made public opinion--there was no power -in the land that could oppose it unless, perhaps, it were the -Poolroom Trust. It built magnificent racing parks all over the -country, and by means of enormous purses it lured the people to -come, and then it organized a gigantic shell game, whereby it -plundered them of hundreds of millions of dollars every year. -Horse racing had once been a sport, but nowadays it was a -business; a horse could be "doped" and doctored, undertrained or -overtrained; it could be made to fall at any moment--or its gait -could be broken by lashing it with the whip, which all the -spectators would take to be a desperate effort to keep it in the -lead. There were scores of such tricks; and sometimes it was the -owners who played them and made fortunes, sometimes it was the -jockeys and trainers, sometimes it was outsiders, who bribed -them--but most of the time it was the chiefs of the trust. Now -for instance, they were having winter racing in New Orleans and a -syndicate was laying out each day's program in advance, and its -agents in all the Northern cities were "milking" the poolrooms. -The word came by long-distance telephone in a cipher code, just a -little while before each race; and any man who could get the -secret had as good as a fortune. If Jurgis did not believe it, -he could try it, said the little Jew--let them meet at a certain -house on the morrow and make a test. Jurgis was willing, and so -was Duane, and so they went to one of the high-class poolrooms -where brokers and merchants gambled (with society women in a -private room), and they put up ten dollars each upon a horse -called "Black Beldame," a six to one shot, and won. For a secret -like that they would have done a good many sluggings--but the -next day Goldberger informed them that the offending gambler had -got wind of what was coming to him, and had skipped the town. - - -There were ups and downs at the business; but there was always a -living, inside of a jail, if not out of it. Early in April the -city elections were due, and that meant prosperity for all the -powers of graft. Jurgis, hanging round in dives and gambling -houses and brothels, met with the heelers of both parties, -and from their conversation he came to understand all the ins and -outs of the game, and to hear of a number of ways in which he -could make himself useful about election time. "Buck" Halloran -was a "Democrat," and so Jurgis became a Democrat also; but he -was not a bitter one--the Republicans were good fellows, too, -and were to have a pile of money in this next campaign. At the last -election the Republicans had paid four dollars a vote to the -Democrats' three; and "Buck" Halloran sat one night playing cards -with Jurgis and another man, who told how Halloran had been -charged with the job voting a "bunch" of thirty-seven newly -landed Italians, and how he, the narrator, had met the Republican -worker who was after the very same gang, and how the three had -effected a bargain, whereby the Italians were to vote half and -half, for a glass of beer apiece, while the balance of the fund -went to the conspirators! - -Not long after this, Jurgis, wearying of the risks and -vicissitudes of miscellaneous crime, was moved to give up the -career for that of a politician. Just at this time there was a -tremendous uproar being raised concerning the alliance between -the criminals and the police. For the criminal graft was one in -which the businessmen had no direct part--it was what is called a -"side line," carried by the police. "Wide open" gambling and -debauchery made the city pleasing to "trade," but burglaries and -holdups did not. One night it chanced that while Jack Duane was -drilling a safe in a clothing store he was caught red-handed by -the night watchman, and turned over to a policeman, who chanced -to know him well, and who took the responsibility of letting him -make his escape. Such a howl from the newspapers followed this -that Duane was slated for sacrifice, and barely got out of town -in time. And just at that juncture it happened that Jurgis was -introduced to a man named Harper whom he recognized as the night -watchman at Brown's, who had been instrumental in making him an -American citizen, the first year of his arrival at the yards. -The other was interested in the coincidence, but did not remember -Jurgis--he had handled too many "green ones" in his time, he -said. He sat in a dance hall with Jurgis and Halloran until one -or two in the morning, exchanging experiences. He had a long -story to tell of his quarrel with the superintendent of his -department, and how he was now a plain workingman, and a good -union man as well. It was not until some months afterward that -Jurgis understood that the quarrel with the superintendent had -been prearranged, and that Harper was in reality drawing a salary -of twenty dollars a week from the packers for an inside report of -his union's secret proceedings. The yards were seething with -agitation just then, said the man, speaking as a unionist. The -people of Packingtown had borne about all that they would bear, -and it looked as if a strike might begin any week. - -After this talk the man made inquiries concerning Jurgis, and a -couple of days later he came to him with an interesting -proposition. He was not absolutely certain, he said, but he -thought that he could get him a regular salary if he would come -to Packingtown and do as he was told, and keep his mouth shut. -Harper--"Bush" Harper, he was called--was a right-hand man of -Mike Scully, the Democratic boss of the stockyards; and in the -coming election there was a peculiar situation. There had come -to Scully a proposition to nominate a certain rich brewer who -lived upon a swell boulevard that skirted the district, and who -coveted the big badge and the "honorable" of an alderman. The -brewer was a Jew, and had no brains, but he was harmless, and -would put up a rare campaign fund. Scully had accepted the -offer, and then gone to the Republicans with a proposition. He -was not sure that he could manage the "sheeny," and he did not -mean to take any chances with his district; let the Republicans -nominate a certain obscure but amiable friend of Scully's, who -was now setting tenpins in the cellar of an Ashland Avenue -saloon, and he, Scully, would elect him with the "sheeny's" -money, and the Republicans might have the glory, which was more -than they would get otherwise. In return for this the -Republicans would agree to put up no candidate the following -year, when Scully himself came up for reelection as the other -alderman from the ward. To this the Republicans had assented -at once; but the hell of it was--so Harper explained--that the -Republicans were all of them fools--a man had to be a fool to be -a Republican in the stockyards, where Scully was king. And they -didn't know how to work, and of course it would not do for the -Democratic workers, the noble redskins of the War Whoop League, -to support the Republican openly. The difficulty would not have -been so great except for another fact--there had been a curious -development in stockyards politics in the last year or two, a new -party having leaped into being. They were the Socialists; and it -was a devil of a mess, said "Bush" Harper. The one image which -the word "Socialist" brought to Jurgis was of poor little -Tamoszius Kuszleika, who had called himself one, and would go out -with a couple of other men and a soap-box, and shout himself -hoarse on a street corner Saturday nights. Tamoszius had tried -to explain to Jurgis what it was all about, but Jurgis, who was -not of an imaginative turn, had never quire got it straight; at -present he was content with his companion's explanation that the -Socialists were the enemies of American institutions--could not -be bought, and would not combine or make any sort of a "dicker." -Mike Scully was very much worried over the opportunity which his -last deal gave to them--the stockyards Democrats were furious at -the idea of a rich capitalist for their candidate, and while they -were changing they might possibly conclude that a Socialist -firebrand was preferable to a Republican bum. And so right here -was a chance for Jurgis to make himself a place in the world, -explained "Bush" Harper; he had been a union man, and he was -known in the yards as a workingman; he must have hundreds of -acquaintances, and as he had never talked politics with them he -might come out as a Republican now without exciting the least -suspicion. There were barrels of money for the use of those who -could deliver the goods; and Jurgis might count upon Mike Scully, -who had never yet gone back on a friend. Just what could he do? -Jurgis asked, in some perplexity, and the other explained in -detail. To begin with, he would have to go to the yards and -work, and he mightn't relish that; but he would have what he -earned, as well as the rest that came to him. He would get -active in the union again, and perhaps try to get an office, as -he, Harper, had; he would tell all his friends the good points of -Doyle, the Republican nominee, and the bad ones of the "sheeny"; -and then Scully would furnish a meeting place, and he would start -the "Young Men's Republican Association," or something of that -sort, and have the rich brewer's best beer by the hogshead, and -fireworks and speeches, just like the War Whoop League. Surely -Jurgis must know hundreds of men who would like that sort of fun; -and there would be the regular Republican leaders and workers to -help him out, and they would deliver a big enough majority on -election day. - -When he had heard all this explanation to the end, Jurgis -demanded: "But how can I get a job in Packingtown? I'm -blacklisted." - -At which "Bush" Harper laughed. "I'll attend to that all right," -he said. - -And the other replied, "It's a go, then; I'm your man." So Jurgis -went out to the stockyards again, and was introduced to the -political lord of the district, the boss of Chicago's mayor. It -was Scully who owned the brickyards and the dump and the ice -pond--though Jurgis did not know it. It was Scully who was to -blame for the unpaved street in which Jurgis's child had been -drowned; it was Scully who had put into office the magistrate who -had first sent Jurgis to jail; it was Scully who was principal -stockholder in the company which had sold him the ramshackle -tenement, and then robbed him of it. But Jurgis knew none of -these things--any more than he knew that Scully was but a tool -and puppet of the packers. To him Scully was a mighty power, the -"biggest" man he had ever met. - -He was a little, dried-up Irishman, whose hands shook. He had a -brief talk with his visitor, watching him with his ratlike eyes, -and making up his mind about him; and then he gave him a note to -Mr. Harmon, one of the head managers of Durham's-- - -"The bearer, Jurgis Rudkus, is a particular friend of mine, and I -would like you to find him a good place, for important reasons. -He was once indiscreet, but you will perhaps be so good as to -overlook that." - -Mr. Harmon looked up inquiringly when he read this. "What does -he mean by 'indiscreet'?" he asked. - -"I was blacklisted, sir," said Jurgis. - -At which the other frowned. "Blacklisted?" he said. "How do you -mean?" And Jurgis turned red with embarrassment. - -He had forgotten that a blacklist did not exist. "I--that is--I -had difficulty in getting a place," he stammered. - -"What was the matter?" - -"I got into a quarrel with a foreman--not my own boss, sir--and -struck him." - -"I see," said the other, and meditated for a few moments. "What -do you wish to do?" he asked. - -"Anything, sir," said Jurgis--"only I had a broken arm this -winter, and so I have to be careful." - -"How would it suit you to be a night watchman?" - -"That wouldn't do, sir. I have to be among the men at night." - -"I see--politics. Well, would it suit you to trim hogs?" - -"Yes, sir," said Jurgis. - -And Mr. Harmon called a timekeeper and said, "Take this man to -Pat Murphy and tell him to find room for him somehow." - -And so Jurgis marched into the hog-killing room, a place where, -in the days gone by, he had come begging for a job. Now he -walked jauntily, and smiled to himself, seeing the frown that -came to the boss's face as the timekeeper said, "Mr. Harmon says -to put this man on." It would overcrowd his department and spoil -the record he was trying to make--but he said not a word except -"All right." - -And so Jurgis became a workingman once more; and straightway he -sought out his old friends, and joined the union, and began to -"root" for "Scotty" Doyle. Doyle had done him a good turn once, -he explained, and was really a bully chap; Doyle was a workingman -himself, and would represent the workingmen--why did they want to -vote for a millionaire "sheeny," and what the hell had Mike -Scully ever done for them that they should back his candidates -all the time? And meantime Scully had given Jurgis a note to the -Republican leader of the ward, and he had gone there and met the -crowd he was to work with. Already they had hired a big hall, -with some of the brewer's money, and every night Jurgis brought -in a dozen new members of the "Doyle Republican Association." -Pretty soon they had a grand opening night; and there was a brass -band, which marched through the streets, and fireworks and bombs -and red lights in front of the hall; and there was an enormous -crowd, with two overflow meetings--so that the pale and trembling -candidate had to recite three times over the little speech which -one of Scully's henchmen had written, and which he had been a -month learning by heart. Best of all, the famous and eloquent -Senator Spareshanks, presidential candidate, rode out in an -automobile to discuss the sacred privileges of American -citizenship, and protection and prosperity for the American -workingman. His inspiriting address was quoted to the extent of -half a column in all the morning newspapers, which also said that -it could be stated upon excellent authority that the unexpected -popularity developed by Doyle, the Republican candidate for -alderman, was giving great anxiety to Mr. Scully, the chairman of -the Democratic City Committee. - -The chairman was still more worried when the monster torchlight -procession came off, with the members of the Doyle Republican -Association all in red capes and hats, and free beer for every -voter in the ward--the best beer ever given away in a political -campaign, as the whole electorate testified. During this parade, -and at innumerable cart-tail meetings as well, Jurgis labored -tirelessly. He did not make any speeches--there were lawyers and -other experts for that--but he helped to manage things; -distributing notices and posting placards and bringing out the -crowds; and when the show was on he attended to the fireworks and -the beer. Thus in the course of the campaign he handled many -hundreds of dollars of the Hebrew brewer's money, administering -it with naive and touching fidelity. Toward the end, however, -he learned that he was regarded with hatred by the rest of the -"boys," because he compelled them either to make a poorer showing -than he or to do without their share of the pie. After that -Jurgis did his best to please them, and to make up for the time -he had lost before he discovered the extra bungholes of the -campaign barrel. - -He pleased Mike Scully, also. On election morning he was out at -four o'clock, "getting out the vote"; he had a two-horse carriage -to ride in, and he went from house to house for his friends, and -escorted them in triumph to the polls. He voted half a dozen -times himself, and voted some of his friends as often; he brought -bunch after bunch of the newest foreigners--Lithuanians, Poles, -Bohemians, Slovaks--and when he had put them through the mill he -turned them over to another man to take to the next polling -place. When Jurgis first set out, the captain of the precinct -gave him a hundred dollars, and three times in the course of the -day he came for another hundred, and not more than twenty-five -out of each lot got stuck in his own pocket. The balance all -went for actual votes, and on a day of Democratic landslides they -elected "Scotty" Doyle, the ex-tenpin setter, by nearly a -thousand plurality--and beginning at five o'clock in the -afternoon, and ending at three the next morning, Jurgis treated -himself to a most unholy and horrible "jag." Nearly every one -else in Packingtown did the same, however, for there was -universal exultation over this triumph of popular government, -this crushing defeat of an arrogant plutocrat by the power of the -common people. - - - -Chapter 26 - - -After the elections Jurgis stayed on in Packingtown and kept his -job. The agitation to break up the police protection of -criminals was continuing, and it seemed to him best to "lay low" -for the present. He had nearly three hundred dollars in the -bank, and might have considered himself entitled to a vacation; -but he had an easy job, and force of habit kept him at it. -Besides, Mike Scully, whom he consulted, advised him that -something might "turn up" before long. - -Jurgis got himself a place in a boardinghouse with some congenial -friends. He had already inquired of Aniele, and learned that -Elzbieta and her family had gone downtown, and so he gave no -further thought to them. He went with a new set, now, young -unmarried fellows who were "sporty." Jurgis had long ago cast off -his fertilizer clothing, and since going into politics he had -donned a linen collar and a greasy red necktie. He had some -reason for thinking of his dress, for he was making about eleven -dollars a week, and two-thirds of it he might spend upon his -pleasures without ever touching his savings. - -Sometimes he would ride down-town with a party of friends to the -cheap theaters and the music halls and other haunts with which -they were familiar. Many of the saloons in Packingtown had pool -tables, and some of them bowling alleys, by means of which he -could spend his evenings in petty gambling. Also, there were -cards and dice. One time Jurgis got into a game on a Saturday -night and won prodigiously, and because he was a man of spirit he -stayed in with the rest and the game continued until late Sunday -afternoon, and by that time he was "out" over twenty dollars. On -Saturday nights, also, a number of balls were generally given in -Packingtown; each man would bring his "girl" with him, paying -half a dollar for a ticket, and several dollars additional for -drinks in the course of the festivities, which continued until -three or four o'clock in the morning, unless broken up by -fighting. During all this time the same man and woman would -dance together, half-stupefied with sensuality and drink. - -Before long Jurgis discovered what Scully had meant by something -"turning up." In May the agreement between the packers and the -unions expired, and a new agreement had to be signed. -Negotiations were going on, and the yards were full of talk of a -strike. The old scale had dealt with the wages of the skilled -men only; and of the members of the Meat Workers' Union about -two-thirds were unskilled men. In Chicago these latter were -receiving, for the most part, eighteen and a half cents an hour, -and the unions wished to make this the general wage for the next -year. It was not nearly so large a wage as it seemed--in the -course of the negotiations the union officers examined time -checks to the amount of ten thousand dollars, and they found that -the highest wages paid had been fourteen dollars a week, and the -lowest two dollars and five cents, and the average of the whole, -six dollars and sixty-five cents. And six dollars and sixty-five -cents was hardly too much for a man to keep a family on, -considering the fact that the price of dressed meat had increased -nearly fifty per cent in the last five years, while the price of -"beef on the hoof" had decreased as much, it would have seemed -that the packers ought to be able to pay it; but the packers were -unwilling to pay it--they rejected the union demand, and to show -what their purpose was, a week or two after the agreement expired -they put down the wages of about a thousand men to sixteen and a -half cents, and it was said that old man Jones had vowed he would -put them to fifteen before he got through. There were a million -and a half of men in the country looking for work, a hundred -thousand of them right in Chicago; and were the packers to let -the union stewards march into their places and bind them to a -contract that would lose them several thousand dollars a day for -a year? Not much! - -All this was in June; and before long the question was submitted -to a referendum in the unions, and the decision was for a strike. -It was the same in all the packing house cities; and suddenly the -newspapers and public woke up to face the gruesome spectacle of a -meat famine. All sorts of pleas for a reconsideration were made, -but the packers were obdurate; and all the while they were -reducing wages, and heading off shipments of cattle, and rushing -in wagonloads of mattresses and cots. So the men boiled over, -and one night telegrams went out from the union headquarters to -all the big packing centers--to St. Paul, South Omaha, Sioux -City, St. Joseph, Kansas City, East St. Louis, and New -York--and the next day at noon between fifty and sixty thousand -men drew off their working clothes and marched out of the -factories, and the great "Beef Strike" was on. - -Jurgis went to his dinner, and afterward he walked over to see -Mike Scully, who lived in a fine house, upon a street which had -been decently paved and lighted for his especial benefit. Scully -had gone into semiretirement, and looked nervous and worried. -"What do you want?" he demanded, when he saw Jurgis. - -"I came to see if maybe you could get me a place during the -strike," the other replied. - -And Scully knit his brows and eyed him narrowly. In that -morning's papers Jurgis had read a fierce denunciation of the -packers by Scully, who had declared that if they did not treat -their people better the city authorities would end the matter by -tearing down their plants. Now, therefore, Jurgis was not a -little taken aback when the other demanded suddenly, "See here, -Rudkus, why don't you stick by your job?" - -Jurgis started. "Work as a scab?" he cried. - -"Why not?" demanded Scully. "What's that to you?" - -"But--but--" stammered Jurgis. He had somehow taken it for -granted that he should go out with his union. "The packers need -good men, and need them bad," continued the other, "and they'll -treat a man right that stands by them. Why don't you take your -chance and fix yourself?" - -"But," said Jurgis, "how could I ever be of any use to you--in -politics?" - -"You couldn't be it anyhow," said Scully, abruptly. - -"Why not?" asked Jurgis. - -"Hell, man!" cried the other. "Don't you know you're a -Republican? And do you think I'm always going to elect -Republicans? My brewer has found out already how we served him, -and there is the deuce to pay." - -Jurgis looked dumfounded. He had never thought of that aspect of -it before. "I could be a Democrat," he said. - -"Yes," responded the other, "but not right away; a man can't -change his politics every day. And besides, I don't need -you--there'd be nothing for you to do. And it's a long time to -election day, anyhow; and what are you going to do meantime?" - -"I thought I could count on you," began Jurgis. - -"Yes," responded Scully, "so you could--I never yet went back on -a friend. But is it fair to leave the job I got you and come to -me for another? I have had a hundred fellows after me today, -and what can I do? I've put seventeen men on the city payroll to -clean streets this one week, and do you think I can keep that up -forever? It wouldn't do for me to tell other men what I tell -you, but you've been on the inside, and you ought to have sense -enough to see for yourself. What have you to gain by a strike?" - -"I hadn't thought," said Jurgis. - -"Exactly," said Scully, "but you'd better. Take my word for it, -the strike will be over in a few days, and the men will be -beaten; and meantime what you can get out of it will belong to -you. Do you see?" - -And Jurgis saw. He went back to the yards, and into the -workroom. The men had left a long line of hogs in various stages -of preparation, and the foreman was directing the feeble efforts -of a score or two of clerks and stenographers and office boys to -finish up the job and get them into the chilling rooms. Jurgis -went straight up to him and announced, "I have come back to work, -Mr. Murphy." - -The boss's face lighted up. "Good man!" he cried. "Come ahead!" - -"Just a moment," said Jurgis, checking his enthusiasm. "I think -I ought to get a little more wages." - -"Yes," replied the other, "of course. What do you want?" - -Jurgis had debated on the way. His nerve almost failed him now, -but he clenched his hands. "I think I ought to have' three -dollars a day," he said. - -"All right," said the other, promptly; and before the day was out -our friend discovered that the clerks and stenographers and -office boys were getting five dollars a day, and then he could -have kicked himself! - - -So Jurgis became one of the new "American heroes," a man whose -virtues merited comparison with those of the martyrs of Lexington -and Valley Forge. The resemblance was not complete, of course, -for Jurgis was generously paid and comfortably clad, and was -provided with a spring cot and a mattress and three substantial -meals a day; also he was perfectly at ease, and safe from all -peril of life and limb, save only in the case that a desire for -beer should lead him to venture outside of the stockyards gates. -And even in the exercise of this privilege he was not left -unprotected; a good part of the inadequate police force of -Chicago was suddenly diverted from its work of hunting criminals, -and rushed out to serve him. The police, and the strikers also, -were determined that there should be no violence; but there was -another party interested which was minded to the contrary--and -that was the press. On the first day of his life as a -strikebreaker Jurgis quit work early, and in a spirit of bravado -he challenged three men of his acquaintance to go outside and get -a drink. They accepted, and went through the big Halsted Street -gate, where several policemen were watching, and also some union -pickets, scanning sharply those who passed in and out. Jurgis -and his companions went south on Halsted Street; past the hotel, -and then suddenly half a dozen men started across the street -toward them and proceeded to argue with them concerning the error -of their ways. As the arguments were not taken in the proper -spirit, they went on to threats; and suddenly one of them jerked -off the hat of one of the four and flung it over the fence. The -man started after it, and then, as a cry of "Scab!" was raised -and a dozen people came running out of saloons and doorways, -a second man's heart failed him and he followed. Jurgis and the -fourth stayed long enough to give themselves the satisfaction of -a quick exchange of blows, and then they, too, took to their -heels and fled back of the hotel and into the yards again. -Meantime, of course, policemen were coming on a run, and as a -crowd gathered other police got excited and sent in a riot call. -Jurgis knew nothing of this, but went back to "Packers' Avenue," -and in front of the "Central Time Station" he saw one of his -companions, breathless and wild with excitement, narrating to an -ever growing throng how the four had been attacked and surrounded -by a howling mob, and had been nearly torn to pieces. While he -stood listening, smiling cynically, several dapper young men -stood by with notebooks in their hands, and it was not more than -two hours later that Jurgis saw newsboys running about with -armfuls of newspapers, printed in red and black letters six -inches high: - -VIOLENCE IN THE YARDS! STRIKEBREAKERS SURROUNDED BY FRENZIED MOB! - -If he had been able to buy all of the newspapers of the United -States the next morning, he might have discovered that his -beer-hunting exploit was being perused by some two score millions -of people, and had served as a text for editorials in half the -staid and solemn businessmen's newspapers in the land. - -Jurgis was to see more of this as time passed. For the present, -his work being over, he was free to ride into the city, by a -railroad direct from the yards, or else to spend the night in a -room where cots had been laid in rows. He chose the latter, -but to his regret, for all night long gangs of strikebreakers kept -arriving. As very few of the better class of workingmen could be -got for such work, these specimens of the new American hero -contained an assortment of the criminals and thugs of the city, -besides Negroes and the lowest foreigners-Greeks, Roumanians, -Sicilians, and Slovaks. They had been attracted more by the -prospect of disorder than, by the big wages; and they made the -night hideous with singing and carousing, and only went to sleep -when the time came for them to get up to work. - -In the morning before Jurgis had finished his breakfast, "Pat" -Murphy ordered him to one of the superintendents, who questioned -him as to his experience in the work of the killing room. His -heart began to thump with excitement, for he divined instantly -that his hour had come--that he was to be a boss! - -Some of the foremen were union members, and many who were not had -gone out with the men. It was in the killing department that the -packers had been left most in the lurch, and precisely here that -they could least afford it; the smoking and canning and salting -of meat might wait, and all the by-products might be wasted--but -fresh meats must be had, or the restaurants and hotels and -brownstone houses would feel the pinch, and then "public opinion" -would take a startling turn. - -An opportunity such as this would not come twice to a man; and -Jurgis seized it. Yes, he knew the work, the whole of it, and he -could teach it to others. But if he took the job and gave -satisfaction he would expect to keep it--they would not turn him -off at the end of the strike? To which the superintendent -replied that he might safely trust Durham's for that--they -proposed to teach these unions a lesson, and most of all those -foremen who had gone back on them. Jurgis would receive five -dollars a day during the strike, and twenty-five a week after it -was settled. - -So our friend got a pair of "slaughter pen" boots and "jeans," -and flung himself at his task. It was a weird sight, there on -the killing beds--a throng of stupid black Negroes, and -foreigners who could not understand a word that was said to them, -mixed with pale-faced, hollow-chested bookkeepers and clerks, -half-fainting for the tropical heat and the sickening stench of -fresh blood--and all struggling to dress a dozen or two cattle in -the same place where, twenty-four hours ago, the old killing gang -had been speeding, with their marvelous precision, turning out -four hundred carcasses every hour! - -The Negroes and the "toughs" from the Levee did not want to work, -and every few minutes some of them would feel obliged to retire -and recuperate. In a couple of days Durham and Company had -electric fans up to cool off the rooms for them, and even couches -for them to rest on; and meantime they could go out and find a -shady corner and take a "snooze," and as there was no place for -any one in particular, and no system, it might be hours before -their boss discovered them. As for the poor office employees, -they did their best, moved to it by terror; thirty of them had -been "fired" in a bunch that first morning for refusing to serve, -besides a number of women clerks and typewriters who had declined -to act as waitresses. - -It was such a force as this that Jurgis had to organize. He did -his best, flying here and there, placing them in rows and showing -them the tricks; he had never given an order in his life before, -but he had taken enough of them to know, and he soon fell into -the spirit of it, and roared and stormed like any old stager. -He had not the most tractable pupils, however. "See hyar, boss," -a big black "buck" would begin, "ef you doan' like de way Ah does -dis job, you kin get somebody else to do it." Then a crowd would -gather and listen, muttering threats. After the first meal -nearly all the steel knives had been missing, and now every Negro -had one, ground to a fine point, hidden in his boots. - -There was no bringing order out of such a chaos, Jurgis soon -discovered; and he fell in with the spirit of the thing--there -was no reason why he should wear himself out with shouting. If -hides and guts were slashed and rendered useless there was no way -of tracing it to any one; and if a man lay off and forgot to come -back there was nothing to be gained by seeking him, for all the -rest would quit in the meantime. Everything went, during the -strike, and the packers paid. Before long Jurgis found that the -custom of resting had suggested to some alert minds the -possibility of registering at more than one place and earning -more than one five dollars a day. When he caught a man at this -he "fired" him, but it chanced to be in a quiet corner, and the -man tendered him a ten-dollar bill and a wink, and he took them. -Of course, before long this custom spread, and Jurgis was soon -making quite a good income from it. - -In the face of handicaps such as these the packers counted -themselves lucky if they could kill off the cattle that had been -crippled in transit and the hogs that had developed disease. -Frequently, in the course of a two or three days' trip, in hot -weather and without water, some hog would develop cholera, and -die; and the rest would attack him before he had ceased kicking, -and when the car was opened there would be nothing of him left -but the bones. If all the hogs in this carload were not killed -at once, they would soon be down with the dread disease, and -there would be nothing to do but make them into lard. It was the -same with cattle that were gored and dying, or were limping with -broken bones stuck through their flesh--they must be killed, even -if brokers and buyers and superintendents had to take off their -coats and help drive and cut and skin them. And meantime, agents -of the packers were gathering gangs of Negroes in the country -districts of the far South, promising them five dollars a day and -board, and being careful not to mention there was a strike; -already carloads of them were on the way, with special rates from -the railroads, and all traffic ordered out of the way. Many -towns and cities were taking advantage of the chance to clear out -their jails and workhouses--in Detroit the magistrates would -release every man who agreed to leave town within twenty-four -hours, and agents of the packers were in the courtrooms to ship -them right. And meantime trainloads of supplies were coming in -for their accommodation, including beer and whisky, so that they -might not be tempted to go outside. They hired thirty young -girls in Cincinnati to "pack fruit," and when they arrived put -them at work canning corned beef, and put cots for them to sleep -in a public hallway, through which the men passed. As the gangs -came in day and night, under the escort of squads of police, -they stowed away in unused workrooms and storerooms, and in the car -sheds, crowded so closely together that the cots touched. In -some places they would use the same room for eating and sleeping, -and at night the men would put their cots upon the tables, to -keep away from the swarms of rats. - -But with all their best efforts, the packers were demoralized. -Ninety per cent of the men had walked out; and they faced the -task of completely remaking their labor force--and with the price -of meat up thirty per cent, and the public clamoring for a -settlement. They made an offer to submit the whole question at -issue to arbitration; and at the end of ten days the unions -accepted it, and the strike was called off. It was agreed that -all the men were to be re-employed within forty-five days, and -that there was to be "no discrimination against union men." - -This was an anxious time for Jurgis. If the men were taken back -"without discrimination," he would lose his present place. He -sought out the superintendent, who smiled grimly and bade him -"wait and see." Durham's strikebreakers were few of them leaving. - -Whether or not the "settlement" was simply a trick of the packers -to gain time, or whether they really expected to break the strike -and cripple the unions by the plan, cannot be said; but that -night there went out from the office of Durham and Company a -telegram to all the big packing centers, "Employ no union -leaders." And in the morning, when the twenty thousand men -thronged into the yards, with their dinner pails and working -clothes, Jurgis stood near the door of the hog-trimming room, -where he had worked before the strike, and saw a throng of eager -men, with a score or two of policemen watching them; and he saw a -superintendent come out and walk down the line, and pick out man -after man that pleased him; and one after another came, and there -were some men up near the head of the line who were never -picked--they being the union stewards and delegates, and the men -Jurgis had heard making speeches at the meetings. Each time, of -course, there were louder murmurings and angrier looks. Over - -where the cattle butchers were waiting, Jurgis heard shouts and -saw a crowd, and he hurried there. One big butcher, who was -president of the Packing Trades Council, had been passed over -five times, and the men were wild with rage; they had appointed a -committee of three to go in and see the superintendent, and the -committee had made three attempts, and each time the police had -clubbed them back from the door. Then there were yells and -hoots, continuing until at last the superintendent came to the -door. "We all go back or none of us do!" cried a hundred voices. -And the other shook his fist at them, and shouted, "You went out -of here like cattle, and like cattle you'll come back!" - -Then suddenly the big butcher president leaped upon a pile of -stones and yelled: "It's off, boys. We'll all of us quit again!" -And so the cattle butchers declared a new strike on the spot; -and gathering their members from the other plants, where the same -trick had been played, they marched down Packers' Avenue, which -was thronged with a dense mass of workers, cheering wildly. Men -who had already got to work on the killing beds dropped their -tools and joined them; some galloped here and there on horseback, -shouting the tidings, and within half an hour the whole of -Packingtown was on strike again, and beside itself with fury. - -There was quite a different tone in Packingtown after this--the -place was a seething caldron of passion, and the "scab" who -ventured into it fared badly. There were one or two of these -incidents each day, the newspapers detailing them, and always -blaming them upon the unions. Yet ten years before, when there -were no unions in Packingtown, there was a strike, and national -troops had to be called, and there were pitched battles fought at -night, by the light of blazing freight trains. Packingtown was -always a center of violence; in "Whisky Point," where there were -a hundred saloons and one glue factory, there was always -fighting, and always more of it in hot weather. Any one who had -taken the trouble to consult the station house blotter would have -found that there was less violence that summer than ever -before--and this while twenty thousand men were out of work, -and with nothing to do all day but brood upon bitter wrongs. -There was no one to picture the battle the union leaders were -fighting--to hold this huge army in rank, to keep it from -straggling and pillaging, to cheer and encourage and guide a -hundred thousand people, of a dozen different tongues, through -six long weeks of hunger and disappointment and despair. - -Meantime the packers had set themselves definitely to the task of -making a new labor force. A thousand or two of strikebreakers -were brought in every night, and distributed among the various -plants. Some of them were experienced workers,--butchers, -salesmen, and managers from the packers' branch stores, and a few -union men who had deserted from other cities; but the vast -majority were "green" Negroes from the cotton districts of the -far South, and they were herded into the packing plants like -sheep. There was a law forbidding the use of buildings as -lodginghouses unless they were licensed for the purpose, -and provided with proper windows, stairways, and fire escapes; -but here, in a "paint room," reached only by an enclosed "chute," -a room without a single window and only one door, a hundred men -were crowded upon mattresses on the floor. Up on the third story -of the "hog house" of Jones's was a storeroom, without a window, -into which they crowded seven hundred men, sleeping upon the bare -springs of cots, and with a second shift to use them by day. And -when the clamor of the public led to an investigation into these -conditions, and the mayor of the city was forced to order the -enforcement of the law, the packers got a judge to issue an -injunction forbidding him to do it! - -Just at this time the mayor was boasting that he had put an end -to gambling and prize fighting in the city; but here a swarm of -professional gamblers had leagued themselves with the police to -fleece the strikebreakers; and any night, in the big open space -in front of Brown's, one might see brawny Negroes stripped to the -waist and pounding each other for money, while a howling throng -of three or four thousand surged about, men and women, young -white girls from the country rubbing elbows with big buck Negroes -with daggers in their boots, while rows of woolly heads peered -down from every window of the surrounding factories. The -ancestors of these black people had been savages in Africa; and -since then they had been chattel slaves, or had been held down by -a community ruled by the traditions of slavery. Now for the -first time they were free--free to gratify every passion, free to -wreck themselves. They were wanted to break a strike, and when -it was broken they would be shipped away, and their present -masters would never see them again; and so whisky and women were -brought in by the carload and sold to them, and hell was let -loose in the yards. Every night there were stabbings and -shootings; it was said that the packers had blank permits, which -enabled them to ship dead bodies from the city without troubling -the authorities. They lodged men and women on the same floor; -and with the night there began a saturnalia of debauchery--scenes -such as never before had been witnessed in America. And as the -women were the dregs from the brothels of Chicago, and the men -were for the most part ignorant country Negroes, the nameless -diseases of vice were soon rife; and this where food was being -handled which was sent out to every corner of the civilized -world. - -The "Union Stockyards" were never a pleasant place; but now they -were not only a collection of slaughterhouses, but also the -camping place of an army of fifteen or twenty thousand human -beasts. All day long the blazing midsummer sun beat down upon -that square mile of abominations: upon tens of thousands of -cattle crowded into pens whose wooden floors stank and steamed -contagion; upon bare, blistering, cinder-strewn railroad tracks, -and huge blocks of dingy meat factories, whose labyrinthine -passages defied a breath of fresh air to penetrate them; and -there were not merely rivers of hot blood, and car-loads of moist -flesh, and rendering vats and soap caldrons, glue factories and -fertilizer tanks, that smelt like the craters of hell--there were -also tons of garbage festering in the sun, and the greasy laundry -of the workers hung out to dry, and dining rooms littered with -food and black with flies, and toilet rooms that were open sewers. - -And then at night, when this throng poured out into the streets -to play--fighting, gambling, drinking and carousing, cursing and -screaming, laughing and singing, playing banjoes and dancing! -They were worked in the yards all the seven days of the week, and -they had their prize fights and crap games on Sunday nights as -well; but then around the corner one might see a bonfire blazing, -and an old, gray-headed Negress, lean and witchlike, her hair -flying wild and her eyes blazing, yelling and chanting of the -fires of perdition and the blood of the "Lamb," while men and -women lay down upon the ground and moaned and screamed in -convulsions of terror and remorse. - -Such were the stockyards during the strike; while the unions -watched in sullen despair, and the country clamored like a greedy -child for its food, and the packers went grimly on their way. -Each day they added new workers, and could be more stern with the -old ones--could put them on piecework, and dismiss them if they -did not keep up the pace. Jurgis was now one of their agents in -this process; and he could feel the change day by day, like the -slow starting up of a huge machine. He had gotten used to being -a master of men; and because of the stifling heat and the stench, -and the fact that he was a "scab" and knew it and despised -himself. He was drinking, and developing a villainous temper, -and he stormed and cursed and raged at his men, and drove them -until they were ready to drop with exhaustion. - - -Then one day late in August, a superintendent ran into the place -and shouted to Jurgis and his gang to drop their work and come. -They followed him outside, to where, in the midst of a dense -throng, they saw several two-horse trucks waiting, and three -patrol-wagon loads of police. Jurgis and his men sprang upon one -of the trucks, and the driver yelled to the crowd, and they went -thundering away at a gallop. Some steers had just escaped from -the yards, and the strikers had got hold of them, and there would -be the chance of a scrap! - -They went out at the Ashland Avenue gate, and over in the -direction of the "dump." There was a yell as soon as they were -sighted, men and women rushing out of houses and saloons as they -galloped by. There were eight or ten policemen on the truck, -however, and there was no disturbance until they came to a place -where the street was blocked with a dense throng. Those on the -flying truck yelled a warning and the crowd scattered pell-mell, -disclosing one of the steers lying in its blood. There were a -good many cattle butchers about just then, with nothing much to -do, and hungry children at home; and so some one had knocked out -the steer--and as a first-class man can kill and dress one in a -couple of minutes, there were a good many steaks and roasts -already missing. This called for punishment, of course; and the -police proceeded to administer it by leaping from the truck and -cracking at every head they saw. There were yells of rage and -pain, and the terrified people fled into houses and stores, -or scattered helter-skelter down the street. Jurgis and his gang -joined in the sport, every man singling out his victim, and -striving to bring him to bay and punch him. If he fled into a -house his pursuer would smash in the flimsy door and follow him -up the stairs, hitting every one who came within reach, and -finally dragging his squealing quarry from under a bed or a pile -of old clothes in a closet. - -Jurgis and two policemen chased some men into a bar-room. One of -them took shelter behind the bar, where a policeman cornered him -and proceeded to whack him over the back and shoulders, until he -lay down and gave a chance at his head. The others leaped a -fence in the rear, balking the second policeman, who was fat; -and as he came back, furious and cursing, a big Polish woman, -the owner of the saloon, rushed in screaming, and received a poke in -the stomach that doubled her up on the floor. Meantime Jurgis, -who was of a practical temper, was helping himself at the bar; -and the first policeman, who had laid out his man, joined him, -handing out several more bottles, and filling his pockets -besides, and then, as he started to leave, cleaning off all the -balance with a sweep of his club. The din of the glass crashing -to the floor brought the fat Polish woman to her feet again, -but another policeman came up behind her and put his knee into -her back and his hands over her eyes--and then called to his -companion, who went back and broke open the cash drawer and -filled his pockets with the contents. Then the three went -outside, and the man who was holding the woman gave her a shove -and dashed out himself. The gang having already got the carcass -on to the truck, the party set out at a trot, followed by screams -and curses, and a shower of bricks and stones from unseen -enemies. These bricks and stones would figure in the accounts of -the "riot" which would be sent out to a few thousand newspapers -within an hour or two; but the episode of the cash drawer would -never be mentioned again, save only in the heartbreaking legends -of Packingtown. - - -It was late in the afternoon when they got back, and they dressed -out the remainder of the steer, and a couple of others that had -been killed, and then knocked off for the day. Jurgis went -downtown to supper, with three friends who had been on the other -trucks, and they exchanged reminiscences on the way. Afterward -they drifted into a roulette parlor, and Jurgis, who was never -lucky at gambling, dropped about fifteen dollars. To console -himself he had to drink a good deal, and he went back to -Packingtown about two o'clock in the morning, very much the worse -for his excursion, and, it must be confessed, entirely deserving -the calamity that was in store for him. - -As he was going to the place where he slept, he met a painted- -cheeked woman in a greasy "kimono," and she put her arm about his -waist to steady him; they turned into a dark room they were -passing--but scarcely had they taken two steps before suddenly a -door swung open, and a man entered, carrying a lantern. "Who's -there?" he called sharply. And Jurgis started to mutter some -reply; but at the same instant the man raised his light, which -flashed in his face, so that it was possible to recognize him. -Jurgis stood stricken dumb, and his heart gave a leap like a mad -thing. The man was Connor! - -Connor, the boss of the loading gang! The man who had seduced -his wife--who had sent him to prison, and wrecked his home, -ruined his life! He stood there, staring, with the light shining -full upon him. - -Jurgis had often thought of Connor since coming back to -Packingtown, but it had been as of something far off, that no -longer concerned him. Now, however, when he saw him, alive and -in the flesh, the same thing happened to him that had happened -before--a flood of rage boiled up in him, a blind frenzy seized -him. And he flung himself at the man, and smote him between the -eyes--and then, as he fell, seized him by the throat and began to -pound his head upon the stones. - -The woman began screaming, and people came rushing in. The -lantern had been upset and extinguished, and it was so dark they -could not see a thing; but they could hear Jurgis panting, and -hear the thumping of his victim's skull, and they rushed there -and tried to pull him off. Precisely as before, Jurgis came away -with a piece of his enemy's flesh between his teeth; and, -as before, he went on fighting with those who had interfered with -him, until a policeman had come and beaten him into -insensibility. - - -And so Jurgis spent the balance of the night in the stockyards -station house. This time, however, he had money in his pocket, -and when he came to his senses he could get something to drink, -and also a messenger to take word of his plight to "Bush" Harper. -Harper did not appear, however, until after the prisoner, feeling -very weak and ill, had been hailed into court and remanded at -five hundred dollars' bail to await the result of his victim's -injuries. Jurgis was wild about this, because a different -magistrate had chanced to be on the bench, and he had stated that -he had never been arrested before, and also that he had been -attacked first--and if only someone had been there to speak a -good word for him, he could have been let off at once. - -But Harper explained that he had been downtown, and had not got -the message. "What's happened to you?" he asked. - -"I've been doing a fellow up," said Jurgis, "and I've got to get -five hundred dollars' bail." - -"I can arrange that all right," said the other--"though it may -cost you a few dollars, of course. But what was the trouble?" - -"It was a man that did me a mean trick once," answered Jurgis. - -"Who is he?" - -"He's a foreman in Brown's or used to be. His name's Connor." - -And the other gave a start. "Connor!" he cried. "Not Phil -Connor!" - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's the fellow. Why?" - -"Good God!" exclaimed the other, ''then you're in for it, old -man! I can't help you!" - -"Not help me! Why not?" - -"Why, he's one of Scully's biggest men--he's a member of the -War-Whoop League, and they talked of sending him to the -legislature! Phil Connor! Great heavens!" - -Jurgis sat dumb with dismay. - -"Why, he can send you to Joliet, if he wants to!" declared the -other. - -"Can't I have Scully get me off before he finds out about it?" -asked Jurgis, at length. - -"But Scully's out of town," the other answered. "I don't even -know where he is--he's run away to dodge the strike." - -That was a pretty mess, indeed. Poor Jurgis sat half-dazed. His -pull had run up against a bigger pull, and he was down and out! -"But what am I going to do?'' he asked, weakly. - -"How should I know?" said the other. "I shouldn't even dare to -get bail for you--why, I might ruin myself for life!" - -Again there was silence. "Can't you do it for me," Jurgis asked, -"and pretend that you didn't know who I'd hit?" - -"But what good would that do you when you came to stand trial?" -asked Harper. Then he sat buried in thought for a minute or two. -"There's nothing--unless it's this," he said. "I could have your -bail reduced; and then if you had the money you could pay it and -skip." - -"How much will it be?" Jurgis asked, after he had had this -explained more in detail. - -"I don't know," said the other. "How much do you own?" - -"I've got about three hundred dollars," was the answer. - -"Well," was Harper's reply, "I'm not sure, but I'll try and get -you off for that. I'll take the risk for friendship's sake--for -I'd hate to see you sent to state's prison for a year or two." - -And so finally Jurgis ripped out his bankbook--which was sewed up -in his trousers--and signed an order, which "Bush" Harper wrote, -for all the money to be paid out. Then the latter went and got -it, and hurried to the court, and explained to the magistrate -that Jurgis was a decent fellow and a friend of Scully's, who had -been attacked by a strike-breaker. So the bail was reduced to -three hundred dollars, and Harper went on it himself; he did not -tell this to Jurgis, however--nor did he tell him that when the -time for trial came it would be an easy matter for him to avoid -the forfeiting of the bail, and pocket the three hundred dollars -as his reward for the risk of offending Mike Scully! All that he -told Jurgis was that he was now free, and that the best thing he -could do was to clear out as quickly as possible; and so Jurgis -overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, took the dollar and -fourteen cents that was left him out of all his bank account, -and put it with the two dollars and quarter that was left from his -last night's celebration, and boarded a streetcar and got off at -the other end of Chicago. - - -Chapter 27 - - -Poor Jurgis was now an outcast and a tramp once more. He was -crippled--he was as literally crippled as any wild animal which -has lost its claws, or been torn out of its shell. He had been -shorn, at one cut, of all those mysterious weapons whereby he had -been able to make a living easily and to escape the consequences -of his actions. He could no longer command a job when he wanted -it; he could no longer steal with impunity--he must take his -chances with the common herd. Nay worse, he dared not mingle -with the herd--he must hide himself, for he was one marked out -for destruction. His old companions would betray him, for the -sake of the influence they would gain thereby; and he would be -made to suffer, not merely for the offense he had committed, -but for others which would be laid at his door, just as had been -done for some poor devil on the occasion of that assault upon the -"country customer" by him and Duane. - -And also he labored under another handicap now. He had acquired -new standards of living, which were not easily to be altered. -When he had been out of work before, he had been content if he -could sleep in a doorway or under a truck out of the rain, and if -he could get fifteen cents a day for saloon lunches. But now he -desired all sorts of other things, and suffered because he had to -do without them. He must have a drink now and then, a drink for -its own sake, and apart from the food that came with it. The -craving for it was strong enough to master every other -consideration--he would have it, though it were his last nickel -and he had to starve the balance of the day in consequence. - -Jurgis became once more a besieger of factory gates. But never -since he had been in Chicago had he stood less chance of getting -a job than just then. For one thing, there was the economic -crisis, the million or two of men who had been out of work in the -spring and summer, and were not yet all back, by any means. And -then there was the strike, with seventy thousand men and women -all over the country idle for a couple of months--twenty thousand -in Chicago, and many of them now seeking work throughout the -city. It did not remedy matters that a few days later the strike -was given up and about half the strikers went back to work; -for every one taken on, there was a "scab" who gave up and fled. -The ten or fifteen thousand "green" Negroes, foreigners, and -criminals were now being turned loose to shift for themselves. -Everywhere Jurgis went he kept meeting them, and he was in an -agony of fear lest some one of them should know that he was -"wanted." He would have left Chicago, only by the time he had -realized his danger he was almost penniless; and it would be -better to go to jail than to be caught out in the country in the -winter time. - -At the end of about ten days Jurgis had only a few pennies left; -and he had not yet found a job--not even a day's work at -anything, not a chance to carry a satchel. Once again, as when -he had come out of the hospital, he was bound hand and foot, and -facing the grisly phantom of starvation. Raw, naked terror -possessed him, a maddening passion that would never leave him, -and that wore him down more quickly than the actual want of food. -He was going to die of hunger! The fiend reached out its scaly -arms for him--it touched him, its breath came into his face; and -he would cry out for the awfulness of it, he would wake up in the -night, shuddering, and bathed in perspiration, and start up and -flee. He would walk, begging for work, until he was exhausted; -he could not remain still--he would wander on, gaunt and haggard, -gazing about him with restless eyes. Everywhere he went, from -one end of the vast city to the other, there were hundreds of -others like him; everywhere was the sight of plenty and the -merciless hand of authority waving them away. There is one kind -of prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that he -desires is outside; and there is another kind where the things -are behind the bars, and the man is outside. - -When he was down to his last quarter, Jurgis learned that before -the bakeshops closed at night they sold out what was left at half -price, and after that he would go and get two loaves of stale -bread for a nickel, and break them up and stuff his pockets with -them, munching a bit from time to time. He would not spend a -penny save for this; and, after two or three days more, he even -became sparing of the bread, and would stop and peer into the ash -barrels as he walked along the streets, and now and then rake out -a bit of something, shake it free from dust, and count himself -just so many minutes further from the end. - -So for several days he had been going about, ravenous all the -time, and growing weaker and weaker, and then one morning he had -a hideous experience, that almost broke his heart. He was -passing down a street lined with warehouses, and a boss offered -him a job, and then, after he had started to work, turned him off -because he was not strong enough. And he stood by and saw -another man put into his place, and then picked up his coat, and -walked off, doing all that he could to keep from breaking down -and crying like a baby. He was lost! He was doomed! There was -no hope for him! But then, with a sudden rush, his fear gave -place to rage. He fell to cursing. He would come back there -after dark, and he would show that scoundrel whether he was good -for anything or not! - -He was still muttering this when suddenly, at the corner, he came -upon a green-grocery, with a tray full of cabbages in front of -it. Jurgis, after one swift glance about him, stooped and seized -the biggest of them, and darted round the corner with it. There -was a hue and cry, and a score of men and boys started in chase -of him; but he came to an alley, and then to another branching -off from it and leading him into another street, where he fell -into a walk, and slipped his cabbage under his coat and went off -unsuspected in the crowd. When he had gotten a safe distance -away he sat down and devoured half the cabbage raw, stowing the -balance away in his pockets till the next day. - -Just about this time one of the Chicago newspapers, which made -much of the "common people," opened a "free-soup kitchen" for the -benefit of the unemployed. Some people said that they did this -for the sake of the advertising it gave them, and some others -said that their motive was a fear lest all their readers should -be starved off; but whatever the reason, the soup was thick and -hot, and there was a bowl for every man, all night long. When -Jurgis heard of this, from a fellow "hobo," he vowed that he -would have half a dozen bowls before morning; but, as it proved, -he was lucky to get one, for there was a line of men two blocks -long before the stand, and there was just as long a line when the -place was finally closed up. - -This depot was within the danger line for Jurgis--in the "Levee" -district, where he was known; but he went there, all the same, -for he was desperate, and beginning to think of even the -Bridewell as a place of refuge. So far the weather had been -fair, and he had slept out every night in a vacant lot; but now -there fell suddenly a shadow of the advancing winter, a chill -wind from the north and a driving storm of rain. That day Jurgis -bought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, and at night he -spent his last two pennies in a "stale-beer dive." This was a -place kept by a Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs of -beer that lay in barrels set outside of the saloons; and after he -had doctored it with chemicals to make it "fizz," he sold it for -two cents a can, the purchase of a can including the privilege of -sleeping the night through upon the floor, with a mass of -degraded outcasts, men and women. - -All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, because -he was always contrasting them with the opportunities he had -lost. For instance, just now it was election time again--within -five or six weeks the voters of the country would select a -President; and he heard the wretches with whom he associated -discussing it, and saw the streets of the city decorated with -placards and banners--and what words could describe the pangs of -grief and despair that shot through him? - -For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He had -begged all day, for his very life, and found not a soul to heed -him, until toward evening he saw an old lady getting off a -streetcar and helped her down with her umbrellas and bundles and -then told her his "hard-luck story," and after answering all her -suspicious questions satisfactorily, was taken to a restaurant -and saw a quarter paid down for a meal. And so he had soup and -bread, and boiled beef and potatoes and beans, and pie and -coffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight as a football. -And then, through the rain and the darkness, far down the street -he saw red lights flaring and heard the thumping of a bass drum; -and his heart gave a leap, and he made for the place on the -run--knowing without the asking that it meant a political -meeting. - -The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers -termed "apathy." For some reason the people refused to get -excited over the struggle, and it was almost impossible to get -them to come to meetings, or to make any noise when they did -come. Those which had been held in Chicago so far had proven -most dismal failures, and tonight, the speaker being no less a -personage than a candidate for the vice-presidency of the nation, -the political managers had been trembling with anxiety. But a -merciful providence had sent this storm of cold rain--and now all -it was necessary to do was to set off a few fireworks, and thump -awhile on a drum, and all the homeless wretches from a mile -around would pour in and fill the hall! And then on the morrow -the newspapers would have a chance to report the tremendous -ovation, and to add that it had been no "silk-stocking" audience, -either, proving clearly that the high tariff sentiments of the -distinguished candidate were pleasing to the wage-earners of the -nation. - -So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decorated -with flags and bunting; and after the chairman had made his -little speech, and the orator of the evening rose up, amid an -uproar from the band--only fancy the emotions of Jurgis upon -making the discovery that the personage was none other than the -famous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, who had addressed the -"Doyle Republican Association" at the stockyards, and helped to -elect Mike Scully's tenpin setter to the Chicago Board of -Aldermen! - -In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears into -Jurgis's eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon those -golden hours, when he, too, had a place beneath the shadow of the -plum tree! When he, too, had been of the elect, through whom the -country is governed--when he had had a bung in the campaign -barrel for his own! And this was another election in which the -Republicans had all the money; and but for that one hideous -accident he might have had a share of it, instead of being where -he was! - - -The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; an -ingenious device whereby the workingman permitted the -manufacturer to charge him higher prices, in order that he might -receive higher wages; thus taking his money out of his pocket -with one hand, and putting a part of it back with the other. -To the senator this unique arrangement had somehow become identified -with the higher verities of the universe. It was because of it -that Columbia was the gem of the ocean; and all her future -triumphs, her power and good repute among the nations, depended -upon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up the -hands of those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of this -heroic company was "the Grand Old Party"-- - -And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violent -start. Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperate -effort to understand what the senator was saying--to comprehend -the extent of American prosperity, the enormous expansion of -American commerce, and the Republic's future in the Pacific and -in South America, and wherever else the oppressed were groaning. -The reason for it was that he wanted to keep awake. He knew that -if he allowed himself to fall asleep he would begin to snore -loudly; and so he must listen--he must be interested! But he had -eaten such a big dinner, and he was so exhausted, and the hall -was so warm, and his seat was so comfortable! The senator's -gaunt form began to grow dim and hazy, to tower before him and -dance about, with figures of exports and imports. Once his -neighbor gave him a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up with a -start and tried to look innocent; but then he was at it again, -and men began to stare at him with annoyance, and to call out in -vexation. Finally one of them called a policeman, who came and -grabbed Jurgis by the collar, and jerked him to his feet, -bewildered and terrified. Some of the audience turned to see the -commotion, and Senator Spareshanks faltered in his speech; but a -voice shouted cheerily: "We're just firing a bum! Go ahead, old -sport!" And so the crowd roared, and the senator smiled genially, -and went on; and in a few seconds poor Jurgis found himself -landed out in the rain, with a kick and a string of curses. - -He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself. -He was not hurt, and he was not arrested--more than he had any -right to expect. He swore at himself and his luck for a while, -and then turned his thoughts to practical matters. He had no -money, and no place to sleep; he must begin begging again. - -He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at the -touch of the icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was a -lady, well dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turned -and walked beside her. "Please, ma'am," he began, "could you -lend me the price of a night's lodging? I'm a poor working- -man--" - -Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamp -he had caught sight of the lady's face. He knew her. - -It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his wedding -feast! Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and danced -with such a queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster! -Jurgis had only seen her once or twice afterward, for Juozas had -thrown her over for another girl, and Alena had gone away from -Packingtown, no one knew where. And now he met her here! - -She was as much surprised as he was. "Jurgis Rudkus!" she -gasped. "And what in the world is the matter with you?" - -"I--I've had hard luck," he stammered. "I'm out of work, and -I've no home and no money. And you, Alena--are you married?" - -"No," she answered, "I'm not married, but I've got a good place." - -They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer. -Finally Alena spoke again. "Jurgis," she said, "I'd help you if -I could, upon my word I would, but it happens that I've come out -without my purse, and I honestly haven't a penny with me: I can -do something better for you, though--I can tell you how to get -help. I can tell you where Marija is." - -Jurgis gave a start. "Marija!" he exclaimed. - -"Yes," said Alena; "and she'll help you. She's got a place, -and she's doing well; she'll be glad to see you." - -It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had left -Packingtown, feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had been -from Marija and Elzbieta that he was escaping. But now, at the -mere mention of them, his whole being cried out with joy. He -wanted to see them; he wanted to go home! They would help -him--they would be kind to him. In a flash he had thought over -the situation. He had a good excuse for running away--his grief -at the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse for not -returning--the fact that they had left Packingtown. "All right," -he said, "I'll go." - -So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, "There's no -need to give you my address, because Marija knows it." And Jurgis -set out, without further ado. He found a large brownstone house -of aristocratic appearance, and rang the basement bell. A young -colored girl came to the door, opening it about an inch, -and gazing at him suspiciously. - -"What do you want?" she demanded. - -"Does Marija Berczynskas live here?" he inquired. - -"I dunno," said the girl. "What you want wid her?" - -"I want to see her," said he; "she's a relative of mine." - -The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said, -"Come in." Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued: -"I'll go see. What's yo' name?" - -"Tell her it's Jurgis," he answered, and the girl went upstairs. -She came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, "Dey -ain't no sich person here." - -Jurgis's heart went down into his boots. "I was told this was -where she lived!" he cried. But the girl only shook her head. -"De lady says dey ain't no sich person here," she said. - -And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay. -Then he turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however, -there came a knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgis -heard the shuffling of feet, and then heard her give a cry; -and the next moment she sprang back, and past him, her eyes shining -white with terror, and bounded up the stairway, screaming at the -top of her lungs: "Police! Police! We're pinched!" - -Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coated -forms rushing upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her cries -had been the signal for a wild uproar above; the house was full -of people, and as he entered the hallway he saw them rushing -hither and thither, crying and screaming with alarm. There were -men and women, the latter clad for the most part in wrappers, -the former in all stages of dishabille. At one side Jurgis caught a -glimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered chairs, and tables -covered with trays and glasses. There were playing cards -scattered all over the floor--one of the tables had been upset, -and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents running -out upon the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted, -and two men who were supporting her; and there were a dozen others -crowding toward the front door. - -Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows upon -it, causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stout -woman, with painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came running -down the stairs, panting breathlessly: "To the rear! Quick!" - -She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in the -kitchen she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened, -disclosing a dark passageway. "Go in!" she cried to the crowd, -which now amounted to twenty or thirty, and they began to pass -through. Scarcely had the last one disappeared, however, before -there were cries from in front, and then the panic-stricken -throng poured out again, exclaiming: "They're there too! We're -trapped!" - -"Upstairs!" cried the woman, and there was another rush of the -mob, women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to be -first. One flight, two, three--and then there was a ladder to -the roof, with a crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man at -the top, straining and struggling to lift the trap door. It was -not to be stirred, however, and when the woman shouted up to -unhook it, he answered: "It's already unhooked. There's somebody -sitting on it!" - -And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: "You might as -well quit, you people. We mean business, this time." - -So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemen -came up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims. -Of the latter the men were for the most part frightened and -sheepish-looking. The women took it as a joke, as if they were -used to it--though if they had been pale, one could not have -told, for the paint on their cheeks. One black-eyed young girl -perched herself upon the top of the balustrade, and began to kick -with her slippered foot at the helmets of the policemen, until -one of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her down. On the -floor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in the hall, -making fun of the procession which filed by them. They were -noisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one of -them, who wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in a -voice that drowned out all the other sounds in the hall--and -Jurgis took a glance at her, and then gave a start, and a cry, -"Marija!" - -She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and half -sprang to her feet in amazement. "Jurgis!" she gasped. - -For a second or two they stood staring at each other. "How did -you come here?" Marija exclaimed. - -"I came to see you," he answered. - -"When?" - -"Just now." - -"But how did you know--who told you I was here?" - -"Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street." - -Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. The -rest of the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up and -came closer to him. "And you?" Jurgis asked. "You live here?" - -"Yes," said Marija, "I live here." Then suddenly came a hail from -below: "Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You'd -best begin, or you'll be sorry--it's raining outside." - -"Br-r-r!" shivered some one, and the women got up and entered the -various doors which lined the hallway. - -"Come," said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was a -tiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and a -dressing stand and some dresses hanging behind the door. There -were clothes scattered about on the floor, and hopeless confusion -everywhere--boxes of rouge and bottles of perfume mixed with hats -and soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of slippers and a -clock and a whisky bottle on a chair. - -Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings; -yet she proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking the -trouble to close the door. He had by this time divined what sort -of a place he was in; and he had seen a great deal of the world -since he had left home, and was not easy to shock--and yet it -gave him a painful start that Marija should do this. They had -always been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that the -memory of old times ought to have ruled her. But then he laughed -at himself for a fool. What was he, to be pretending to decency! - -"How long have you been living here?" he asked. - -"Nearly a year," she answered. - -"Why did you come?" - -"I had to live," she said; "and I couldn't see the children -starve." - -He paused for a moment, watching her. "You were out of work?" he -asked, finally. - -"I got sick," she replied. "and after that I had no money. And -then Stanislovas died--" - -"Stanislovas dead!" - -"Yes," said Marija, "I forgot. You didn't know about it." - -"How did he die?" - -"Rats killed him," she answered. - -Jurgis gave a gasp. "Rats killed him!" - -"Yes," said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes as -she spoke. "He was working in an oil factory--at least he was -hired by the men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on a -long pole; and he'd drink a little out of each can, and one day -he drank too much, and fell asleep in a corner, and got locked up -in the place all night. When they found him the rats had killed -him and eaten him nearly all up." - -Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up her -shoes. There was a long silence. - -Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. "Hurry up, there," he -said. - -"As quick as I can," said Marija, and she stood up and began -putting on her corsets with feverish haste. - -"Are the rest of the people alive?" asked Jurgis, finally. - -"Yes," she said. - -"Where are they?" - -"They live not far from here. They're all right now." - -"They are working?" he inquired. - -"Elzbieta is," said Marija, "when she can. I take care of them -most of the time--I'm making plenty of money now." - -Jurgis was silent for a moment. "Do they know you live here--how -you live?" he asked. - -"Elzbieta knows," answered Marija. "I couldn't lie to her. And -maybe the children have found out by this time. It's nothing to -be ashamed of--we can't help it." - -"And Tamoszius?" he asked. "Does he know?" - -Marija shrugged her shoulders. "How do I know?" she said. -"I haven't seen him for over a year. He got blood poisoning and -lost one finger, and couldn't play the violin any more; and then -he went away." - -Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress. -Jurgis sat staring at her. He could hardly believe that she was -the same woman he had known in the old days; she was so quiet--so -hard! It struck fear to his heart to watch her. - -Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. "You look as if you had -been having a rough time of it yourself," she said. - -"I have," he answered. "I haven't a cent in my pockets, and -nothing to do." - -"Where have you been?" - -"All over. I've been hoboing it. Then I went back to the -yards--just before the strike." He paused for a moment, -hesitating. "I asked for you," he added. "I found you had gone -away, no one knew where. Perhaps you think I did you a dirty -trick. running away as I did, Marija--" - -"No," she answered, "I don't blame you. We never have--any of -us. You did your best--the job was too much for us." She paused -a moment, then added: "We were too ignorant--that was the -trouble. We didn't stand any chance. If I'd known what I know -now we'd have won out." - -"You'd have come here?" said Jurgis. - -"Yes," she answered; "but that's not what I meant. I meant -you--how differently you would have behaved--about Ona." - -Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it. - -"When people are starving," the other continued, "and they have -anything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess you -realize it now when it's too late. Ona could have taken care of -us all, in the beginning." Marija spoke without emotion, as one -who had come to regard things from the business point of view. - -"I--yes, I guess so," Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did not -add that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman's job, -for the satisfaction of knocking down "Phil" Connor a second -time. - -The policeman came to the door again just then. "Come on, now," -he said. "Lively!" - -"All right," said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big -enough to be a drum major's, and full of ostrich feathers. -She went out into the hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman -remaining to look under the bed and behind the door - -"What's going to come of this?" Jurgis asked, as they started -down the steps. - -"The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing--it happens to us every now and -then. The madame's having some sort of time with the police; -I don't know what it is, but maybe they'll come to terms before -morning. Anyhow, they won't do anything to you. They always let -the men off." - -"Maybe so," he responded, "but not me--I'm afraid I'm in for it." - -"How do you mean?" - -"I'm wanted by the police," he said, lowering his voice, though -of course their conversation was in Lithuanian. "They'll send me -up for a year or two, I'm afraid." - -"Hell!" said Marija. "That's too bad. I'll see if I can't get -you off." - -Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now -massed, she sought out the stout personage with the diamond -earrings, and had a few whispered words with her. The latter -then approached the police sergeant who was in charge of the -raid. "Billy," she said, pointing to Jurgis, "there's a fellow -who came in to see his sister. He'd just got in the door when -you knocked. You aren't taking hoboes, are you?" - -The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. "Sorry," he said, -"but the orders are every one but the servants." - -So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodging -behind each other like sheep that have smelled a wolf. There -were old men and young men, college boys and gray-beards old -enough to be their grandfathers; some of them wore evening -dress--there was no one among them save Jurgis who showed any -signs of poverty. - -When the roundup was completed, the doors were opened and the -party marched out. Three patrol wagons were drawn up at the -curb, and the whole neighborhood had turned out to see the sport; -there was much chaffing, and a universal craning of necks. The -women stared about them with defiant eyes, or laughed and joked, -while the men kept their heads bowed, and their hats pulled over -their faces. They were crowded into the patrol wagons as if into -streetcars, and then off they went amid a din of cheers. At the -station house Jurgis gave a Polish name and was put into a cell -with half a dozen others; and while these sat and talked in -whispers, he lay down in a corner and gave himself up to his -thoughts. - -Jurgis had looked into the deepest reaches of the social pit, -and grown used to the sights in them. Yet when he had thought of all -humanity as vile and hideous, he had somehow always excepted his -own family. that he had loved; and now this sudden horrible -discovery--Marija a whore, and Elzbieta and the children living -off her shame! Jurgis might argue with himself all he chose, -that he had done worse, and was a fool for caring--but still he -could not get over the shock of that sudden unveiling, he could -not help being sunk in grief because of it. The depths of him -were troubled and shaken, memories were stirred in him that had -been sleeping so long he had counted them dead. Memories of the -old life--his old hopes and his old yearnings, his old dreams of -decency and independence! He saw Ona again, he heard her gentle -voice pleading with him. He saw little Antanas, whom he had -meant to make a man. He saw his trembling old father, who had -blessed them all with his wonderful love. He lived again through -that day of horror when he had discovered Ona's shame--God, how -he had suffered, what a madman he had been! How dreadful it had -all seemed to him; and now, today, he had sat and listened, and -half agreed when Marija told him he had been a fool! Yes--told -him that he ought to have sold his wife's honor and lived by -it!--And then there was Stanislovas and his awful fate--that -brief story which Marija had narrated so calmly, with such dull -indifference! The poor little fellow, with his frostbitten -fingers and his terror of the snow--his wailing voice rang in -Jurgis's ears, as he lay there in the darkness, until the sweat -started on his forehead. Now and then he would quiver with a -sudden spasm of horror, at the picture of little Stanislovas shut -up in the deserted building and fighting for his life with the -rats! - -All these emotions had become strangers to the soul of Jurgis; -it was so long since they had troubled him that he had ceased to -think they might ever trouble him again. Helpless, trapped, -as he was, what good did they do him--why should he ever have -allowed them to torment him? It had been the task of his recent -life to fight them down, to crush them out of him, never in his -life would he have suffered from them again, save that they had -caught him unawares, and overwhelmed him before he could protect -himself. He heard the old voices of his soul, he saw its old -ghosts beckoning to him, stretching out their arms to him! But -they were far-off and shadowy, and the gulf between them was -black and bottomless; they would fade away into the mists of the -past once more. Their voices would die, and never again would he -hear them--and so the last faint spark of manhood in his soul -would flicker out. - - -Chapter 28 - - -After breakfast Jurgis was driven to the court, which was crowded -with the prisoners and those who had come out of curiosity or in -the hope of recognizing one of the men and getting a case for -blackmail. The men were called up first, and reprimanded in a -bunch, and then dismissed; but, Jurgis to his terror, was called -separately, as being a suspicious-looking case. It was in this -very same court that he had been tried, that time when his -sentence had been "suspended"; it was the same judge, and the -same clerk. The latter now stared at Jurgis, as if he half -thought that he knew him; but the judge had no suspicions--just -then his thoughts were upon a telephone message he was expecting -from a friend of the police captain of the district, telling what -disposition he should make of the case of "Polly" Simpson, as the -"madame" of the house was known. Meantime, he listened to the -story of how Jurgis had been looking for his sister, and advised -him dryly to keep his sister in a better place; then he let him -go, and proceeded to fine each of the girls five dollars, which -fines were paid in a bunch from a wad of bills which Madame Polly -extracted from her stocking. - -Jurgis waited outside and walked home with Marija. The police -had left the house, and already there were a few visitors; -by evening the place would be running again, exactly as if nothing -had happened. Meantime, Marija took Jurgis upstairs to her room, -and they sat and talked. By daylight, Jurgis was able to observe -that the color on her cheeks was not the old natural one of -abounding health; her complexion was in reality a parchment -yellow, and there were black rings under her eyes. - -"Have you been sick?" he asked. - -"Sick?" she said. "Hell!" (Marija had learned to scatter her -conversation with as many oaths as a longshoreman or a mule -driver.) "How can I ever be anything but sick, at this life?" - -She fell silent for a moment, staring ahead of her gloomily. -"It's morphine," she said, at last. "I seem to take more of it -every day." - -"What's that for?" he asked. - -"It's the way of it; I don't know why. If it isn't that, it's -drink. If the girls didn't booze they couldn't stand it any time -at all. And the madame always gives them dope when they first -come, and they learn to like it; or else they take it for -headaches and such things, and get the habit that way. I've got -it, I know; I've tried to quit, but I never will while I'm here." - -"How long are you going to stay?" he asked. - -"I don't know," she said. "Always, I guess. What else could I -do?" - -"Don't you save any money?" - -"Save!" said Marija. "Good Lord, no! I get enough, I suppose, -but it all goes. I get a half share, two dollars and a half for -each customer, and sometimes I make twenty-five or thirty dollars -a night, and you'd think I ought to save something out of that! -But then I am charged for my room and my meals--and such prices -as you never heard of; and then for extras, and drinks--for -everything I get, and some I don't. My laundry bill is nearly -twenty dollars each week alone--think of that! Yet what can I -do? I either have to stand it or quit, and it would be the same -anywhere else. It's all I can do to save the fifteen dollars I -give Elzbieta each week, so the children can go to school." - -Marija sat brooding in silence for a while; then, seeing that -Jurgis was interested, she went on: "That's the way they keep the -girls--they let them run up debts, so they can't get away. A -young girl comes from abroad, and she doesn't know a word of -English, and she gets into a place like this, and when she wants -to go the madame shows her that she is a couple of hundred -dollars in debt, and takes all her clothes away, and threatens to -have her arrested if she doesn't stay and do as she's told. So -she stays, and the longer she stays, the more in debt she gets. -Often, too, they are girls that didn't know what they were coming -to, that had hired out for housework. Did you notice that little -French girl with the yellow hair, that stood next to me in the -court?" - -Jurgis answered in the affirmative. - -"Well, she came to America about a year ago. She was a store -clerk, and she hired herself to a man to be sent here to work in -a factory. There were six of them, all together, and they were -brought to a house just down the street from here, and this girl -was put into a room alone, and they gave her some dope in her -food, and when she came to she found that she had been ruined. -She cried, and screamed, and tore her hair, but she had nothing -but a wrapper, and couldn't get away, and they kept her half -insensible with drugs all the time, until she gave up. She never -got outside of that place for ten months, and then they sent her -away, because she didn't suit. I guess they'll put her out of -here, too--she's getting to have crazy fits, from drinking -absinthe. Only one of the girls that came out with her got away, -and she jumped out of a second-story window one night. There was -a great fuss about that--maybe you heard of it." - -"I did," said Jurgis, "I heard of it afterward." (It had happened -in the place where he and Duane had taken refuge from their -"country customer." The girl had become insane, fortunately for -the police.) - -"There's lots of money in it," said Marija--"they get as much as -forty dollars a head for girls, and they bring them from all -over. There are seventeen in this place, and nine different -countries among them. In some places you might find even more. -We have half a dozen French girls--I suppose it's because the -madame speaks the language. French girls are bad, too, the worst -of all, except for the Japanese. There's a place next door -that's full of Japanese women, but I wouldn't live in the same -house with one of them." - -Marija paused for a moment or two, and then she added: "Most of -the women here are pretty decent--you'd be surprised. I used to -think they did it because they liked to; but fancy a woman -selling herself to every kind of man that comes, old or young, -black or white--and doing it because she likes to!" - -"Some of them say they do," said Jurgis. - -"I know," said she; "they say anything. They're in, and they -know they can't get out. But they didn't like it when they -began--you'd find out--it's always misery! There's a little -Jewish girl here who used to run errands for a milliner, and got -sick and lost her place; and she was four days on the streets -without a mouthful of food, and then she went to a place just -around the corner and offered herself, and they made her give up -her clothes before they would give her a bite to eat!" - -Marija sat for a minute or two, brooding somberly. "Tell me -about yourself, Jurgis," she said, suddenly. "Where have you -been?" - -So he told her the long story of his adventures since his flight -from home; his life as a tramp, and his work in the freight -tunnels, and the accident; and then of Jack Duane, and of his -political career in the stockyards, and his downfall and -subsequent failures. Marija listened with sympathy; it was easy -to believe the tale of his late starvation, for his face showed -it all. "You found me just in the nick of time," she said. -"I'll stand by you--I'll help you till you can get some work." - -"I don't like to let you--" he began. - -"Why not? Because I'm here?" - -"No, not that," he said. "But I went off and left you--" - -"Nonsense!" said Marija. "Don't think about it. I don't blame -you." - -"You must be hungry," she said, after a minute or two. "You stay -here to lunch--I'll have something up in the room." - -She pressed a button, and a colored woman came to the door and -took her order. "It's nice to have somebody to wait on you," -she observed, with a laugh, as she lay back on the bed. - -As the prison breakfast had not been liberal, Jurgis had a good -appetite, and they had a little feast together, talking meanwhile -of Elzbieta and the children and old times. Shortly before they -were through, there came another colored girl, with the message -that the "madame" wanted Marija--"Lithuanian Mary," as they -called her here. - -"That means you have to go," she said to Jurgis. - -So he got up, and she gave him the new address of the family, a -tenement over in the Ghetto district. "You go there," she said. -"They'll be glad to see you." - -But Jurgis stood hesitating. - -"I--I don't like to," he said. "Honest, Marija, why don't you -just give me a little money and let me look for work first?" - -"How do you need money?" was her reply. "All you want is -something to eat and a place to sleep, isn't it?" - -"Yes," he said; "but then I don't like to go there after I left -them--and while I have nothing to do, and while you--you--" - -"Go on!" said Marija, giving him a push. "What are you -talking?--I won't give you money," she added, as she followed him -to the door, "because you'll drink it up, and do yourself harm. -Here's a quarter for you now, and go along, and they'll be so -glad to have you back, you won't have time to feel ashamed. -Good-by!" - - -So Jurgis went out, and walked down the street to think it over. -He decided that he would first try to get work, and so he put in -the rest of the day wandering here and there among factories and -warehouses without success. Then, when it was nearly dark, -he concluded to go home, and set out; but he came to a restaurant, -and went in and spent his quarter for a meal; and when he came -out he changed his mind--the night was pleasant, and he would -sleep somewhere outside, and put in the morrow hunting, and so -have one more chance of a job. So he started away again, when -suddenly he chanced to look about him, and found that he was -walking down the same street and past the same hall where he had -listened to the political speech the night 'before. There was no -red fire and no band now, but there was a sign out, announcing a -meeting, and a stream of people pouring in through the entrance. -In a flash Jurgis had decided that he would chance it once more, -and sit down and rest while making up his mind what to do. There -was no one taking tickets, so it must be a free show again. - -He entered. There were no decorations in the hall this time; -but there was quite a crowd upon the platform, and almost every seat -in the place was filled. He took one of the last, far in the -rear, and straightway forgot all about his surroundings. Would -Elzbieta think that he had come to sponge off her, or would she -understand that he meant to get to work again and do his share? -Would she be decent to him, or would she scold him? If only he -could get some sort of a job before he went--if that last boss -had only been willing to try him! - ---Then suddenly Jurgis looked up. A tremendous roar had burst -from the throats of the crowd, which by this time had packed the -hall to the very doors. Men and women were standing up, waving -handkerchiefs, shouting, yelling. Evidently the speaker had -arrived, thought Jurgis; what fools they were making of -themselves! What were they expecting to get out of it -anyhow--what had they to do with elections, with governing the -country? Jurgis had been behind the scenes in politics. - -He went back to his thoughts, but with one further fact to reckon -with--that he was caught here. The hall was now filled to the -doors; and after the meeting it would be too late for him to go -home, so he would have to make the best of it outside. Perhaps -it would be better to go home in the morning, anyway, for the -children would be at school, and he and Elzbieta could have a -quiet explanation. She always had been a reasonable person; -and he really did mean to do right. He would manage to persuade her -of it--and besides, Marija was willing, and Marija was furnishing -the money. If Elzbieta were ugly, he would tell her that in so -many words. - -So Jurgis went on meditating; until finally, when he had been an -hour or two in the hall, there began to prepare itself a -repetition of the dismal catastrophe of the night before. -Speaking had been going on all the time, and the audience was -clapping its hands and shouting, thrilling with excitement; -and little by little the sounds were beginning to blur in Jurgis's -ears, and his thoughts were beginning to run together, and his -head to wobble and nod. He caught himself many times, as usual, -and made desperate resolutions; but the hall was hot and close, -and his long walk and is dinner were too much for him--in the end -his head sank forward and he went off again. - -And then again someone nudged him, and he sat up with his old -terrified start! He had been snoring again, of course! And now -what? He fixed his eyes ahead of him, with painful intensity, -staring at the platform as if nothing else ever had interested -him, or ever could interest him, all his life. He imagined the -angry exclamations, the hostile glances; he imagined the -policeman striding toward him--reaching for his neck. Or was he -to have one more chance? Were they going to let him alone this -time? He sat trembling; waiting-- - -And then suddenly came a voice in his ear, a woman's voice,gentle -and sweet, "If you would try to listen, comrade, perhaps you -would be interested." - -Jurgis was more startled by that than he would have been by the -touch of a policeman. He still kept his eyes fixed ahead, and -did not stir; but his heart gave a great leap. Comrade! Who was -it that called him "comrade"? - -He waited long, long; and at last, when he was sure that he was -no longer watched, he stole a glance out of the corner of his -eyes at the woman who sat beside him. She was young and -beautiful; she wore fine clothes, and was what is called a -"lady." And she called him "comrade"! - -He turned a little, carefully, so that he could see her better; -then he began to watch her, fascinated. She had apparently -forgotten all about him, and was looking toward the platform. -A man was speaking there--Jurgis heard his voice vaguely; but all -his thoughts were for this woman's face. A feeling of alarm -stole over him as he stared at her. It made his flesh creep. -What was the matter with her, what could be going on, to affect -any one like that? She sat as one turned to stone, her hands -clenched tightly in her lap, so tightly that he could see the -cords standing out in her wrists. There was a look of excitement -upon her face, of tense effort, as of one struggling mightily, -or witnessing a struggle. There was a faint quivering of her -nostrils; and now and then she would moisten her lips with -feverish haste. Her bosom rose and fell as she breathed, and her -excitement seemed to mount higher and higher, and then to sink -away again, like a boat tossing upon ocean surges. What was it? -What was the matter? It must be something that the man was -saying, up there on the platform. What sort of a man was he? -And what sort of thing was this, anyhow?"--So all at once it -occurred to Jurgis to look at the speaker. - -It was like coming suddenly upon some wild sight of nature--a -mountain forest lashed by a tempest, a ship tossed about upon a -stormy sea. Jurgis had an unpleasant sensation, a sense of -confusion, of disorder, of wild and meaningless uproar. The man -was tall and gaunt, as haggard as his auditor himself; a thin -black beard covered half of his face, and one could see only two -black hollows where the eyes were. He was speaking rapidly, in -great excitement; he used many gestures--he spoke he moved here -and there upon the stage, reaching with his long arms as if to -seize each person in his audience. His voice was deep, like an -organ; it was some time, however, before Jurgis thought of the -voice--he was too much occupied with his eyes to think of what -the man was saying. But suddenly it seemed as if the speaker had -begun pointing straight at him, as if he had singled him out -particularly for his remarks; and so Jurgis became suddenly aware -of his voice, trembling, vibrant with emotion, with pain and -longing, with a burden of things unutterable, not to be compassed -by words. To hear it was to be suddenly arrested, to be gripped, -transfixed. - -"You listen to these things," the man was saying, "and you say, -'Yes, they are true, but they have been that way always.' Or you -say, 'Maybe it will come, but not in my time--it will not help -me.' And so you return to your daily round of toil, you go back -to be ground up for profits in the world-wide mill of economic -might! To toil long hours for another's advantage; to live in -mean and squalid homes, to work in dangerous and unhealthful -places; to wrestle with the specters of hunger and privation, -to take your chances of accident, disease, and death. And each day -the struggle becomes fiercer, the pace more cruel; each day you -have to toil a little harder, and feel the iron hand of -circumstance close upon you a little tighter. Months pass, years -maybe--and then you come again; and again I am here to plead with -you, to know if want and misery have yet done their work with -you, if injustice and oppression have yet opened your eyes! I -shall still be waiting--there is nothing else that I can do. -There is no wilderness where I can hide from these things, there -is no haven where I can escape them; though I travel to the ends -of the earth, I find the same accursed system--I find that all -the fair and noble impulses of humanity, the dreams of poets and -the agonies of martyrs, are shackled and bound in the service of -organized and predatory Greed! And therefore I cannot rest, I -cannot be silent; therefore I cast aside comfort and happiness, -health and good repute--and go out into the world and cry out the -pain of my spirit! Therefore I am not to be silenced by poverty -and sickness, not by hatred and obloquy, by threats and -ridicule--not by prison and persecution, if they should come--not -by any power that is upon the earth or above the earth, that was, -or is, or ever can be created. If I fail tonight, I can only try -tomorrow; knowing that the fault must be mine--that if once the -vision of my soul were spoken upon earth, if once the anguish of -its defeat were uttered in human speech, it would break the -stoutest barriers of prejudice, it would shake the most sluggish -soul to action! It would abash the most cynical, it would -terrify the most selfish; and the voice of mockery would be -silenced, and fraud and falsehood would slink back into their -dens, and the truth would stand forth alone! For I speak with -the voice of the millions who are voiceless! Of them that are -oppressed and have no comforter! Of the disinherited of life, -for whom there is no respite and no deliverance, to whom the -world is a prison, a dungeon of torture, a tomb! With the voice -of the little child who toils tonight in a Southern cotton mill, -staggering with exhaustion, numb with agony, and knowing no hope -but the grave! Of the mother who sews by candlelight in her -tenement garret, weary and weeping, smitten with the mortal -hunger of her babes! Of the man who lies upon a bed of rags, -wrestling in his last sickness and leaving his loved ones to -perish! Of the young girl who, somewhere at this moment, is -walking the streets of this horrible city, beaten and starving, -and making her choice between the brothel and the lake! With the -voice of those, whoever and wherever they may be, who are caught -beneath the wheels of the Juggernaut of Greed! With the voice of -humanity, calling for deliverance! Of the everlasting soul of -Man, arising from the dust; breaking its way out of its -prison--rending the bands of oppression and ignorance--groping -its way to the light!" - -The speaker paused. There was an instant of silence, while men -caught their breaths, and then like a single sound there came a -cry from a thousand people. Through it all Jurgis sat still, -motionless and rigid, his eyes fixed upon the speaker; he was -trembling, smitten with wonder. - -Suddenly the man raised his hands, and silence fell, and he began -again. - -"I plead with you," he said, "whoever you may be, provided that -you care about the truth; but most of all I plead with working- -man, with those to whom the evils I portray are not mere matters -of sentiment, to be dallied and toyed with, and then perhaps put -aside and forgotten--to whom they are the grim and relentless -realities of the daily grind, the chains upon their limbs, the -lash upon their backs, the iron in their souls. To you, working- -men! To you, the toilers, who have made this land, and have no -voice in its councils! To you, whose lot it is to sow that -others may reap, to labor and obey, and ask no more than the -wages of a beast of burden, the food and shelter to keep you -alive from day to day. It is to you that I come with my message -of salvation, it is to you that I appeal. I know how much it is -to ask of you--I know, for I have been in your place, I have -lived your life, and there is no man before me here tonight who -knows it better. I have known what it is to be a street-waif, -a bootblack, living upon a crust of bread and sleeping in cellar -stairways and under empty wagons. I have known what it is to -dare and to aspire, to dream mighty dreams and to see them -perish--to see all the fair flowers of my spirit trampled into -the mire by the wild-beast powers of my life. I know what is the -price that a working-man pays for knowledge--I have paid for it -with food and sleep, with agony of body and mind, with health, -almost with life itself; and so, when I come to you with a story -of hope and freedom, with the vision of a new earth to be -created, of a new labor to be dared, I am not surprised that I -find you sordid and material, sluggish and incredulous. That I -do not despair is because I know also the forces that are driving -behind you--because I know the raging lash of poverty, the sting -of contempt and mastership, 'the insolence of office and the -spurns.' Because I feel sure that in the crowd that has come to -me tonight, no matter how many may be dull and heedless, no -matter how many may have come out of idle curiosity, or in order -to ridicule--there will be some one man whom pain and suffering -have made desperate, whom some chance vision of wrong and horror -has startled and shocked into attention. And to him my words -will come like a sudden flash of lightning to one who travels in -darkness--revealing the way before him, the perils and the -obstacles--solving all problems, making all difficulties clear! -The scales will fall from his eyes, the shackles will be torn -from his limbs--he will leap up with a cry of thankfulness, he -will stride forth a free man at last! A man delivered from his -self-created slavery! A man who will never more be trapped--whom -no blandishments will cajole, whom no threats will frighten; who -from tonight on will move forward, and not backward, who will -study and understand, who will gird on his sword and take his -place in the army of his comrades and brothers. Who will carry -the good tidings to others, as I have carried them to -him--priceless gift of liberty and light that is neither mine nor -his, but is the heritage of the soul of man! Working-men, -working-men--comrades! open your eyes and look about you! You -have lived so long in the toil and heat that your senses are -dulled, your souls are numbed; but realize once in your lives -this world in which you dwell--tear off the rags of its customs -and conventions--behold it as it is, in all its hideous -nakedness! Realize it, realize it! Realize that out upon the -plains of Manchuria tonight two hostile armies are facing each -other--that now, while we are seated here, a million human beings -may be hurled at each other's throats, striving with the fury of -maniacs to tear each other to pieces! And this in the twentieth -century, nineteen hundred years since the Prince of Peace was -born on earth! Nineteen hundred years that his words have been -preached as divine, and here two armies of men are rending and -tearing each other like the wild beasts of the forest! -Philosophers have reasoned, prophets have denounced, poets have -wept and pleaded--and still this hideous Monster roams at large! -We have schools and colleges, newspapers and books; we have -searched the heavens and the earth, we have weighed and probed -and reasoned--and all to equip men to destroy each other! We -call it War, and pass it by--but do not put me off with -platitudes and conventions--come with me, come with me--realize -it! See the bodies of men pierced by bullets, blown into pieces -by bursting shells! Hear the crunching of the bayonet, plunged -into human flesh; hear the groans and shrieks of agony, see the -faces of men crazed by pain, turned into fiends by fury and hate! -Put your hand upon that piece of flesh--it is hot and -quivering--just now it was a part of a man! This blood is still -steaming--it was driven by a human heart! Almighty God! and -this goes on--it is systematic, organized, premeditated! And we -know it, and read of it, and take it for granted; our papers tell -of it, and the presses are not stopped--our churches know of it, -and do not close their doors--the people behold it, and do not -rise up in horror and revolution! - -"Or perhaps Manchuria is too far away for you--come home with me -then, come here to Chicago. Here in this city to-night ten -thousand women are shut up in foul pens, and driven by hunger to -sell their bodies to live. And we know it, we make it a jest! -And these women are made in the image of your mothers, they may -be your sisters, your daughters; the child whom you left at home -tonight, whose laughing eyes will greet you in the morning--that -fate may be waiting for her! To-night in Chicago there are ten -thousand men, homeless and wretched, willing to work and begging -for a chance, yet starving, and fronting in terror the awful -winter cold! Tonight in Chicago there are a hundred thousand -children wearing out their strength and blasting their lives in -the effort to earn their bread! There are a hundred thousand -mothers who are living in misery and squalor, struggling to earn -enough to feed their little ones! There are a hundred thousand -old people, cast off and helpless, waiting for death to take them -from their torments! There are a million people, men and women -and children, who share the curse of the wage-slave; who toil -every hour they can stand and see, for just enough to keep them -alive; who are condemned till the end of their days to monotony -and weariness, to hunger and misery, to heat and cold, to dirt -and disease, to ignorance and drunkenness and vice! And then -turn over the page with me, and gaze upon the other side of the -picture. There are a thousand--ten thousand, maybe--who are the -masters of these slaves, who own their toil. They do nothing to -earn what they receive, they do not even have to ask for it--it -comes to them of itself, their only care is to dispose of it. -They live in palaces, they riot in luxury and extravagance--such -as no words can describe, as makes the imagination reel and -stagger, makes the soul grow sick and faint. They spend hundreds -of dollars for a pair of shoes, a handkerchief, a garter; they -spend millions for horses and automobiles and yachts, for palaces -and banquets, for little shiny stones with which to deck their -bodies. Their life is a contest among themselves for supremacy -in ostentation and recklessness, in the destroying of useful and -necessary things, in the wasting of the labor and the lives of -their fellow creatures, the toil and anguish of the nations, -the sweat and tears and blood of the human race! It is all -theirs--it comes to them; just as all the springs pour into -streamlets, and the streamlets into rivers, and the rivers into -the oceans--so, automatically and inevitably, all the wealth of -society comes to them. The farmer tills the soil, the miner digs -in the earth, the weaver tends the loom, the mason carves the -stone; the clever man invents, the shrewd man directs, the wise -man studies, the inspired man sings--and all the result, the -products of the labor of brain and muscle, are gathered into one -stupendous stream and poured into their laps! The whole of -society is in their grip, the whole labor of the world lies at -their mercy--and like fierce wolves they rend and destroy, like -ravening vultures they devour and tear! The whole power of -mankind belongs to them, forever and beyond recall--do what it -can, strive as it will, humanity lives for them and dies for -them! They own not merely the labor of society, they have bought -the governments; and everywhere they use their raped and stolen -power to intrench themselves in their privileges, to dig wider -and deeper the channels through which the river of profits flows -to them!--And you, workingmen, workingmen! You have been brought -up to it, you plod on like beasts of burden, thinking only of the -day and its pain--yet is there a man among you who can believe -that such a system will continue forever--is there a man here in -this audience tonight so hardened and debased that he dare rise -up before me and say that he believes it can continue forever; -that the product of the labor of society, the means of existence -of the human race, will always belong to idlers and parasites, to -be spent for the gratification of vanity and lust--to be spent -for any purpose whatever, to be at the disposal of any individual -will whatever--that somehow, somewhere, the labor of humanity -will not belong to humanity, to be used for the purposes of -humanity, to be controlled by the will of humanity? And if this -is ever to be, how is it to be--what power is there that will -bring it about? Will it be the task of your masters, do you -think--will they write the charter of your liberties? Will they -forge you the sword of your deliverance, will they marshal you -the army and lead it to the fray? Will their wealth be spent for -the purpose--will they build colleges and churches to teach you, -will they print papers to herald your progress, and organize -political parties to guide and carry on the struggle? Can you -not see that the task is your task--yours to dream, yours to -resolve, yours to execute? That if ever it is carried out, it -will be in the face of every obstacle that wealth and mastership -can oppose--in the face of ridicule and slander, of hatred and -persecution, of the bludgeon and the jail? That it will be by -the power of your naked bosoms, opposed to the rage of -oppression! By the grim and bitter teaching of blind and -merciless affliction! By the painful gropings of the untutored -mind, by the feeble stammerings of the uncultured voice! By the -sad and lonely hunger of the spirit; by seeking and striving and -yearning, by heartache and despairing, by agony and sweat of -blood! It will be by money paid for with hunger, by knowledge -stolen from sleep, by thoughts communicated under the shadow of -the gallows! It will be a movement beginning in the far-off -past, a thing obscure and unhonored, a thing easy to ridicule, -easy to despise; a thing unlovely, wearing the aspect of -vengeance and hate--but to you, the working-man, the wage-slave, -calling with a voice insistent, imperious--with a voice that you -cannot escape, wherever upon the earth you may be! With the -voice of all your wrongs, with the voice of all your desires; -with the voice of your duty and your hope--of everything in the -world that is worth while to you! The voice of the poor, -demanding that poverty shall cease! The voice of the oppressed, -pronouncing the doom of oppression! The voice of power, wrought -out of suffering--of resolution, crushed out of weakness--of joy -and courage, born in the bottomless pit of anguish and despair! -The voice of Labor, despised and outraged; a mighty giant, lying -prostrate--mountainous, colossal, but blinded, bound, and -ignorant of his strength. And now a dream of resistance haunts -him, hope battling with fear; until suddenly he stirs, and a -fetter snaps--and a thrill shoots through him, to the farthest -ends of his huge body, and in a flash the dream becomes an act! -He starts, he lifts himself; and the bands are shattered, the -burdens roll off him--he rises--towering, gigantic; he springs to -his feet, he shouts in his newborn exultation--" - -And the speaker's voice broke suddenly, with the stress of his -feelings; he stood with his arms stretched out above him, and the -power of his vision seemed to lift him from the floor. The -audience came to its feet with a yell; men waved their arms, -laughing aloud in their excitement. And Jurgis was with them, he -was shouting to tear his throat; shouting because he could not -help it, because the stress of his feeling was more than he could -bear. It was not merely the man's words, the torrent of his -eloquence. It was his presence, it was his voice: a voice with -strange intonations that rang through the chambers of the soul -like the clanging of a bell--that gripped the listener like a -mighty hand about his body, that shook him and startled him with -sudden fright, with a sense of things not of earth, of mysteries -never spoken before, of presences of awe and terror! There was -an unfolding of vistas before him, a breaking of the ground -beneath him, an upheaving, a stirring, a trembling; he felt -himself suddenly a mere man no longer--there were powers within -him undreamed of, there were demon forces contending, agelong -wonders struggling to be born; and he sat oppressed with pain and -joy, while a tingling stole down into his finger tips, and his -breath came hard and fast. The sentences of this man were to -Jurgis like the crashing of thunder in his soul; a flood of -emotions surged up in him--all his old hopes and longings, his -old griefs and rages and despairs. All that he had ever felt in -his whole life seemed to come back to him at once, and with one -new emotion, hardly to be described. That he should have -suffered such oppressions and such horrors was bad enough; -but that he should have been crushed and beaten by them, that he -should have submitted, and forgotten, and lived in peace--ah, -truly that was a thing not to be put into words, a thing not to -be borne by a human creature, a thing of terror and madness! -"What," asks the prophet, "is the murder of them that kill the -body, to the murder of them that kill the soul?" And Jurgis was a -man whose soul had been murdered, who had ceased to hope and to -struggle--who had made terms with degradation and despair; and -now, suddenly, in one awful convulsion, the black and hideous -fact was made plain to him! There was a falling in of all the -pillars of his soul, the sky seemed to split above him--he stood -there, with his clenched hands upraised, his eyes bloodshot, and -the veins standing out purple in his face, roaring in the voice -of a wild beast, frantic, incoherent, maniacal. And when he -could shout no more he still stood there, gasping, and whispering -hoarsely to himself: "By God! By God! By God!" - - -Chapter 29 - - -The man had gone back to a seat upon the platform, and Jurgis -realized that his speech was over. The applause continued for -several minutes; and then some one started a song, and the crowd -took it up, and the place shook with it. Jurgis had never heard -it, and he could not make out the words, but the wild and -wonderful spirit of it seized upon him--it was the -"Marseillaise!" As stanza after stanza of it thundered forth, he -sat with his hands clasped, trembling in every nerve. He had -never been so stirred in his life--it was a miracle that had been -wrought in him. He could not think at all, he was stunned; yet -he knew that in the mighty upheaval that had taken place in his -soul, a new man had been born. He had been torn out of the jaws -of destruction, he had been delivered from the thraldom of -despair; the whole world had been changed for him--he was free, -he was free! Even if he were to suffer as he had before, even if -he were to beg and starve, nothing would be the same to him; he -would understand it, and bear it. He would no longer be the -sport of circumstances, he would be a man, with a will and a -purpose; he would have something to fight for, something to die -for, if need be! Here were men who would show him and help him; -and he would have friends and allies, he would dwell in the sight -of justice, and walk arm in arm with power. - -The audience subsided again, and Jurgis sat back. The chairman -of the meeting came forward and began to speak. His voice -sounded thin and futile after the other's, and to Jurgis it -seemed a profanation. Why should any one else speak, after that -miraculous man--why should they not all sit in silence? The -chairman was explaining that a collection would now be taken up -to defray the expenses of the meeting, and for the benefit of the -campaign fund of the party. Jurgis heard; but he had not a penny -to give, and so his thoughts went elsewhere again. - -He kept his eyes fixed on the orator, who sat in an armchair, his -head leaning on his hand and his attitude indicating exhaustion. -But suddenly he stood up again, and Jurgis heard the chairman of -the meeting saying that the speaker would now answer any -questions which the audience might care to put to him. The man -came forward, and some one--a woman--arose and asked about some -opinion the speaker had expressed concerning Tolstoy. Jurgis had -never heard of Tolstoy, and did not care anything about him. Why -should any one want to ask such questions, after an address like -that? The thing was not to talk, but to do; the thing was to get -bold of others and rouse them, to organize them and prepare for -the fight! But still the discussion went on, in ordinary -conversational tones, and it brought Jurgis back to the everyday -world. A few minutes ago he had felt like seizing the hand of -the beautiful lady by his side, and kissing it; he had felt like -flinging his arms about the neck of the man on the other side of -him. And now he began to realize again that he was a "hobo," -that he was ragged and dirty, and smelled bad, and had no place -to sleep that night! - -And so, at last, when the meeting broke up, and the audience -started to leave, poor Jurgis was in an agony of uncertainty. -He had not thought of leaving--he had thought that the vision must -last forever, that he had found comrades and brothers. But now -he would go out, and the thing would fade away, and he would -never be able to find it again! He sat in his seat, frightened -and wondering; but others in the same row wanted to get out, and -so he had to stand up and move along. As he was swept down the -aisle he looked from one person to another, wistfully; they were -all excitedly discussing the address--but there was nobody who -offered to discuss it with him. He was near enough to the door -to feel the night air, when desperation seized him. He knew -nothing at all about that speech he had heard, not even the name -of the orator; and he was to go away--no, no, it was -preposterous, he must speak to some one; he must find that man -himself and tell him. He would not despise him, tramp as he was! - -So he stepped into an empty row of seats and watched, and when -the crowd had thinned out, he started toward the platform. The -speaker was gone; but there was a stage door that stood open, -with people passing in and out, and no one on guard. Jurgis -summoned up his courage and went in, and down a hallway, and to -the door of a room where many people were crowded. No one paid -any attention to him, and he pushed in, and in a corner he saw -the man he sought. The orator sat in a chair, with his shoulders -sunk together and his eyes half closed; his face was ghastly -pale, almost greenish in hue, and one arm lay limp at his side. -A big man with spectacles on stood near him, and kept pushing -back the crowd, saying, "Stand away a little, please; can't you -see the comrade is worn out?" - -So Jurgis stood watching, while five or ten minutes passed. Now -and then the man would look up, and address a word or two to -those who were near him; and, at last, on one of these occasions, -his glance rested on Jurgis. There seemed to be a slight hint of -inquiry about it, and a sudden impulse seized the other. He -stepped forward. - -"I wanted to thank you, sir!" he began, in breathless haste. "I -could not go away without telling you how much--how glad I am I -heard you. I--I didn't know anything about it all--" - -The big man with the spectacles, who had moved away, came back at -this moment. "The comrade is too tired to talk to any one--" he -began; but the other held up his hand. - -"Wait," he said. "He has something to say to me." And then he -looked into Jurgis's face. "You want to know more about -Socialism?" he asked. - -Jurgis started. "I--I--" he stammered. "Is it Socialism? I -didn't know. I want to know about what you spoke of--I want to -help. I have been through all that." - -"Where do you live?" asked the other. - -"I have no home," said Jurgis, "I am out of work." - -"You are a foreigner, are you not?" - -"Lithuanian, sir." - -The man thought for a moment, and then turned to his friend. -"Who is there, Walters?" he asked. "There is Ostrinski--but he -is a Pole--" - -"Ostrinski speaks Lithuanian," said the other. "All right, then; -would you mind seeing if he has gone yet?" - -The other started away, and the speaker looked at Jurgis again. -He had deep, black eyes, and a face full of gentleness and pain. -"You must excuse me, comrade," he said. "I am just tired out--I -have spoken every day for the last month. I will introduce you -to some one who will be able to help you as well as I could--" - -The messenger had had to go no further than the door, he came -back, followed by a man whom he introduced to Jurgis as "Comrade -Ostrinski." Comrade Ostrinski was a little man, scarcely up to -Jurgis's shoulder, wizened and wrinkled, very ugly, and slightly -lame. He had on a long-tailed black coat, worn green at the -seams and the buttonholes; his eyes must have been weak, for he -wore green spectacles that gave him a grotesque appearance. -But his handclasp was hearty, and he spoke in Lithuanian, which -warmed Jurgis to him. - -"You want to know about Socialism?" he said. "Surely. Let us go -out and take a stroll, where we can be quiet and talk some." - -And so Jurgis bade farewell to the master wizard, and went out. -Ostrinski asked where he lived, offering to walk in that -direction; and so he had to explain once more that he was without -a home. At the other's request he told his story; how he had -come to America, and what had happened to him in the stockyards, -and how his family had been broken up, and how he had become a -wanderer. So much the little man heard, and then he pressed -Jurgis's arm tightly. "You have been through the mill, comrade!" -he said. "We will make a fighter out of you!" - -Then Ostrinski in turn explained his circumstances. He would -have asked Jurgis to his home--but he had only two rooms, and had -no bed to offer. He would have given up his own bed, but his -wife was ill. Later on, when he understood that otherwise Jurgis -would have to sleep in a hallway, he offered him his kitchen -floor, a chance which the other was only too glad to accept. -"Perhaps tomorrow we can do better," said Ostrinski. "We try not -to let a comrade starve." - -Ostrinski's home was in the Ghetto district, where he had two -rooms in the basement of a tenement. There was a baby crying as -they entered, and he closed the door leading into the bedroom. -He had three young children, he explained, and a baby had just -come. He drew up two chairs near the kitchen stove, adding that -Jurgis must excuse the disorder of the place, since at such a -time one's domestic arrangements were upset. Half of the kitchen -was given up to a workbench, which was piled with clothing, and -Ostrinski explained that he was a "pants finisher." He brought -great bundles of clothing here to his home, where he and his wife -worked on them. He made a living at it, but it was getting -harder all the time, because his eyes were failing. What would -come when they gave out he could not tell; there had been no -saving anything--a man could barely keep alive by twelve or -fourteen hours' work a day. The finishing of pants did not take -much skill, and anybody could learn it, and so the pay was -forever getting less. That was the competitive wage system; and -if Jurgis wanted to understand what Socialism was, it was there -he had best begin. The workers were dependent upon a job to -exist from day to day, and so they bid against each other, and no -man could get more than the lowest man would consent to work for. -And thus the mass of the people were always in a life-and-death -struggle with poverty. That was "competition," so far as it -concerned the wage-earner, the man who had only his labor to -sell; to those on top, the exploiters, it appeared very -differently, of course--there were few of them, and they could -combine and dominate, and their power would be unbreakable. And -so all over the world two classes were forming, with an unbridged -chasm between them--the capitalist class, with its enormous -fortunes, and the proletariat, bound into slavery by unseen -chains. The latter were a thousand to one in numbers, but they -were ignorant and helpless, and they would remain at the mercy of -their exploiters until they were organized--until they had become -"class-conscious." It was a slow and weary process, but it would -go on--it was like the movement of a glacier, once it was started -it could never be stopped. Every Socialist did his share, and -lived upon the vision of the "good time coming,"--when the -working class should go to the polls and seize the powers of -government, and put an end to private property in the means of -production. No matter how poor a man was, or how much he -suffered, he could never be really unhappy while he knew of that -future; even if he did not live to see it himself, his children -would, and, to a Socialist, the victory of his class was his -victory. Also he had always the progress to encourage him; -here in Chicago, for instance, the movement was growing by leaps and -bounds. Chicago was the industrial center of the country, and -nowhere else were the unions so strong; but their organizations -did the workers little good, for the employers were organized, -also; and so the strikes generally failed, and as fast as the -unions were broken up the men were coming over to the Socialists. - -Ostrinski explained the organization of the party, the machinery -by which the proletariat was educating itself. There were -"locals" in every big city and town, and they were being -organized rapidly in the smaller places; a local had anywhere -from six to a thousand members, and there were fourteen hundred -of them in all, with a total of about twenty-five thousand -members, who paid dues to support the organization. "Local Cook -County," as the city organization was called, had eighty branch -locals, and it alone was spending several thousand dollars in the -campaign. It published a weekly in English, and one each in -Bohemian and German; also there was a monthly published in -Chicago, and a cooperative publishing house, that issued a -million and a half of Socialist books and pamphlets every year. -All this was the growth of the last few years--there had been -almost nothing of it when Ostrinski first came to Chicago. - -Ostrinski was a Pole, about fifty years of age. He had lived in -Silesia, a member of a despised and persecuted race, and had -taken part in the proletarian movement in the early seventies, -when Bismarck, having conquered France, had turned his policy of -blood and iron upon the "International." Ostrinski himself had -twice been in jail, but he had been young then, and had not -cared. He had had more of his share of the fight, though, for -just when Socialism had broken all its barriers and become the -great political force of the empire, he had come to America, and -begun all over again. In America every one had laughed at the -mere idea of Socialism then--in America all men were free. As if -political liberty made wage slavery any the more tolerable! said -Ostrinski. - -The little tailor sat tilted back in his stiff kitchen chair, -with his feet stretched out upon the empty stove, and speaking in -low whispers, so as not to waken those in the next room. To -Jurgis he seemed a scarcely less wonderful person than the -speaker at the meeting; he was poor, the lowest of the low, -hunger-driven and miserable--and yet how much he knew, how much -he had dared and achieved, what a hero he had been! There were -others like him, too--thousands like him, and all of them -workingmen! That all this wonderful machinery of progress had -been created by his fellows--Jurgis could not believe it, it -seemed too good to be true. - -That was always the way, said Ostrinski; when a man was first -converted to Socialism he was like a crazy person--he could not' -understand how others could fail to see it, and he expected to -convert all the world the first week. After a while he would -realize how hard a task it was; and then it would be fortunate -that other new hands kept coming, to save him from settling down -into a rut. Just now Jurgis would have plenty of chance to vent -his excitement, for a presidential campaign was on, and everybody -was talking politics. Ostrinski would take him to the next -meeting of the branch local, and introduce him, and he might join -the party. The dues were five cents a week, but any one who -could not afford this might be excused from paying. The -Socialist party was a really democratic political -organization--it was controlled absolutely by its own membership, -and had no bosses. All of these things Ostrinski explained, as -also the principles of the party. You might say that there was -really but one Socialist principle--that of "no compromise," -which was the essence of the proletarian movement all over the -world. When a Socialist was elected to office he voted with old -party legislators for any measure that was likely to be of help -to the working class, but he never forgot that these concessions, -whatever they might be, were trifles compared with the great -purpose--the organizing of the working class for the revolution. -So far, the rule in America had been that one Socialist made -another Socialist once every two years; and if they should -maintain the same rate they would carry the country in -1912--though not all of them expected to succeed as quickly as -that. - -The Socialists were organized in every civilized nation; it was -an international political party, said Ostrinski, the greatest -the world had ever known. It numbered thirty million of -adherents, and it cast eight million votes. It had started its -first newspaper in Japan, and elected its first deputy in -Argentina; in France it named members of cabinets, and in Italy -and Australia it held the balance of power and turned out -ministries. In Germany, where its vote was more than a third of -the total vote of the empire, all other parties and powers had -united to fight it. It would not do, Ostrinski explained, -for the proletariat of one nation to achieve the victory, for that -nation would be crushed by the military power of the others; -and so the Socialist movement was a world movement, an organization -of all mankind to establish liberty and fraternity. It was the -new religion of humanity--or you might say it was the fulfillment -of the old religion, since it implied but the literal application -of all the teachings of Christ. - - -Until long after midnight Jurgis sat lost in the conversation of -his new acquaintance. It was a most wonderful experience to -him--an almost supernatural experience. It was like encountering -an inhabitant of the fourth dimension of space, a being who was -free from all one's own limitations. For four years, now, Jurgis -had been wondering and blundering in the depths of a wilderness; -and here, suddenly, a hand reached down and seized him, and -lifted him out of it, and set him upon a mountain-top, from which -he could survey it all--could see the paths from which he had -wandered, the morasses into which he had stumbled, the hiding -places of the beasts of prey that had fallen upon him. There -were his Packingtown experiences, for instance--what was there -about Packingtown that Ostrinski could not explain! To Jurgis -the packers had been equivalent to fate; Ostrinski showed him -that they were the Beef Trust. They were a gigantic combination -of capital, which had crushed all opposition, and overthrown the -laws of the land, and was preying upon the people. Jurgis -recollected how, when he had first come to Packingtown, he had -stood and watched the hog-killing, and thought how cruel and -savage it was, and come away congratulating himself that he was -not a hog; now his new acquaintance showed him that a hog was -just what he had been--one of the packers' hogs. What they -wanted from a hog was all the profits that could be got out of -him; and that was what they wanted from the workingman, and also -that was what they wanted from the public. What the hog thought -of it, and what he suffered, were not considered; and no more was -it with labor, and no more with the purchaser of meat. That was -true everywhere in the world, but it was especially true in -Packingtown; there seemed to be something about the work of -slaughtering that tended to ruthlessness and ferocity--it was -literally the fact that in the methods of the packers a hundred -human lives did not balance a penny of profit. When Jurgis had -made himself familiar with the Socialist literature, as he would -very quickly, he would get glimpses of the Beef Trust from all -sorts of aspects, and he would find it everywhere the same; -it was the incarnation of blind and insensate Greed. It was a -monster devouring with a thousand mouths, trampling with a -thousand hoofs; it was the Great Butcher--it was the spirit of -Capitalism made flesh. Upon the ocean of commerce it sailed as a -pirate ship; it had hoisted the black flag and declared war upon -civilization. Bribery and corruption were its everyday methods. -In Chicago the city government was simply one of its branch -offices; it stole billions of gallons of city water openly, it -dictated to the courts the sentences of disorderly strikers, it -forbade the mayor to enforce the building laws against it. In -the national capital it had power to prevent inspection of its -product, and to falsify government reports; it violated the -rebate laws, and when an investigation was threatened it burned -its books and sent its criminal agents out of the country. -In the commercial world it was a Juggernaut car; it wiped out -thousands of businesses every year, it drove men to madness and -suicide. It had forced the price of cattle so low as to destroy -the stock-raising industry, an occupation upon which whole states -existed; it had ruined thousands of butchers who had refused to -handle its products. It divided the country into districts, and -fixed the price of meat in all of them; and it owned all the -refrigerator cars, and levied an enormous tribute upon all -poultry and eggs and fruit and vegetables. With the millions of -dollars a week that poured in upon it, it was reaching out for -the control of other interests, railroads and trolley lines, gas -and electric light franchises--it already owned the leather and -the grain business of the country. The people were tremendously -stirred up over its encroachments, but nobody had any remedy to -suggest; it was the task of Socialists to teach and organize -them, and prepare them for the time when they were to seize the -huge machine called the Beef Trust, and use it to produce food -for human beings and not to heap up fortunes for a band of -pirates. It was long after midnight when Jurgis lay down upon -the floor of Ostrinski's kitchen; and yet it was an hour before -he could get to sleep, for the glory of that joyful vision of the -people of Packingtown marching in and taking possession of the -Union Stockyards! - - -Chapter 30 - - -Jurgis had breakfast with Ostrinski and his family, and then he -went home to Elzbieta. He was no longer shy about it--when he -went in, instead of saying all the things he had been planning to -say, he started to tell Elzbieta about the revolution! At first -she thought he was out of his mind, and it was hours before she -could really feel certain that he was himself. When, however, -she had satisfied herself that he was sane upon all subjects -except politics, she troubled herself no further about it. -Jurgis was destined to find that Elzbieta's armor was absolutely -impervious to Socialism. Her soul had been baked hard in the -fire of adversity, and there was no altering it now; life to her -was the hunt for daily bread, and ideas existed for her only as -they bore upon that. All that interested her in regard to this -new frenzy which had seized hold of her son-in-law was whether or -not it had a tendency to make him sober and industrious; and when -she found he intended to look for work and to contribute his -share to the family fund, she gave him full rein to convince her -of anything. A wonderfully wise little woman was Elzbieta; -she could think as quickly as a hunted rabbit, and in half an hour -she had chosen her life-attitude to the Socialist movement. She -agreed in everything with Jurgis, except the need of his paying -his dues; and she would even go to a meeting with him now and -then, and sit and plan her next day's dinner amid the storm. - -For a week after he became a convert Jurgis continued to wander -about all day, looking for work; until at last he met with a -strange fortune. He was passing one of Chicago's innumerable -small hotels, and after some hesitation he concluded to go in. -A man he took for the proprietor was standing in the lobby, and he -went up to him and tackled him for a job. - -"What can you do?" the man asked. - -"Anything, sir," said Jurgis, and added quickly: "I've been out -of work for a long time, sir. I'm an honest man, and I'm strong -and willing--" - -The other was eying him narrowly. "Do you drink?" he asked. - -"No, sir," said Jurgis. - -"Well, I've been employing a man as a porter, and he drinks. -I've discharged him seven times now, and I've about made up my -mind that's enough. Would you be a porter?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"It's hard work. You'll have to clean floors and wash spittoons -and fill lamps and handle trunks--" - -"I'm willing, sir." - -"All right. I'll pay you thirty a month and board, and you can -begin now, if you feel like it. You can put on the other -fellow's rig." - -And so Jurgis fell to work, and toiled like a Trojan till night. -Then he went and told Elzbieta, and also, late as it was, he paid -a visit to Ostrinski to let him know of his good fortune. Here -he received a great surprise, for when he was describing the -location of the hotel Ostrinski interrupted suddenly, "Not -Hinds's!" - -"Yes," said Jurgis, "that's the name." - -To which the other replied, "Then you've got the best boss in -Chicago--he's a state organizer of our party, and one of our -best-known speakers!" - -So the next morning Jurgis went to his employer and told him; -and the man seized him by the hand and shook it. "By Jove!" he -cried, "that lets me out. I didn't sleep all last night because -I had discharged a good Socialist!" - -So, after that, Jurgis was known to his "boss" as "Comrade -Jurgis," and in return he was expected to call him "Comrade -Hinds." "Tommy" Hinds, as he was known to his intimates, was a -squat little man, with broad shoulders and a florid face, -decorated with gray side whiskers. He was the kindest-hearted -man that ever lived, and the liveliest--inexhaustible in his -enthusiasm, and talking Socialism all day and all night. He was -a great fellow to jolly along a crowd, and would keep a meeting -in an uproar; when once he got really waked up, the torrent of -his eloquence could be compared with nothing save Niagara. - -Tommy Hinds had begun life as a blacksmith's helper, and had run -away to join the Union army, where he had made his first -acquaintance with "graft," in the shape of rotten muskets and -shoddy blankets. To a musket that broke in a crisis he always -attributed the death of his only brother, and upon worthless -blankets he blamed all the agonies of his own old age. Whenever -it rained, the rheumatism would get into his joints, and then he -would screw up his face and mutter: "Capitalism, my boy, -capitalism! 'Ecrasez l'infame!'" He had one unfailing remedy -for all the evils of this world, and he preached it to every one; -no matter whether the person's trouble was failure in business, -or dyspepsia, or a quarrelsome mother-in-law, a twinkle would -come into his eyes and he would say, "You know what to do about -it--vote the Socialist ticket!" - -Tommy Hinds had set out upon the trail of the Octopus as soon as -the war was over. He had gone into business, and found himself -in competition with the fortunes of those who had been stealing -while he had been fighting. The city government was in their -hands and the railroads were in league with them, and honest -business was driven to the wall; and so Hinds had put all his -savings into Chicago real estate, and set out singlehanded to dam -the river of graft. He had been a reform member of the city -council, he had been a Greenbacker, a Labor Unionist, a Populist, -a Bryanite--and after thirty years of fighting, the year 1896 had -served to convince him that the power of concentrated wealth -could never be controlled, but could only be destroyed. He had -published a pamphlet about it, and set out to organize a party of -his own, when a stray Socialist leaflet had revealed to him that -others had been ahead of him. Now for eight years he had been -fighting for the party, anywhere, everywhere--whether it was a -G.A.R. reunion, or a hotel-keepers' convention, or an -Afro-American businessmen's banquet, or a Bible society picnic, -Tommy Hinds would manage to get himself invited to explain the -relations of Socialism to the subject in hand. After that he -would start off upon a tour of his own, ending at some place -between New York and Oregon; and when he came back from there, he -would go out to organize new locals for the state committee; and -finally he would come home to rest--and talk Socialism in -Chicago. Hinds's hotel was a very hot-bed of the propaganda; all -the employees were party men, and if they were not when they -came, they were quite certain to be before they went away. The -proprietor would get into a discussion with some one in the -lobby, and as the conversation grew animated, others would gather -about to listen, until finally every one in the place would be -crowded into a group, and a regular debate would be under way. -This went on every night--when Tommy Hinds was not there to do -it, his clerk did it; and when his clerk was away campaigning, -the assistant attended to it, while Mrs. Hinds sat behind the -desk and did the work. The clerk was an old crony of the -proprietor's, an awkward, rawboned giant of a man, with a lean, -sallow face, a broad mouth, and whiskers under his chin, the very -type and body of a prairie farmer. He had been that all his -life--he had fought the railroads in Kansas for fifty years, -a Granger, a Farmers' Alliance man, a "middle-of-the-road" -Populist. Finally, Tommy Hinds had revealed to him the wonderful -idea of using the trusts instead of destroying them, and he had -sold his farm and come to Chicago. - -That was Amos Struver; and then there was Harry Adams, the -assistant clerk, a pale, scholarly-looking man, who came from -Massachusetts, of Pilgrim stock. Adams had been a cotton -operative in Fall River, and the continued depression in the -industry had worn him and his family out, and he had emigrated to -South Carolina. In Massachusetts the percentage of white -illiteracy is eight-tenths of one per cent, while in South -Carolina it is thirteen and six-tenths per cent; also in South -Carolina there is a property qualification for voters--and for -these and other reasons child labor is the rule, and so the -cotton mills were driving those of Massachusetts out of the -business. Adams did not know this, he only knew that the -Southern mills were running; but when he got there he found that -if he was to live, all his family would have to work, and from -six o'clock at night to six o'clock in the morning. So he had -set to work to organize the mill hands, after the fashion in -Massachusetts, and had been discharged; but he had gotten other -work, and stuck at it, and at last there had been a strike for -shorter hours, and Harry Adams had attempted to address a street -meeting, which was the end of him. In the states of the far -South the labor of convicts is leased to contractors, and when -there are not convicts enough they have to be supplied. Harry -Adams was sent up by a judge who was a cousin of the mill owner -with whose business he had interfered; and though the life had -nearly killed him, he had been wise enough not to murmur, and at -the end of his term he and his family had left the state of South -Carolina--hell's back yard, as he called it. He had no money for -carfare, but it was harvesttime, and they walked one day and -worked the next; and so Adams got at last to Chicago, and joined -the Socialist party. He was a studious man, reserved, and -nothing of an orator; but he always had a pile of books under his -desk in the hotel, and articles from his pen were beginning to -attract attention in the party press. - -Contrary to what one would have expected, all this radicalism did -not hurt the hotel business; the radicals flocked to it, and the -commercial travelers all found it diverting. Of late, also, the -hotel had become a favorite stopping place for Western cattlemen. -Now that the Beef Trust had adopted the trick of raising prices -to induce enormous shipments of cattle, and then dropping them -again and scooping in all they needed, a stock raiser was very -apt to find himself in Chicago without money enough to pay his -freight bill; and so he had to go to a cheap hotel, and it was no -drawback to him if there was an agitator talking in the lobby. -These Western fellows were just "meat" for Tommy Hinds--he would -get a dozen of them around him and paint little pictures of "the -System." Of course, it was not a week before he had heard -Jurgis's story, and after that he would not have let his new -porter go for the world. "See here," he would say, in the middle -of an argument, "I've got a fellow right here in my place who's -worked there and seen every bit of it!" And then Jurgis would -drop his work, whatever it was, and come, and the other would -say, "Comrade Jurgis, just tell these gentlemen what you saw on -the killing-beds." At first this request caused poor Jurgis the -most acute agony, and it was like pulling teeth to get him to -talk; but gradually he found out what was wanted, and in the end -he learned to stand up and speak his piece with enthusiasm. His -employer would sit by and encourage him with exclamations and -shakes of the head; when Jurgis would give the formula for -"potted ham," or tell about the condemned hogs that were dropped -into the "destructors" at the top and immediately taken out again -at the bottom, to be shipped into another state and made into -lard, Tommy Hinds would bang his knee and cry, "Do you think a -man could make up a thing like that out of his head?" - -And then the hotel-keeper would go on to show how the Socialists -had the only real remedy for such evils, how they alone "meant -business" with the Beef Trust. And when, in answer to this, the -victim would say that the whole country was getting stirred up, -that the newspapers were full of denunciations of it, and the -government taking action against it, Tommy Hinds had a knock-out -blow all ready. "Yes," he would say, "all that is true--but what -do you suppose is the reason for it? Are you foolish enough to -believe that it's done for the public? There are other trusts in -the country just as illegal and extortionate as the Beef Trust: -there is the Coal Trust, that freezes the poor in winter--there -is the Steel Trust, that doubles the price of every nail in your -shoes--there is the Oil Trust, that keeps you from reading at -night--and why do you suppose it is that all the fury of the -press and the government is directed against the Beef Trust?" And -when to this the victim would reply that there was clamor enough -over the Oil Trust, the other would continue: "Ten years ago -Henry D. Lloyd told all the truth about the Standard Oil Company -in his Wealth versus Commonwealth; and the book was allowed to -die, and you hardly ever hear of it. And now, at last, two -magazines have the courage to tackle 'Standard Oil' again, and -what happens? The newspapers ridicule the authors, the churches -defend the criminals, and the government--does nothing. And now, -why is it all so different with the Beef Trust?" - -Here the other would generally admit that he was "stuck"; and -Tommy Hinds would explain to him, and it was fun to see his eyes -open. "If you were a Socialist," the hotelkeeper would say, "you -would understand that the power which really governs the United -States today is the Railroad Trust. It is the Railroad Trust -that runs your state government, wherever you live, and that runs -the United States Senate. And all of the trusts that I have -named are railroad trusts--save only the Beef Trust! The Beef -Trust has defied the railroads--it is plundering them day by day -through the Private Car; and so the public is roused to fury, and -the papers clamor for action, and the government goes on the war- -path! And you poor common people watch and applaud the job, and -think it's all done for you, and never dream that it is really -the grand climax of the century-long battle of commercial -competition--the final death grapple between the chiefs of the -Beef Trust and 'Standard Oil,' for the prize of the mastery and -ownership of the United States of America!" - - -Such was the new home in which Jurgis lived and worked, and in -which his education was completed. Perhaps you would imagine -that he did not do much work there, but that would be a great -mistake. He would have cut off one hand for Tommy Hinds; and to -keep Hinds's hotel a thing of beauty was his joy in life. That -he had a score of Socialist arguments chasing through his brain -in the meantime did not interfere with this; on the contrary, -Jurgis scrubbed the spittoons and polished the banisters all the -more vehemently because at the same time he was wrestling -inwardly with an imaginary recalcitrant. It would be pleasant to -record that he swore off drinking immediately, and all the rest -of his bad habits with it; but that would hardly be exact. These -revolutionists were not angels; they were men, and men who had -come up from the social pit, and with the mire of it smeared over -them. Some of them drank, and some of them swore, and some of -them ate pie with their knives; there was only one difference -between them and all the rest of the populace--that they were men -with a hope, with a cause to fight for and suffer for. There -came times to Jurgis when the vision seemed far-off and pale, and -a glass of beer loomed large in comparison; but if the glass led -to another glass, and to too many glasses, he had something to -spur him to remorse and resolution on the morrow. It was so -evidently a wicked thing to spend one's pennies for drink, when -the working class was wandering in darkness, and waiting to be -delivered; the price of a glass of beer would buy fifty copies of -a leaflet, and one could hand these out to the unregenerate, -and then get drunk upon the thought of the good that was being -accomplished. That was the way the movement had been made, and -it was the only way it would progress; it availed nothing to know -of it, without fighting for it--it was a thing for all, not for a -few! A corollary of this proposition of course was, that any one -who refused to receive the new gospel was personally responsible -for keeping Jurgis from his heart's desire; and this, alas, made -him uncomfortable as an acquaintance. He met some neighbors with -whom Elzbieta had made friends in her neighborhood, and he set -out to make Socialists of them by wholesale, and several times he -all but got into a fight. - -It was all so painfully obvious to Jurgis! It was so -incomprehensible how a man could fail to see it! Here were all -the opportunities of the country, the land, and the buildings -upon the land, the railroads, the mines, the factories, and the -stores, all in the hands of a few private individuals, called -capitalists, for whom the people were obliged to work for wages. -The whole balance of what the people produced went to heap up the -fortunes of these capitalists, to heap, and heap again, and yet -again--and that in spite of the fact that they, and every one -about them, lived in unthinkable luxury! And was it not plain -that if the people cut off the share of those who merely "owned," -the share of those who worked would be much greater? That was as -plain as two and two makes four; and it was the whole of it, -absolutely the whole of it; and yet there were people who could -not see it, who would argue about everything else in the world. -They would tell you that governments could not manage things as -economically as private individuals; they would repeat and repeat -that, and think they were saying something! They could not see -that "economical" management by masters meant simply that they, -the people, were worked harder and ground closer and paid less! -They were wage-earners and servants, at the mercy of exploiters -whose one thought was to get as much out of them as possible; -and they were taking an interest in the process, were anxious lest -it should not be done thoroughly enough! Was it not honestly a -trial to listen to an argument such as that? - -And yet there were things even worse. You would begin talking to -some poor devil who had worked in one shop for the last thirty -years, and had never been able to save a penny; who left home -every morning at six o'clock, to go and tend a machine, and come -back at night too tired to take his clothes off; who had never -had a week's vacation in his life, had never traveled, never had -an adventure, never learned anything, never hoped anything--and -when you started to tell him about Socialism he would sniff and -say, "I'm not interested in that--I'm an individualist!" And then -he would go on to tell you that Socialism was "paternalism," and -that if it ever had its way the world would stop progressing. It -was enough to make a mule laugh, to hear arguments like that; and -yet it was no laughing matter, as you found out--for how many -millions of such poor deluded wretches there were, whose lives -had been so stunted by capitalism that they no longer knew what -freedom was! And they really thought that it was "individualism" -for tens of thousands of them to herd together and obey the -orders of a steel magnate, and produce hundreds of millions of -dollars of wealth for him, and then let him give them libraries; -while for them to take the industry, and run it to suit -themselves, and build their own libraries--that would have been -"Paternalism"! - -Sometimes the agony of such things as this was almost more than -Jurgis could bear; yet there was no way of escape from it, there -was nothing to do but to dig away at the base of this mountain of -ignorance and prejudice. You must keep at the poor fellow; you -must hold your temper, and argue with him, and watch for your -chance to stick an idea or two into his head. And the rest of -the time you must sharpen up your weapons--you must think out new -replies to his objections, and provide yourself with new facts to -prove to him the folly of his ways. - -So Jurgis acquired the reading habit. He would carry in his -pocket a tract or a pamphlet which some one had loaned him, and -whenever he had an idle moment during the day he would plod -through a paragraph, and then think about it while he worked. -Also he read the newspapers, and asked questions about them. One -of the other porters at Hinds's was a sharp little Irishman, who -knew everything that Jurgis wanted to know; and while they were -busy he would explain to him the geography of America, and its -history, its constitution and its laws; also he gave him an idea -of the business system of the country, the great railroads and -corporations, and who owned them, and the labor unions, and the -big strikes, and the men who had led them. Then at night, when -he could get off, Jurgis would attend the Socialist meetings. -During the campaign one was not dependent upon the street corner -affairs, where the weather and the quality of the orator were -equally uncertain; there were hall meetings every night, and one -could hear speakers of national prominence. These discussed the -political situation from every point of view, and all that -troubled Jurgis was the impossibility of carrying off but a small -part of the treasures they offered him. - -There was a man who was known in the party as the "Little Giant." -The Lord had used up so much material in the making of his head -that there had not been enough to complete his legs; but he got -about on the platform, and when he shook his raven whiskers the -pillars of capitalism rocked. He had written a veritable -encyclopedia upon the subject, a book that was nearly as big as -himself--And then there was a young author, who came from -California, and had been a salmon fisher, an oyster-pirate, a -longshoreman, a sailor; who had tramped the country and been sent -to jail, had lived in the Whitechapel slums, and been to the -Klondike in search of gold. All these things he pictured in his -books, and because he was a man of genius he forced the world to -hear him. Now he was famous, but wherever he went he still -preached the gospel of the poor. And then there was one who was -known at the "millionaire Socialist." He had made a fortune in -business, and spent nearly all of it in building up a magazine, -which the post office department had tried to suppress, and had -driven to Canada. He was a quiet-mannered man, whom you would -have taken for anything in the world but a Socialist agitator. -His speech was simple and informal--he could not understand why -any one should get excited about these things. It was a process -of economic evolution, he said, and he exhibited its laws and -methods. Life was a struggle for existence, and the strong -overcame the weak, and in turn were overcome by the strongest. -Those who lost in the struggle were generally exterminated; but -now and then they had been known to save themselves by -combination--which was a new and higher kind of strength. It was -so that the gregarious animals had overcome the predaceous; it -was so, in human history, that the people had mastered the kings. -The workers were simply the citizens of industry, and the -Socialist movement was the expression of their will to survive. -The inevitability of the revolution depended upon this fact, that -they had no choice but to unite or be exterminated; this fact, -grim and inexorable, depended upon no human will, it was the law -of the economic process, of which the editor showed the details -with the most marvelous precision. - -And later on came the evening of the great meeting of the -campaign, when Jurgis heard the two standard-bearers of his -party. Ten years before there had been in Chicago a strike of a -hundred and fifty thousand railroad employees, and thugs had been -hired by the railroads to commit violence, and the President of -the United States had sent in troops to break the strike, by -flinging the officers of the union into jail without trial. The -president of the union came out of his cell a ruined man; but -also he came out a Socialist; and now for just ten years he had -been traveling up and down the country, standing face to face -with the people, and pleading with them for justice. He was a -man of electric presence, tall and gaunt, with a face worn thin -by struggle and suffering. The fury of outraged manhood gleamed -in it--and the tears of suffering little children pleaded in his -voice. When he spoke he paced the stage, lithe and eager, like a -panther. He leaned over, reaching out for his audience; he -pointed into their souls with an insistent finger. His voice was -husky from much speaking, but the great auditorium was as still -as death, and every one heard him. - -And then, as Jurgis came out from this meeting, some one handed -him a paper which he carried home with him and read; and so he -became acquainted with the "Appeal to Reason." About twelve years -previously a Colorado real-estate speculator had made up his mind -that it was wrong to gamble in the necessities of life of human -beings: and so he had retired and begun the publication of a -Socialist weekly. There had come a time when he had to set his -own type, but he had held on and won out, and now his publication -was an institution. It used a carload of paper every week, and -the mail trains would be hours loading up at the depot of the -little Kansas town. It was a four-page weekly, which sold for -less than half a cent a copy; its regular subscription list was a -quarter of a million, and it went to every crossroads post office -in America. - -The "Appeal" was a "propaganda" paper. It had a manner all its -own--it was full of ginger and spice, of Western slang and -hustle: It collected news of the doings of the "plutes," and -served it up for the benefit of the "American working-mule." -It would have columns of the deadly parallel--the million dollars' -worth of diamonds, or the fancy pet-poodle establishment of a -society dame, beside the fate of Mrs. Murphy of San Francisco, -who had starved to death on the streets, or of John Robinson, -just out of the hospital, who had hanged himself in New York -because he could not find work. It collected the stories of -graft and misery from the daily press, and made a little pungent -paragraphs out of them. "Three banks of Bungtown, South Dakota, -failed, and more savings of the workers swallowed up!" "The mayor -of Sandy Creek, Oklahoma, has skipped with a hundred thousand -dollars. That's the kind of rulers the old partyites give you!" -"The president of the Florida Flying Machine Company is in jail -for bigamy. He was a prominent opponent of Socialism, which he -said would break up the home!" The "Appeal" had what it called -its "Army," about thirty thousand of the faithful, who did things -for it; and it was always exhorting the "Army" to keep its dander -up, and occasionally encouraging it with a prize competition, -for anything from a gold watch to a private yacht or an eighty-acre -farm. Its office helpers were all known to the "Army" by quaint -titles--"Inky Ike," "the Bald-headed Man," "the Redheaded Girl," -"the Bulldog," "the Office Goat," and "the One Hoss." - -But sometimes, again, the "Appeal" would be desperately serious. -It sent a correspondent to Colorado, and printed pages describing -the overthrow of American institutions in that state. In a -certain city of the country it had over forty of its "Army" in -the headquarters of the Telegraph Trust, and no message of -importance to Socialists ever went through that a copy of it did -not go to the "Appeal." It would print great broadsides during -the campaign; one copy that came to Jurgis was a manifesto -addressed to striking workingmen, of which nearly a million -copies had been distributed in the industrial centers, wherever -the employers' associations had been carrying out their "open -shop" program. "You have lost the strike!" it was headed. "And -now what are you going to do about it?" It was what is called an -"incendiary" appeal--it was written by a man into whose soul the -iron had entered. When this edition appeared, twenty thousand -copies were sent to the stockyards district; and they were taken -out and stowed away in the rear of a little cigar store, and -every evening, and on Sundays, the members of the Packingtown -locals would get armfuls and distribute them on the streets and -in the houses. The people of Packingtown had lost their strike, -if ever a people had, and so they read these papers gladly, and -twenty thousand were hardly enough to go round. Jurgis had -resolved not to go near his old home again, but when he heard of -this it was too much for him, and every night for a week he would -get on the car and ride out to the stockyards, and help to undo -his work of the previous year, when he had sent Mike Scully's -ten-pin setter to the city Board of Aldermen. - -It was quite marvelous to see what a difference twelve months had -made in Packingtown--the eyes of the people were getting opened! -The Socialists were literally sweeping everything before them -that election, and Scully and the Cook County machine were at -their wits' end for an "issue." At the very close of the campaign -they bethought themselves of the fact that the strike had been -broken by Negroes, and so they sent for a South Carolina -fire-eater, the "pitchfork senator," as he was called, a man who -took off his coat when he talked to workingmen, and damned and -swore like a Hessian. This meeting they advertised extensively, -and the Socialists advertised it too--with the result that about -a thousand of them were on hand that evening. The "pitchfork -senator" stood their fusillade of questions for about an hour, -and then went home in disgust, and the balance of the meeting was -a strictly party affair. Jurgis, who had insisted upon coming, -had the time of his life that night; he danced about and waved -his arms in his excitement--and at the very climax he broke loose -from his friends, and got out into the aisle, and proceeded to -make a speech himself! The senator had been denying that the -Democratic party was corrupt; it was always the Republicans who -bought the votes, he said--and here was Jurgis shouting -furiously, "It's a lie! It's a lie!" After which he went on to -tell them how he knew it--that he knew it because he had bought -them himself! And he would have told the "pitchfork senator" all -his experiences, had not Harry Adams and a friend grabbed him -about the neck and shoved him into a seat. - - -Chapter 31 - - -One of the first things that Jurgis had done after he got a job -was to go and see Marija. She came down into the basement of the -house to meet him, and he stood by the door with his hat in his -hand, saying, "I've got work now, and so you can leave here." - -But Marija only shook her head. There was nothing else for her -to do, she said, and nobody to employ her. She could not keep -her past a secret--girls had tried it, and they were always found -out. There were thousands of men who came to this place, and -sooner or later she would meet one of them. "And besides," -Marija added, "I can't do anything. I'm no good--I take dope. -What could you do with me?" - -"Can't you stop?" Jurgis cried. - -"No," she answered, "I'll never stop. What's the use of talking -about it--I'll stay here till I die, I guess. It's all I'm fit -for." And that was all that he could get her to say--there was no -use trying. When he told her he would not let Elzbieta take her -money, she answered indifferently: "Then it'll be wasted -here--that's all." Her eyelids looked heavy and her face was red -and swollen; he saw that he was annoying her, that she only -wanted him to go away. So he went, disappointed and sad. - -Poor Jurgis was not very happy in his home-life. Elzbieta was -sick a good deal now, and the boys were wild and unruly, and very -much the worse for their life upon the streets. But he stuck by -the family nevertheless, for they reminded him of his old -happiness; and when things went wrong he could solace himself -with a plunge into the Socialist movement. Since his life had -been caught up into the current of this great stream, things -which had before been the whole of life to him came to seem of -relatively slight importance; his interests were elsewhere, -in the world of ideas. His outward life was commonplace and -uninteresting; he was just a hotel-porter, and expected to remain -one while he lived; but meantime, in the realm of thought, -his life was a perpetual adventure. There was so much to know--so -many wonders to be discovered! Never in all his life did Jurgis -forget the day before election, when there came a telephone -message from a friend of Harry Adams, asking him to bring Jurgis -to see him that night; and Jurgis went, and met one of the minds -of the movement. - -The invitation was from a man named Fisher, a Chicago millionaire -who had given up his life to settlement work, and had a little -home in the heart of the city's slums. He did not belong to the -party, but he was in sympathy with it; and he said that he was to -have as his guest that night the editor of a big Eastern -magazine, who wrote against Socialism, but really did not know -what it was. The millionaire suggested that Adams bring Jurgis -along, and then start up the subject of "pure food," in which the -editor was interested. - -Young Fisher's home was a little two-story brick house, dingy and -weather-beaten outside, but attractive within. The room that -Jurgis saw was half lined with books, and upon the walls were -many pictures, dimly visible in the soft, yellow light; it was a -cold, rainy night, so a log fire was crackling in the open -hearth. Seven or eight people were gathered about it when Adams -and his friend arrived, and Jurgis saw to his dismay that three -of them were ladies. He had never talked to people of this sort -before, and he fell into an agony of embarrassment. He stood in -the doorway clutching his hat tightly in his hands, and made a -deep bow to each of the persons as he was introduced; then, when -he was asked to have a seat, he took a chair in a dark corner, -and sat down upon the edge of it, and wiped the perspiration off -his forehead with his sleeve. He was terrified lest they should -expect him to talk. - -There was the host himself, a tall, athletic young man, clad in -evening dress, as also was the editor, a dyspeptic-looking -gentleman named Maynard. There was the former's frail young -wife, and also an elderly lady, who taught kindergarten in the -settlement, and a young college student, a beautiful girl with an -intense and earnest face. She only spoke once or twice while -Jurgis was there--the rest of the time she sat by the table in -the center of the room, resting her chin in her hands and -drinking in the conversation. There were two other men, whom -young Fisher had introduced to Jurgis as Mr. Lucas and Mr. -Schliemann; he heard them address Adams as "Comrade," and so he -knew that they were Socialists. - -The one called Lucas was a mild and meek-looking little gentleman -of clerical aspect; he had been an itinerant evangelist, it -transpired, and had seen the light and become a prophet of the -new dispensation. He traveled all over the country, living like -the apostles of old, upon hospitality, and preaching upon street- -corners when there was no hall. The other man had been in the -midst of a discussion with the editor when Adams and Jurgis came -in; and at the suggestion of the host they resumed it after the -interruption. Jurgis was soon sitting spellbound, thinking that -here was surely the strangest man that had ever lived in the -world. - -Nicholas Schliemann was a Swede, a tall, gaunt person, with hairy -hands and bristling yellow beard; he was a university man, and -had been a professor of philosophy--until, as he said, he had -found that he was selling his character as well as his time. -Instead he had come to America, where he lived in a garret room -in this slum district, and made volcanic energy take the place of -fire. He studied the composition of food-stuffs, and knew -exactly how many proteids and carbohydrates his body needed; -and by scientific chewing he said that he tripled the value -of all he ate, so that it cost him eleven cents a day. About the first of -July he would leave Chicago for his vacation, on foot; and when -he struck the harvest fields he would set to work for two dollars -and a half a day, and come home when he had another year's -supply--a hundred and twenty-five dollars. That was the nearest -approach to independence a man could make "under capitalism," he -explained; he would never marry, for no sane man would allow -himself to fall in love until after the revolution. - -He sat in a big arm-chair, with his legs crossed, and his head so -far in the shadow that one saw only two glowing lights, reflected -from the fire on the hearth. He spoke simply, and utterly -without emotion; with the manner of a teacher setting forth to a -group of scholars an axiom in geometry, he would enunciate such -propositions as made the hair of an ordinary person rise on end. -And when the auditor had asserted his non-comprehension, he would -proceed to elucidate by some new proposition, yet more appalling. -To Jurgis the Herr Dr. Schliemann assumed the proportions of a -thunderstorm or an earthquake. And yet, strange as it might -seem, there was a subtle bond between them, and he could follow -the argument nearly all the time. He was carried over the -difficult places in spite of himself; and he went plunging away -in mad career--a very Mazeppa-ride upon the wild horse -Speculation. - -Nicholas Schliemann was familiar with all the universe, and with -man as a small part of it. He understood human institutions, and -blew them about like soap bubbles. It was surprising that so -much destructiveness could be contained in one human mind. Was -it government? The purpose of government was the guarding of -property-rights, the perpetuation of ancient force and modern -fraud. Or was it marriage? Marriage and prostitution were two -sides of one shield, the predatory man's exploitation of the sex- -pleasure. The difference between them was a difference of class. -If a woman had money she might dictate her own terms: equality, -a life contract, and the legitimacy--that is, the property-rights-- -of her children. If she had no money, she was a proletarian, and -sold herself for an existence. And then the subject became -Religion, which was the Archfiend's deadliest weapon. Government -oppressed the body of the wage-slave, but Religion oppressed his -mind, and poisoned the stream of progress at its source. The -working-man was to fix his hopes upon a future life, while his -pockets were picked in this one; he was brought up to frugality, -humility, obedience--in short to all the pseudo-virtues of -capitalism. The destiny of civilization would be decided in one -final death struggle between the Red International and the Black, -between Socialism and the Roman Catholic Church; while here at -home, "the stygian midnight of American evangelicalism--" - -And here the ex-preacher entered the field, and there was a -lively tussle. "Comrade" Lucas was not what is called an -educated man; he knew only the Bible, but it was the Bible -interpreted by real experience. And what was the use, he asked, -of confusing Religion with men's perversions of it? That the -church was in the hands of the merchants at the moment was -obvious enough; but already there were signs of rebellion, and if -Comrade Schliemann could come back a few years from now-- - -"Ah, yes," said the other, "of course, I have no doubt that in a -hundred years the Vatican will be denying that it ever opposed -Socialism, just as at present it denies that it ever tortured -Galileo." - -"I am not defending the Vatican," exclaimed Lucas, vehemently. -"I am defending the word of God--which is one long cry of the -human spirit for deliverance from the sway of oppression. Take -the twenty-fourth chapter of the Book of Job, which I am -accustomed to quote in my addresses as 'the Bible upon the Beef -Trust'; or take the words of Isaiah--or of the Master himself! -Not the elegant prince of our debauched and vicious art, not the -jeweled idol of our society churches--but the Jesus of the awful -reality, the man of sorrow and pain, the outcast, despised of the -world, who had nowhere to lay his head--" - -"I will grant you Jesus," interrupted the other. - -"Well, then," cried Lucas, "and why should Jesus have nothing to -do with his church--why should his words and his life be of no -authority among those who profess to adore him? Here is a man -who was the world's first revolutionist, the true founder of the -Socialist movement; a man whose whole being was one flame of -hatred for wealth, and all that wealth stands for,--for the pride -of wealth, and the luxury of wealth, and the tyranny of wealth; -who was himself a beggar and a tramp, a man of the people, an -associate of saloon-keepers and women of the town; who again and -again, in the most explicit language, denounced wealth and the -holding of wealth: 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures on -earth!'--'Sell that ye have and give alms!'--'Blessed are ye -poor, for yours is the kingdom of Heaven!'--'Woe unto you that -are rich, for ye have received your consolation!'--'Verily, I say -unto you, that a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of -Heaven!' Who denounced in unmeasured terms the exploiters of his -own time: 'Woe unto you, scribes and pharisees, hypocrites!'-- -'Woe unto you also, you lawyers!'--'Ye serpents, ye generation of -vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?' Who drove out -the businessmen and brokers from the temple with a whip! Who was -crucified--think of it--for an incendiary and a disturber of the -social order! And this man they have made into the high priest -of property and smug respectability, a divine sanction of all the -horrors and abominations of modern commercial civilization! -Jeweled images are made of him, sensual priests burn incense to -him, and modern pirates of industry bring their dollars, wrung -from the toil of helpless women and children, and build temples -to him, and sit in cushioned seats and listen to his teachings -expounded by doctors of dusty divinity--" - -"Bravo!" cried Schliemann, laughing. But the other was in full -career--he had talked this subject every day for five years, and -had never yet let himself be stopped. "This Jesus of Nazareth!" -he cried. "This class-conscious working-man! This union -carpenter! This agitator, law-breaker, firebrand, anarchist! -He, the sovereign lord and master of a world which grinds the -bodies and souls of human beings into dollars--if he could come -into the world this day and see the things that men have made in -his name, would it not blast his soul with horror? Would he not -go mad at the sight of it, he the Prince of Mercy and Love! That -dreadful night when he lay in the Garden of Gethsemane and -writhed in agony until he sweat blood--do you think that he saw -anything worse than he might see tonight upon the plains of -Manchuria, where men march out with a jeweled image of him before -them, to do wholesale murder for the benefit of foul monsters of -sensuality and cruelty? Do you not know that if he were in St. -Petersburg now, he would take the whip with which he drove out -the bankers from his temple--" - -Here the speaker paused an instant for breath. "No, comrade," -said the other, dryly, "for he was a practical man. He would -take pretty little imitation lemons, such as are now being -shipped into Russia, handy for carrying in the pockets, and -strong enough to blow a whole temple out of sight." - -Lucas waited until the company had stopped laughing over this; -then he began again: "But look at it from the point of view of -practical politics, comrade. Here is an historical figure whom -all men reverence and love, whom some regard as divine; and who -was one of us--who lived our life, and taught our doctrine. And -now shall we leave him in the hands of his enemies--shall we -allow them to stifle and stultify his example? We have his -words, which no one can deny; and shall we not quote them to the -people, and prove to them what he was, and what he taught, and -what he did? No, no, a thousand times no!--we shall use his -authority to turn out the knaves and sluggards from his ministry, -and we shall yet rouse the people to action!--" - -Lucas halted again; and the other stretched out his hand to a -paper on the table. "Here, comrade," he said, with a laugh, -"here is a place for you to begin. A bishop whose wife has just -been robbed of fifty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds! And a -most unctuous and oily of bishops! An eminent and scholarly -bishop! A philanthropist and friend of labor bishop--a Civic -Federation decoy duck for the chloroforming of the wage-working- -man!" - -To this little passage of arms the rest of the company sat as -spectators. But now Mr. Maynard, the editor, took occasion to -remark, somewhat naively, that he had always understood that -Socialists had a cut-and-dried program for the future of -civilization; whereas here were two active members of the party, -who, from what he could make out, were agreed about nothing at -all. Would the two, for his enlightenment, try to ascertain just -what they had in common, and why they belonged to the same party? -This resulted, after much debating, in the formulating of two -carefully worded propositions: First, that a Socialist believes -in the common ownership and democratic management of the means of -producing the necessities of life; and, second, that a Socialist -believes that the means by which this is to be brought about is -the class conscious political organization of the wage-earners. -Thus far they were at one; but no farther. To Lucas, the -religious zealot, the co-operative commonwealth was the New -Jerusalem, the kingdom of Heaven, which is "within you." To the -other, Socialism was simply a necessary step toward a far-distant -goal, a step to be tolerated with impatience. Schliemann called -himself a "philosophic anarchist"; and he explained that an -anarchist was one who believed that the end of human existence -was the free development of every personality, unrestricted by -laws save those of its own being. Since the same kind of match -would light every one's fire and the same-shaped loaf of bread -would fill every one's stomach, it would be perfectly feasible to -submit industry to the control of a majority vote. There was -only one earth, and the quantity of material things was limited. -Of intellectual and moral things, on the other hand, there was no -limit, and one could have more without another's having less; -hence "Communism in material production, anarchism in -intellectual," was the formula of modern proletarian thought. -As soon as the birth agony was over, and the wounds of society had -been healed, there would be established a simple system whereby -each man was credited with his labor and debited with his -purchases; and after that the processes of production, exchange, -and consumption would go on automatically, and without our being -conscious of them, any more than a man is conscious of the -beating of his heart. And then, explained Schliemann, society -would break up into independent, self-governing communities of -mutually congenial persons; examples of which at present were -clubs, churches, and political parties. After the revolution, -all the intellectual, artistic, and spiritual activities of men -would be cared for by such "free associations"; romantic -novelists would be supported by those who liked to read romantic -novels, and impressionist painters would be supported by those -who liked to look at impressionist pictures--and the same with -preachers and scientists, editors and actors and musicians. If -any one wanted to work or paint or pray, and could find no one to -maintain him, he could support himself by working part of the -time. That was the case at present, the only difference being -that the competitive wage system compelled a man to work all the -time to live, while, after the abolition of privilege and -exploitation, any one would be able to support himself by an -hour's work a day. Also the artist's audience of the present was -a small minority of people, all debased and vulgarized by the -effort it had cost them to win in the commercial battle, of the -intellectual and artistic activities which would result when the -whole of mankind was set free from the nightmare of competition, -we could at present form no conception whatever. - -And then the editor wanted to know upon what ground Dr. -Schliemann asserted that it might be possible for a society to -exist upon an hour's toil by each of its members. "Just what," -answered the other, "would be the productive capacity of society -if the present resources of science were utilized, we have no -means of ascertaining; but we may be sure it would exceed -anything that would sound reasonable to minds inured to the -ferocious barbarities of capitalism. After the triumph of the -international proletariat, war would of course be inconceivable; -and who can figure the cost of war to humanity--not merely the -value of the lives and the material that it destroys, not merely -the cost of keeping millions of men in idleness, of arming and -equipping them for battle and parade, but the drain upon the -vital energies of society by the war attitude and the war terror, -the brutality and ignorance, the drunkenness, prostitution, and -crime it entails, the industrial impotence and the moral -deadness? Do you think that it would be too much to say that two -hours of the working time of every efficient member of a -community goes to feed the red fiend of war?" - -And then Schliemann went on to outline some of the wastes of -competition: the losses of industrial warfare; the ceaseless -worry and friction; the vices--such as drink, for instance, the -use of which had nearly doubled in twenty years, as a consequence -of the intensification of the economic struggle; the idle and -unproductive members of the community, the frivolous rich and the -pauperized poor; the law and the whole machinery of repression; -the wastes of social ostentation, the milliners and tailors, the -hairdressers, dancing masters, chefs and lackeys. "You -understand," he said, "that in a society dominated by the fact of -commercial competition, money is necessarily the test of prowess, -and wastefulness the sole criterion of power. So we have, at the -present moment, a society with, say, thirty per cent of the -population occupied in producing useless articles, and one per -cent occupied in destroying them. And this is not all; for the -servants and panders of the parasites are also parasites, the -milliners and the jewelers and the lackeys have also to be -supported by the useful members of the community. And bear in -mind also that this monstrous disease affects not merely the -idlers and their menials, its poison penetrates the whole social -body. Beneath the hundred thousand women of the elite are a -million middle-class women, miserable because they are not of the -elite, and trying to appear of it in public; and beneath them, -in turn, are five million farmers' wives reading 'fashion papers' -and trimming bonnets, and shop-girls and serving-maids selling -themselves into brothels for cheap jewelry and imitation seal- -skin robes. And then consider that, added to this competition in -display, you have, like oil on the flames, a whole system of -competition in selling! You have manufacturers contriving tens -of thousands of catchpenny devices, storekeepers displaying them, -and newspapers and magazines filled up with advertisements of -them!" - -"And don't forget the wastes of fraud," put in young Fisher. - -"When one comes to the ultra-modern profession of advertising," -responded Schliemann--"the science of persuading people to buy -what they do not want--he is in the very center of the ghastly -charnel house of capitalist destructiveness, and he scarcely -knows which of a dozen horrors to point out first. But consider -the waste in time and energy incidental to making ten thousand -varieties of a thing for purposes of ostentation and -snobbishness, where one variety would do for use! Consider all -the waste incidental to the manufacture of cheap qualities of -goods, of goods made to sell and deceive the ignorant; consider -the wastes of adulteration,--the shoddy clothing, the cotton -blankets, the unstable tenements, the ground-cork life- -preservers, the adulterated milk, the aniline soda water, the -potato-flour sausages--" - -"And consider the moral aspects of the thing," put in the -ex-preacher. - -"Precisely," said Schliemann; "the low knavery and the ferocious -cruelty incidental to them, the plotting and the lying and the -bribing, the blustering and bragging, the screaming egotism, the -hurrying and worrying. Of course, imitation and adulteration are -the essence of competition--they are but another form of the -phrase 'to buy in the cheapest market and sell in the dearest.' -A government official has stated that the nation suffers a loss of -a billion and a quarter dollars a year through adulterated foods; -which means, of course, not only materials wasted that might have -been useful outside of the human stomach, but doctors and nurses -for people who would otherwise have been well, and undertakers -for the whole human race ten or twenty years before the proper -time. Then again, consider the waste of time and energy required -to sell these things in a dozen stores, where one would do. -There are a million or two of business firms in the country, -and five or ten times as many clerks; and consider the handling and -rehandling, the accounting and reaccounting, the planning and -worrying, the balancing of petty profit and loss. Consider the -whole machinery of the civil law made necessary by these -processes; the libraries of ponderous tomes, the courts and -juries to interpret them, the lawyers studying to circumvent -them, the pettifogging and chicanery, the hatreds and lies! -Consider the wastes incidental to the blind and haphazard -production of commodities--the factories closed, the workers -idle, the goods spoiling in storage; consider the activities of -the stock manipulator, the paralyzing of whole industries, the -overstimulation of others, for speculative purposes; the -assignments and bank failures, the crises and panics, the -deserted towns and the starving populations! Consider the -energies wasted in the seeking of markets, the sterile trades, -such as drummer, solicitor, bill-poster, advertising agent. -Consider the wastes incidental to the crowding into cities, made -necessary by competition and by monopoly railroad rates; consider -the slums, the bad air, the disease and the waste of vital -energies; consider the office buildings, the waste of time and -material in the piling of story upon story, and the burrowing -underground! Then take the whole business of insurance, the -enormous mass of administrative and clerical labor it involves, -and all utter waste--" - -"I do not follow that," said the editor. "The Cooperative -Commonwealth is a universal automatic insurance company and -savings bank for all its members. Capital being the property of -all, injury to it is shared by all and made up by all. The bank -is the universal government credit-account, the ledger in which -every individual's earnings and spendings ate balanced. There is -also a universal government bulletin, in which are listed and -precisely described everything which the commonwealth has for -sale. As no one makes any profit by the sale, there is no longer -any stimulus to extravagance, and no misrepresentation; no -cheating, no adulteration or imitation, no bribery or -'grafting.'" - -"How is the price of an article determined?" - -"The price is the labor it has cost to make and deliver it, and -it is determined by the first principles of arithmetic. The -million workers in the nation's wheat fields have worked a -hundred days each, and the total product of the labor is a -billion bushels, so the value of a bushel of wheat is the tenth -part of a farm labor-day. If we employ an arbitrary symbol, and -pay, say, five dollars a day for farm work, then the cost of a -bushel of wheat is fifty cents." - -"You say 'for farm work,'" said Mr. Maynard. "Then labor is not -to be paid alike?" - -"Manifestly not, since some work is easy and some hard, and we -should have millions of rural mail carriers, and no coal miners. -Of course the wages may be left the same, and the hours varied; -one or the other will have to be varied continually, according as -a greater or less number of workers is needed in any particular -industry. That is precisely what is done at present, except that -the transfer of the workers is accomplished blindly and -imperfectly, by rumors and advertisements, instead of instantly -and completely, by a universal government bulletin." - -"How about those occupations in which time is difficult to -calculate? What is the labor cost of a book?" - -"Obviously it is the labor cost of the paper, printing, and -binding of it--about a fifth of its present cost." - -"And the author?" - -"I have already said that the state could not control -intellectual production. The state might say that it had taken a -year to write the book, and the author might say it had taken -thirty. Goethe said that every bon mot of his had cost a purse -of gold. What I outline here is a national, or rather -international, system for the providing of the material needs of -men. Since a man has intellectual needs also, he will work -longer, earn more, and provide for them to his own taste and in -his own way. I live on the same earth as the majority, I wear -the same kind of shoes and sleep in the same kind of bed; but I -do not think the same kind of thoughts, and I do not wish to pay -for such thinkers as the majority selects. I wish such things to -be left to free effort, as at present. If people want to listen -to a certain preacher, they get together and contribute what they -please, and pay for a church and support the preacher, and then -listen to him; I, who do not want to listen to him, stay away, -and it costs me nothing. In the same way there are magazines -about Egyptian coins, and Catholic saints, and flying machines, -and athletic records, and I know nothing about any of them. On -the other hand, if wage slavery were abolished, and I could earn -some spare money without paying tribute to an exploiting -capitalist, then there would be a magazine for the purpose of -interpreting and popularizing the gospel of Friedrich Nietzsche, -the prophet of Evolution, and also of Horace Fletcher, the -inventor of the noble science of clean eating; and incidentally, -perhaps, for the discouraging of long skirts, and the scientific -breeding of men and women, and the establishing of divorce by -mutual consent." - -Dr. Schliemann paused for a moment. "That was a lecture," he -said with a laugh, "and yet I am only begun!" - -"What else is there?" asked Maynard. - -"I have pointed out some of the negative wastes of competition," -answered the other. "I have hardly mentioned the positive -economies of co-operation. Allowing five to a family, there are -fifteen million families in this country; and at least ten -million of these live separately, the domestic drudge being -either the wife or a wage slave. Now set aside the modern system -of pneumatic house-cleaning, and the economies of co-operative -cooking; and consider one single item, the washing of dishes. -Surely it is moderate to say that the dishwashing for a family of -five takes half an hour a day; with ten hours as a day's work, it -takes, therefore, half a million able-bodied persons--mostly -women to do the dishwashing of the country. And note that this -is most filthy and deadening and brutalizing work; that it is a -cause of anemia, nervousness, ugliness, and ill-temper; of -prostitution, suicide, and insanity; of drunken husbands and -degenerate children--for all of which things the community has -naturally to pay. And now consider that in each of my little -free communities there would be a machine which would wash and -dry the dishes, and do it, not merely to the eye and the touch, -but scientifically--sterilizing them--and do it at a saving of -all the drudgery and nine-tenths of the time! All of these -things you may find in the books of Mrs. Gilman; and then take -Kropotkin's Fields, Factories, and Workshops, and read about the -new science of agriculture, which has been built up in the last -ten years; by which, with made soils and intensive culture, a -gardener can raise ten or twelve crops in a season, and two -hundred tons of vegetables upon a single acre; by which the -population of the whole globe could be supported on the soil now -cultivated in the United States alone! It is impossible to apply -such methods now, owing to the ignorance and poverty of our -scattered farming population; but imagine the problem of -providing the food supply of our nation once taken in hand -systematically and rationally, by scientists! All the poor and -rocky land set apart for a national timber reserve, in which our -children play, and our young men hunt, and our poets dwell! The -most favorable climate and soil for each product selected; -the exact requirements of the community known, and the acreage -figured accordingly; the most improved machinery employed, under -the direction of expert agricultural chemists! I was brought up -on a farm, and I know the awful deadliness of farm work; and I -like to picture it all as it will be after the revolution. To -picture the great potato-planting machine, drawn by four horses, -or an electric motor, ploughing the furrow, cutting and dropping -and covering the potatoes, and planting a score of acres a day! -To picture the great potato-digging machine, run by electricity, -perhaps, and moving across a thousand-acre field, scooping up -earth and potatoes, and dropping the latter into sacks! To every -other kind of vegetable and fruit handled in the same way--apples -and oranges picked by machinery, cows milked by -electricity--things which are already done, as you may know. To -picture the harvest fields of the future, to which millions of -happy men and women come for a summer holiday, brought by special -trains, the exactly needful number to each place! And to -contrast all this with our present agonizing system of -independent small farming,--a stunted, haggard, ignorant man, -mated with a yellow, lean, and sad-eyed drudge, and toiling from -four o'clock in the morning until nine at night, working the -children as soon as they are able to walk, scratching the soil -with its primitive tools, and shut out from all knowledge and -hope, from all their benefits of science and invention, and all -the joys of the spirit--held to a bare existence by competition -in labor, and boasting of his freedom because he is too blind to -see his chains!" - -Dr. Schliemann paused a moment. "And then," he continued, -"place beside this fact of an unlimited food supply, the newest -discovery of physiologists, that most of the ills of the human -system are due to overfeeding! And then again, it has been -proven that meat is unnecessary as a food; and meat is obviously -more difficult to produce than vegetable food, less pleasant to -prepare and handle, and more likely to be unclean. But what of -that, so long as it tickles the palate more strongly?" - -"How would Socialism change that?" asked the girl-student, -quickly. It was the first time she had spoken. - -"So long as we have wage slavery," answered Schliemann, "it -matters not in the least how debasing and repulsive a task may -be, it is easy to find people to perform it. But just as soon as -labor is set free, then the price of such work will begin to -rise. So one by one the old, dingy, and unsanitary factories -will come down--it will be cheaper to build new; and so the -steamships will be provided with stoking machinery, and so the -dangerous trades will be made safe, or substitutes will be found -for their products. In exactly the same way, as the citizens of -our Industrial Republic become refined, year by year the cost of -slaughterhouse products will increase; until eventually those who -want to eat meat will have to do their own killing--and how long -do you think the custom would survive then?--To go on to another -item--one of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a -democracy is political corruption; and one of the consequences of -civic administration by ignorant and vicious politicians, is that -preventable diseases kill off half our population. And even if -science were allowed to try, it could do little, because the -majority of human beings are not yet human beings at all, but -simply machines for the creating of wealth for others. They are -penned up in filthy houses and left to rot and stew in misery, -and the conditions of their life make them ill faster than all -the doctors in the world could heal them; and so, of course, -they remain as centers of contagion, poisoning the lives of all of us, -and making happiness impossible for even the most selfish. For -this reason I would seriously maintain that all the medical and -surgical discoveries that science can make in the future will be -of less importance than the application of the knowledge we -already possess, when the disinherited of the earth have -established their right to a human existence." - -And here the Herr Doctor relapsed into silence again. Jurgis had -noticed that the beautiful young girl who sat by the center-table -was listening with something of the same look that he himself had -worn, the time when he had first discovered Socialism. Jurgis -would have liked to talk to her, he felt sure that she would have -understood him. Later on in the evening, when the group broke -up, he heard Mrs. Fisher say to her, in a low voice, "I wonder if -Mr. Maynard will still write the same things about Socialism"; to -which she answered, "I don't know--but if he does we shall know -that he is a knave!" - - -And only a few hours after this came election day--when the long -campaign was over, and the whole country seemed to stand still -and hold its breath, awaiting the issue. Jurgis and the rest of -the staff of Hinds's Hotel could hardly stop to finish their -dinner, before they hurried off to the big hall which the party -had hired for that evening. - -But already there were people waiting, and already the telegraph -instrument on the stage had begun clicking off the returns. When -the final accounts were made up, the Socialist vote proved to be -over four hundred thousand--an increase of something like three -hundred and fifty per cent in four years. And that was doing -well; but the party was dependent for its early returns upon -messages from the locals, and naturally those locals which had -been most successful were the ones which felt most like -reporting; and so that night every one in the hall believed that -the vote was going to be six, or seven, or even eight hundred -thousand. Just such an incredible increase had actually been -made in Chicago, and in the state; the vote of the city had been -6,700 in 1900, and now it was 47,000; that of Illinois had been -9,600, and now it was 69,000! So, as the evening waxed, and the -crowd piled in, the meeting was a sight to be seen. Bulletins -would be read, and the people would shout themselves hoarse -- -and then some one would make a speech, and there would be more -shouting; and then a brief silence, and more bulletins. There -would come messages from the secretaries of neighboring states, -reporting their achievements; the vote of Indiana had gone from -2,300 to 12,000, of Wisconsin from 7,000 to 28,000; of Ohio from -4,800 to 36,000! There were telegrams to the national office -from enthusiastic individuals in little towns which had made -amazing and unprecedented increases in a single year: Benedict, -Kansas, from 26 to 260; Henderson, Kentucky, from 19 to 111; -Holland, Michigan, from 14 to 208; Cleo, Oklahoma, from 0 to 104; -Martin's Ferry, Ohio, from 0 to 296--and many more of the same -kind. There were literally hundreds of such towns; there would -be reports from half a dozen of them in a single batch of -telegrams. And the men who read the despatches off to the -audience were old campaigners, who had been to the places and -helped to make the vote, and could make appropriate comments: -Quincy, Illinois, from 189 to 831--that was where the mayor had -arrested a Socialist speaker! Crawford County, Kansas, from 285 -to 1,975; that was the home of the "Appeal to Reason"! Battle -Creek, Michigan, from 4,261 to 10,184; that was the answer of -labor to the Citizens' Alliance Movement! - -And then there were official returns from the various precincts -and wards of the city itself! Whether it was a factory district -or one of the "silk-stocking" wards seemed to make no particular -difference in the increase; but one of the things which surprised -the party leaders most was the tremendous vote that came rolling -in from the stockyards. Packingtown comprised three wards of the -city, and the vote in the spring of 1903 had been 500, and in the -fall of the same year, 1,600. Now, only one year later, it was -over 6,300--and the Democratic vote only 8,800! There were other -wards in which the Democratic vote had been actually surpassed, -and in two districts, members of the state legislature had been -elected. Thus Chicago now led the country; it had set a new -standard for the party, it had shown the workingmen the way! - ---So spoke an orator upon the platform; and two thousand pairs of -eyes were fixed upon him, and two thousand voices were cheering -his every sentence. The orator had been the head of the city's -relief bureau in the stockyards, until the sight of misery and -corruption had made him sick. He was young, hungry-looking, full -of fire; and as he swung his long arms and beat up the crowd, to -Jurgis he seemed the very spirit of the revolution. "Organize! -Organize! Organize!"--that was his cry. He was afraid of this -tremendous vote, which his party had not expected, and which it -had not earned. "These men are not Socialists!" he cried. "This -election will pass, and the excitement will die, and people will -forget about it; and if you forget about it, too, if you sink -back and rest upon your oars, we shall lose this vote that we -have polled to-day, and our enemies will laugh us to scorn! It -rests with you to take your resolution--now, in the flush of -victory, to find these men who have voted for us, and bring them -to our meetings, and organize them and bind them to us! We shall -not find all our campaigns as easy as this one. Everywhere in -the country tonight the old party politicians are studying this -vote, and setting their sails by it; and nowhere will they be -quicker or more cunning than here in our own city. Fifty -thousand Socialist votes in Chicago means a municipal-ownership -Democracy in the spring! And then they will fool the voters once -more, and all the powers of plunder and corruption will be swept -into office again! But whatever they may do when they get in, -there is one thing they will not do, and that will be the thing -for which they were elected! They will not give the people of -our city municipal ownership--they will not mean to do it, they -will not try to do it; all that they will do is give our party in -Chicago the greatest opportunity that has ever come to Socialism -in America! We shall have the sham reformers self-stultified and -self-convicted; we shall have the radical Democracy left without -a lie with which to cover its nakedness! And then will begin the -rush that will never be checked, the tide that will never turn -till it has reached its flood--that will be irresistible, -overwhelming--the rallying of the outraged workingmen of Chicago -to our standard! And we shall organize them, we shall drill -them, we shall marshal them for the victory! We shall bear down -the opposition, we shall sweep if before us--and Chicago will be -ours! Chicago will be ours! CHICAGO WILL BE OURS!" - - -End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Jungle - - - - - diff --git a/old/old/jungl10.zip b/old/old/jungl10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4457763..0000000 --- a/old/old/jungl10.zip +++ /dev/null |
