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diff --git a/old/140-h/140-h.htm b/old/140-h/140-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 139e898..0000000 --- a/old/140-h/140-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16904 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair</title> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<style type="text/css"> - -body { margin-left: 20%; - margin-right: 20%; - text-align: justify; } - -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: -normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} - -h1 {font-size: 300%; - margin-top: 0.6em; - margin-bottom: 0.6em; - letter-spacing: 0.12em; - word-spacing: 0.2em; - text-indent: 0em;} -h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} -h4 {font-size: 120%;} -h5 {font-size: 110%;} - -.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} - -hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} - -p {text-indent: 1em; - margin-top: 0.25em; - margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-size: 90%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.center {text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -p.footnote {font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; } - -sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } - -div.fig { display:block; - margin:0 auto; - text-align:center; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em;} - -a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} -a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} -a:hover {color:red} - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <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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