 CHAPTER XXIV In the face of all his handicaps, Yurgis 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 civilisation 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 was so doomed to be exterminated, and all society was busy 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 policeman 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 bolded doors and basement windows barred with iron, the great warehouses filled with the products of the whole world, and guarded by iron shutters and heavy gates, the banks with their unthinkable billions of wealth, all buried in safes and vaults of steel. And then one day there befell Yurgis the one adventure of his life. It was late at night, and he had failed to get the price of a lodging. Snow was falling, and he had been out so long that he was covered with it and was chilled to the bone. He was working among the theater crowds, flitting here and there, taking large chances with the police in his desperation half hoping to be arrested. When he saw a blue coat start toward him, however, his heart failed him, and he dashed down a side street and fled a couple of blocks. When he stopped again, he saw a man coming toward him and placed himself in his path. Please, sir, he began in the usual formula, will you give me the price of a lodging? I've had a broken arm, and I can't work, and I've not a cent in my pocket. I'm an honest working man, sir, and I never begged before. It's not my fault, sir. Yurgis 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 Yurgis suddenly noticed that he stood a little unsteadily. What's that, you say? He queried suddenly in a thick voice. Yurgis 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 old chappy, he said. Then I'll pit up against it, eh? Then he lurched toward Yurgis, and the hand upon his shoulder became an arm around his neck. Up against it myself, old sport, he said. She's a hard old world. They were close to a lamppost, and Yurgis 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 Yurgis with indignant sympathy. I'm hard up, too, my goof friend, he said. I've got cruel parents, or I'd set you up. What's the matter with her? I've been in the hospital. Hospital, exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly. That's too bad. Here's my Aunt Polly. HIT! My Aunt Polly's in the hospital, too. Old Andy's been havin' twins. What's the matter with you? I've got a broken arm, Yurgis began. So, said the other sympathetically, that ain't so bad. You get over that. I wish somebody'd break my arm, old chappy, down if I don't. Then they'd treat me better. HIT! Hold me up, old sport. What's it you want me to do? I'm hungry, sir, said Yurgis. Hungry? Why don't you have some supper? I've got no money, sir. No money. Ho-ho! Let's be chums, old boy. Just like me. No money, either. Almost busted. Why don't you go home, then? Seems me. I haven't any home, said Yurgis. No home. Stranger in the city, eh? Good God, that's bad. Better come home with me. Yes, by Harry. That's the trick. You'll come home and have some supper. HIT! With me. Awful, lonesome, nobody home. Governor gone abroad, bubbies on honeymoon, Holly havin' twins, every damn soul gone away. Nuff HIT! Nuff to drive a feller to drink, I say. Only old ham standin' by, passin' plates. Damn if I can eat like that. No, sir. To club from me every time, my boy, I say. But then they won't let me sleep there. This order's by Harry, home every night, sir. Every hear anything like that, every mornin', do? I asked him, no, sir. Every night, and no allowance at all, sir. That's my governor, nice as nails, by Harry. Total old ham to watch me, too. Servants spying on me. What's your think, that, my friend? A nice quiet hip, good-hearted young feller like me, and his daddy can't go to Europe, and leave him in peace. Ain't that a shame, sir? And I gotta go home every evening and miss all the fun by Harry. That's what's a matter now, that's why I'm here. Had to come away and leave Kitty HIT, left her cryin', too. What you think of that old sport? Let me go, Kitten, says I. I come early and often. I go where duty HIT calls me. Farewell, farewell, my own true love. Farewell, farewell, my own true love. This last was a song, and the young gentleman's voice rose mournful and wailing, while he swung upon Yorah's neck. The latter was glancing about nervously, lest someone should approach. They were still alone, however. But I came all right, all right, continued the youngster aggressively. I can hip, 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. Why thunder, and I don't need anybody comin' home with me, either. What should take me for, hey? Think I'm drunk, don't ya, hey? I know you, but I'm no more drunk than you are, Kitten's, says I to her. And then she says, That's true, Freddie, dear. She's a smart one, is Kitty. But I'm stayin' in the flat, and you're goin' out into the cold, cold night. Put it in a poem, lovely Kitty, says I. No jokin', Freddie, my boy, says she. Let me call a cab now, like a good deer. But I can call my own cabs, don't ya, fool yourself. And I know what I'm a-doin', you bet. Say, my friend, whatcha say? Will ya come home and see me, and has some supper? Come long, like a good fella, don't be haughty. You're up against it, same as me, and you can understand a fella. Your heart's in the right place, my Harry. Come long, old chappy, and we'll light up the house, and have some fizz, and we'll raise hell we will. You blop, salons, I'm inside the house, I can do as I please. The governor's owned very orders, by God, hip hip. They had started down the street, arm in arm, the young man pushing Yurgis along half-dazed. Yurgis was trying to think what to do. He knew he could not pass any crowded place with his new acquaintance without attracting attention and being stopped. It was only because of the falling snow that people who passed here did not notice anything wrong. Suddenly, therefore, Yurgis stopped. Is it very far, he inquired? Not very, said the other. Tired are you, though? Well, we'll ride, whatcha say. Good. Call a cab. And then, gripping Yurgis tight with one hand, the young fellow began searching his pockets with the other. You call old sport, and I'll pay, he suggested. How's that, hey? And he pulled out from somewhere a big roll of bills. It was more money than Yurgis had ever seen in his life before. And he stared at it with startled eyes. Looks like a lot, hey? Said Master Freddie, fumbling with it. Who'll you, though, old shappie? They're all little ones. I'll be busted in one more week. Sure thing, word of honor. And not a cent more till the first, dick, governor's orders, dick, not a cent by Harry. Enough to set a feller crazy it is. I sent him a cable this afternoon. That's one reason more why I'm going home. Hang it on the verge of starvation, I says. For the honor of the family, dick, send me some bread. Hunger will compel me to join you, Freddie. That's what I wired him by, Harry, and I mean it. I'll run away from school, by God, if he don't send me some. After this fashion, the young gentleman continued to prattle on. And meantime, Yurgis 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 handy to hope for if he waited longer? But Yurgis had never committed a crime in his life, and now he hesitated half a second too long. Freddie got one bill loose and then stuffed the rest back into his trousers pocket. Here, old 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 Yurgis saw that it was a hundred dollar bill. You take it, the other repeated, pay the cabbie, and keep the change. I've got no head for business. Governor says so himself, and the governor knows the governor's got a head for business, you bet. All right, governor, I told him, you run the show, and I'll take the tickets. And so he set Aunt Polly to watch me. And now Polly's off in the hospital, having twins, and me out raisin cane. Hello there. Hey, call him. A cab was driving by, and Yurgis sprang and called it, and it swung round to the curb. Master Freddie clambered in with some difficulty, and Yurgis had started to follow when the driver shouted, Hi there, get out, you. Yurgis hesitated and was half obeying, but his companion broke out. What's that? What's the matter with you, hey? And the cabbie subsided, and Yurgis climbed in. Then Freddie gave a number on the lakeshore drive, and the carriage started away. The youngster leaned back and snuggle up to Yurgis, murmuring contendantly. In half a minute he was sound asleep, Yurgis sat shivering speculating as to whether he might not still be able to get hold of the roll of bills. He was afraid to try to go through his companion's pockets, however, and besides the cabbie might be on the watch. He had the hundred safe, and he would have to be content with that. At the end of half an hour or so the cab stopped. They were out on the waterfront, and from the east a freezing gale was blowing off the ice-bound lake. Here we are, called the cabbie, and Yurgis awakened his companion. Master Freddie sat up with a start. Hello, he said. Where are we? Was this? Who are you, hey? Oh yes, sure enough. Most forgot you. Hip! Old chappy. Home, are we? Let's see. Brrr, it's cold. Yes, come along. Home, it ever so hip, humble. Before them loomed an enormous granite pile, set far back from the street, and occupying a whole block. By the light of the driveway lamps, Yurgis could see that it had towers and huge gables like a medieval castle. He thought that the young fellow must have made a mistake. It was inconceivable to him that any person could have a home like a hotel or the city hall. But he followed in silence, and they went up the long flight of steps, arm in arm. There is a button here, old sport, said Master Freddie. Hold my arm up while I find her. Steady now. Oh yes, here she is. Saved! A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in blue livery stood holding it and gazing before him, silent as a statue. They stood for a moment, blinking in the light. Then Yurgis felt his companion pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton closed the door. Yurgis' 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. A laden entering his cave could not have been more excited. The place where he stood was dimly lighted, but he could see a vast hall with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great staircase opening at the far end of it. The floor was of tessellated marble, smooth as glass, and from the walls strange shapes loomed out, woven into huge porters in rich harmonious colors, or gleaming from paintings, wonderful and mysterious, looking in the half-light purple and red and golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest. The man in livery had moved silently toward them. Master Freddie took off his hat and handed it to him, and then, the dingo of Yurgis' arm tried to get out of his overcoat. After two or three attempts he accomplished this, with the lacky's help, and meantime a second man had approached, a tall and portly personage, solemn as an executioner. He bore straight down upon Yurgis, 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 friend will remain with me. The man paused and half-released Yurgis. Come on, old Shappie, said the other, and Yurgis started toward him. Master Frederick exclaimed the man. See that the cabbie is paid, was the other's response, and he linked his arm in Yurgis. Yurgis 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 Yurgis and his young master. They went down the great hall and then turned. Before them were two huge doors. Hamilton, said Master Freddie, well, sir, said the other. What's the matter with the dining-room doors? Nothing is the matter, sir. Then why don't you open them? 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 Yurgis. He stared, and little by little he made out the great apartment with a dome 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 stream-lift. A group of maidens bathing in a forest pool, all life-sized and so real that Yurgis 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 wad silver and gold. In the center of it was a huge carbon bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their midst. This is the dining-room, observed Master Freddy. How you like it, hey, old sport? He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over Yurgis and smiling into his face. Yurgis liked it. Rummy-old place to feed in all alone, though, was Freddy's comment. Rummy's hell. What's your think, hey? Then another idea occurred to him, and he went on without waiting. Maybe you never saw anything like this before, hey, old chappy? No, said Yurgis. Come from country, maybe, hey? Yes, said Yurgis. Aha! I thought so. Lots of folks from country never saw such a place. Governor brings them free show, regular circus. Go home, tell folks about it. Old man Lonus Place, Lonus the Packer, beef trust man. Made it all out of hogs, too, damn old scoundrel. Now we see where our pennies go, rebates and private car lines. Hit! Bye, Harry. Fully placed, though. Worth seeing. Ever hear of Lonus the Packer, hey, old chappy? Yurgis had started involuntarily. The other, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, de-mene- What's the matter, hey? Heard of him? And Yurgis managed to stammer out. I have worked for him in the yards. What? cried Master Freddy with a yell. You? In the yards? Oh, I say that's good. Take hands on it, old man, bye, Harry. Governor ought to be here. Glad to see you. Great friends with the men, Governor. Labor and capital, community of interests and all of that. Hit! Funny things happen in this world, don't they, old man? Hamilton, let me introduce you. Friend the family. Old friend the governors. Works in the yards. Come to spend the night with me, Hamilton. Have a hot time. Me, friend, Mr. What's your name, old chappy? Tell us your name. Rottis, Yurgis Rottis. My friend, Mr. Rednose Hamilton. Che hands. The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound. And suddenly Master Freddy pointed an eager finger at him. I know what's the matter with you, Hamilton. Lay a dollar, I know. You think, hit! You think I'm drunk, hey now. And the butler again bowed his head. Yes, sir, he said, at which Master Freddy hung tightly upon Yurgis' neck and went into a fit of laughter. Hamilton, you damn old scoundrel, he roared. I'll charge you for impotence. You see if I don't. Ho, ho, ho. I'm drunk. Ho, ho. The two waited until his fit had spent itself to see what new whim would seize him. What you want to do, he queried suddenly. Want to see the place, old chappy? Want to play the governor? Show you around? State parlors. Louis cans. Louis says. Chairs cost three thousand a piece. City room, Mariantonette. Picture of shepherds dancing. Braisedale. Twenty-three thousand. Ballroom. Back-and-a-pillars. Pink. Imported. Special ship. Sixty-eight thousand. Ceiling painted in Rome was a feller's name, Hamilton. Matatoni. Macaroni. Penless place. Silver Bowl. Benevuto Tillini. Romy Old Dago. And the organ. Thirty thousand dollars, sir. Turn her up, Hamilton. Let Mr. Redknoe hear it. No, never mind. Clean forgot. Says he's hungry, Hamilton. Let's have some supper. Only hit. Don't let's have it here. Come up to my place, old sport. Nice and cozy. This way. Steady now. Don't slip on the floor. Hamilton, we'll have a whole spread. And some fizz. Don't leave out the fizz, by Harry. We'll have some of the 1830 Madeira. Hear me, sir? Yes, sir. Said the butler. But Master Frederick, your father, left orders. And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. My father's orders were left to me, and not to you, he said. Then, clasping Yorga's tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room. On the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked, any hit cable message for me, Hamilton? No, sir, said the butler. Governor must be traveling. And how's it twins, Hamilton? They are doing well, sir. Good, said Master Freddie, and at it permanently. God bless them, the little lambs. They went up the great staircase one step at a time. At the top of it there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph crouching by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm and glowing with the hues of life. God was a huge court with domed roof, the various apartments, opening into it. The butler had paused below but a few minutes to give orders and then followed them. Now he pressed a button and the hall blazed with light. He opened a door before them and then pressed another button as they staggered into the apartment. It was fitted up as a study. In the center was a mahogany table covered with books and smokers implements. The walls were decorated with college trophies and colors, flags, posters, photographs, and knick-knacks, tennis rackets, canoe paddles, golf clubs, and polo sticks. An enormous moose head with horns six feet across faced the buffalo head on the opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the polished floor. There were lounging chairs and sofas, window seats covered with soft cushions of fantastic designs. There was one corner fitted in Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jeweled lamp beneath. Beyond a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a swimming pool of the purest marble that had cost about forty thousand dollars. Master Freddy stood for a moment or two, gazing about him. Then out of the next room a doggy-burged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous object that Yurgis 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, "'you've been having a snooze, old boy. Well, well, hello there, what's the matter?' The dog was snarling at Yurgis. "'Why, Dewey, this is my friend, Mr. Rednose, old friend, the governor's. Mr. Rednose? Admiral Dewey. Shake hands. Dick!' Daisy, though, blew ribbon at the New York Show, eighty-five hundred at a clip. How's that, hey?' The speaker sank into one of the big armchairs, and Admiral Dewey crouched beneath it. He did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes off Yurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral. The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Yurgis 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 pâtés and thin slices of meat, tiny bread and butter sandwiches with a 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. That's the stuff for you, cried Master Freddy exultantly, as he spied them, Come on, old chappy, move up. And he seated himself at the table. The waiter pulled the cork, and he took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession down his throat. Then he gave a long drawn-out sigh and cried again to Yurgis to seat himself. The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Yurgis 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 Freddy perceived that the attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked with a nod to them, You may go. They went, all save the butler. You may go too, Hamilton, he said. Master Freddy, the man began. Go, cried the youngster angrily, Damn you, don't you hear me? The man went out and closed the door. Yurgis, who was as sharp as he, observed that he took the key out of the lock in order that he might peer through the keyhole. Master Freddy turned to the table again. Now, he said, Go for it. Yurgis gazed at him doubtingly. Eat, cried the other, Pile in, old chappy. Did you want anything? Yurgis asked. Ain't hungry, was the reply. Only thirsty. Kinny and me had some candy. You go on. So Yurgis began without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, his fork in one hand and his knife in the other. When he once got started, his wolf hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for breath until he had cleared every plate. Gee whiz, said the other, who had been watching him in wonder. Then he held Yurgis the bottle. Let's see your drink now, he said, and Yurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderfully unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve of him, thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and then he gave vent to a long drawn, ah, good stuff, eh, said Freddy sympathetically. He had leaned back in the big chair, putting his arm behind his head, and gazing at Yurgis. And Yurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening dress, was Freddy, and looked very handsome. He was a beautiful boy with light golden hair and the head of an antinoist. He smiled at Yurgis confidingly, and then started talking again with his blissful enthusiasm. This time he talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in the course of the speech he told Yurgis 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 caliph of Kams Katka. He had been on the verge of marrying her once, only the governor 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 governor had made threats to disinherit another of his children also, sister Gwendolyn, 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 Freddy all alone, and he with less than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddy was up in arms, and meant serious business, as they would find out in the end. If there was no other way of bringing them to terms, he would have his kittens wired that she was about to marry him, and see what happened then. So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled his sweetest smile at Jorgas, and then closed his eyes sleepily. Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed them, and forgot to open them. For several minutes Jorgas sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and reveling in the strange sensation of the champagne. Once he stirred, and the dog growled, after that he sat almost holding his breath, until after a while the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came in. He walked toward Jorgas upon tiptoe, scowling at him, and Jorgas rose up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and then the butler came close, and pointed to the door. Get out of here, he whispered. Jorgas hesitated, giving a glance at Freddy, who was snoring softly. If you do, you son of a, hiss the butler, I'll mash in your face for you before you get out of here. And Jorgas wavered but an instant more. He saw Admiral Dewey coming up behind the man, and growling softly to back up his threats. Then he surrendered, and started toward the door. They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, and through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler strode close to him. Hold up your hands, he snarled. Jorgas took a step back, clenching his one-wealth list. What for? he cried, and then understanding that the fellow proposed to search him, he answered, I'll see you in hell first. Do you want to go to jail? Demanded the butler menacingly. I'll have the police. Have them, roared Jorgas, with fierce passion, but you won't put your hands on me till you do. I haven't touched anything in your damned house, and I'll not have you touch me. So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, stepped suddenly to the door and opened it. Get out of here, he said. And then, as Jorgas passed through the opening, he gave him a ferocious kick that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and landed him sprawling in the snow at the bottom. CHAPTER XXV Jorgas got up, wild with rage, but the door was shut, and the great castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit into him, and he turned and went away at a run. When he stopped again, it was because he was coming to frequented streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last humiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out ahead on that deal. He put his hand into his trousers pocket every now and then to make sure that the precious hundred-dollar bill was still there. But 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. Jorgas spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was no one he could go to for help. He had to manage it all alone. To get it changed in a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands. He would almost certainly be robbed and perhaps murdered before morning. He might go to some hotel or railroad depot and ask to have it changed, but what would they think seeing a bum like him with a hundred dollars? He would probably be arrested if he tried it, and what story could he tell? On the morrow, Freddie Jones would discover his loss, and there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. The only other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. He might pay them to change it, if it could not be done otherwise. He began peering into places as he walked. He passed several as being too crowded, and then finally, chanceing upon one where the bartender was all alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in. Can you change me a hundred dollar bill? He demanded. The bartender was a big husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter and a three-weeks stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Yurgis. What's that you say? He demanded. I said, could you change me a hundred dollar bill? Or do you get it? He asked incredulously. Never mind, said Yurgis. I've got it, and I want it changed. I'll pay you if you'll do it. The others stared at him hard. Let me see it, he said. Will you change it? Yurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his pocket. How the hell can I know if it's good or not? He retorted the bartender. What's your take me for, eh? Then Yurgis slowly and warily approached him. He took out the bill and fumbled it for a moment, while the man stared at him with hostile eyes across the counter. Then finally he handed it over. The other took it and began to examine it. He smoothed it between his fingers and held it up to the light. He turned it over and upside down and edgewise. That was new and rather stiff, and that made him dubious. Yurgis was watching him like a cat all the time. Puff! He said finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him up, a ragged, ill-smelling tramp with no overcoat, and one arm and a sling, and a hundred-dollar bill. Want to buy anything? He demanded. Yes, said Yurgis, I'll take a glass of beer. All right, said the other. I'll change it. He put the bill in his pocket and poured Yurgis 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 Yurgis counting it out, two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. There he said. For a second Yurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. My ninety-nine dollars, he said. My ninety-nine dollars demanded the bartender. My change, he cried, the rest of my hundred. Go on, said the bartender, you're nutty, and Yurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror reigned at him, black, paralyzing, awful horror clutching him at the heart. And then came rage, insurging, 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 Yurgis who was vaulting over the bar with his one-well arm and dealt him a smashing blow in the face, purling him backward upon the floor. Then as Yurgis scrambled to his feet again and started round the counter after him, he shouted at the top of his voice, Help! Help! Yurgis 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. He just grazed his head and shivered into a thousand pieces against the post of the door. Then Yurgis 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 Yurgis was getting to his feet again, roaming at the mouth with rage and trying to tear his broken arm out of its bandages. Look out shouted the bartender, he's got a knife. Then seeing that the two were disposed to join the fray, he made another rush at Yurgis and knocked aside his feeble defense and sent him tumbling again, and the three flung themselves upon him, rolling and kicking about the place. A second later a policeman dashed in, and the bartender yelled once more, look out for his knife. Yurgis had fought himself half to his knees when the policeman made a leap at him and cracked him across the face with his club. Though the blow staggered him, the wild beast frenzy still blazed in him, and he got to his feet lunging into the air. Then again the club descended, full upon his head, and he dropped like a log to the floor. The policeman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for him to try to rise again, and meantime the bartender got up and put his hand to his head. Christ, he said, I thought I was done for that time. Did he cut me? Don't see anything, Jake, said the policeman, what's the matter with him? Just crazy drunk, said the other, a lame duck, too, but he most got me under the bar. You said better call the wagon, Billy. No, said the officer, he's got no more fight in him, I guess, and he's only got a block to go. He twisted his hand in Yurgis' collar and jerked at him. Get up here, you, he commanded. But Yurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, and after stowing the hundred dollar billoway in a safe hiding place came and poured a glass of water over Yurgis. 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 Yurgis was in a cell. He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance moaning and torment with a blinding headache and a racking thirst. Now and then he cried aloud for a drink of water, but there was no one to hear him. There were others in that same station house with split heads and a fever, there were hundreds of them in the great city, and tens of thousands of them in the great land, and there was no one to hear any of them. In the morning Yurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of bread, and then hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the nearest police court. He sat in the pen with a score of others until his turn came. The bartender, who proved to be a well-known bruiser, was called to the stand. He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner had come into his saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had ordered a glass of beer and tendered a dollar bill in payment. He had been given ninety-five cents change and had demanded ninety-nine dollars more, and before the plaintiff could even answer had hurled the glass at him and then attacked him with a bottle of bitters and nearly wrecked the place. Then the prisoner was sworn, a forlorn object, haggard and unshorn, with an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and head cut and bloody and one eye purplish-black and entirely closed. What have you to say for yourself, queried the magistrate. Your Honor, said Yurgis, I went into his place and asked the man if he could change me a hundred dollar bill, and he said he would if I bought a drink. I gave him the bill, and then he wouldn't give me the change. The magistrate was staring at him in perplexity. You gave him a hundred dollar bill, he exclaimed. Yes, Your Honor, said Yurgis, where did you get it? A man gave it to me, Your Honor. A man, what man, and what for? A young man I met upon the street, Your Honor. I had been begging. There was a Twitter in the courtroom. The officer who was holding Yurgis put up his hand to hide a smile, and the magistrate smiled without trying to hide it. It's true, Your Honor, cried Yurgis passionately. You had been drinking as well as begging last night. Had you not, inquired the magistrate. No, Your Honor, protested Yurgis. I— You had not had anything to drink? Why, yes, Your Honor, I had. What did you have? I had a bottle of something. I don't know what it was—something that burned. There was again a laugh round the courtroom, stopping suddenly as the magistrate looked up and frowned. Have you ever been arrested before? He asked abruptly. The question took Yurgis aback. I— I—he stammered. Tell me the truth now, command at the other, sternly. Yes, Your Honor, said Yurgis. How often? Only once, Your Honor. What for? For knocking down my boss, Your Honor. I was working in the stockyards, and he—I see—said his honor. I guess that will do. You ought to stop drinking if you can't control yourself. Ten days and costs. Next case? Yurgis 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 bartenders. Yurgis 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. Yurgis was driven out to the bridewell for the second time. In his tumbling around, he had hurt his arm again, and so could not work but had to be attended by the physician. Also his head and his eye had to be tied up, and so he was a pretty-looking object when, the second day after his arrival, he went out into the exercise court and encountered Jack Duane. The young fellow was so glad to see Yurgis that he almost hugged him. By God, if it isn't the stinker, he cried. And what is it? Have you been through a sausage machine? No, said Yurgis, but I've been in a railroad wreck and a flight. And then, while some of the other prisoners gathered round, he told his wild story. Most of them were incredulous, but Duane knew that Yurgis could never have made up such a yarn as that. Hard luck, old man, he said, when they were alone, but maybe it's taught you a lesson. I've learned some things since I saw you last, said Yurgis mournfully. Then he explained how he had spent the last summer hoboing it as the phrase was. And you, he asked finally, have you been here ever since? Lord knows, 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, Yurgis? I've no place to go, said Yurgis sadly. Neither have I, replied the other, laughing lightly, but we'll wait till we get out and see. In the bridewell, Yurgis 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, Yurgis 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, but their point of view was his point of view, and that the way they kept themselves alive in the world was the way he meant to do it in the future. And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny in his pocket, he went straight to Jack Dwayne. He went full of humility and gratitude, for Dwayne was a gentleman, and a man with a profession, and it was remarkable that he should be willing to throw in his luck with a humble working man, one who had even been a beggar and a tramp. Yurgis 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 anyone who was kind to him, was as rare among criminals as among any other class of men. The address Yurgis had was a garret room in the ghetto district, the home of a pretty little French girl, Dwayne's mistress, who sewed all day and eeked out her living by prostitution. He had gone elsewhere, she told Yurgis. He was afraid to say there now, on account of the police. The new address was a cellar dive, whose proprietor said that he had never heard of Dwayne, but after he had put Yurgis 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 asignation rooms in one of which Dwayne was hiding. Dwayne was glad to see him. He was without a cent of money, he said, and had been waiting for Yurgis 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 unwanted 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. Although Rosenstag, the pawnbroker, would buy anything he had for a third of its value, and guarantee to keep it hidden for a year. There was an oil stove in the little cupboard of a room, and they had some supper, and then about eleven o'clock at night they sallied forth together by a rear entrance to the place, Dwayne armed with a slingshot. They came to a residence district, and he sprang up a lamp post and blew out the light, and then the two dodged into the shelter of an area step and hid in silence. Pretty soon a man came by, a working man, 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. Dwayne nudged Jurgis, and the instant the man had passed they rose up. Dwayne stalled 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 Dwayne 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 out, and transferring the contents into his own pockets. At last after feeling of the man's fingers and in his necktie, Dwayne whispered, That's all, and they dragged him to the area and dropped him in. Then Jurgis went one way and his friend the other, walking briskly. The latter arrived first, and Jurgis found him examining the swag. There was a gold watch for one thing with a chain and locket. There was a silver pencil and a matchbox and a handful of small chains, and finally a card case. This last Dwayne 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. Dwayne drew a long breath. That lets us out, he said. After further examination, they burned the card case and its contents, all but the bills, and likewise the picture of a little girl in the locket. Then Dwayne took the watch and trinkets downstairs, and came back with sixteen dollars. The old scoundrel said the case was filled, he said. It's a lie, but he knows I want the money. They divided up the spoils, and Jurgis got as his share fifty-five dollars and some change. He protested that it was too much, but the other had agreed to divide even. That was a good haul, he said, better than average. When they got up in the morning, Jurgis was sent out to buy a paper. One of the pleasures of committing a crime was the reading about it afterward. I had a pal that always did it, Dwayne remarked, laughing, until one day he read that he had left three thousand dollars in a lower inside pocket of his party's vest. There was a half column account of the robbery. It was evident that a gang was operating in the neighborhood, said the paper, for it was the third within a week, and the police were apparently powerless. The victim was an insurance agent, and he had lost a hundred and ten dollars that did not belong to him. He had chance to have his name marked on his shirt, otherwise he would not have been identified yet. His assailant had hit him too hard, and he was suffering from concussion of the brain, and also he had been half frozen when found and would lose three fingers on his right hand. The enterprising newspaper reporter had taken all this information to his family and told how they had received it. Since it was Jurgis' first experience, these details naturally caused him some worryment, 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 bullet. It's a case of us or the other fellow, and I say the other fellow every time he observed. Still, said Jurgis reflectively, he never did us any harm. He was doing it to somebody as hard as he could. You can be sure of that, said his friend. Dwayne 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. Dwayne, 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 hold-up men hung out. And so Jurgis got a glimpse of the high-class criminal world of Chicago. The city, which was owned by an oligarchy of businessmen being nominally ruled by the people, a huge army of graft was necessary for the purpose of affecting the transfer of power. Twice a year in the spring and fall elections, millions of dollars were furnished by the businessmen and expended by this army. Meetings were held, and clever speakers were hired. Vans played, and rockets sizzled. Vans of documents and reservoirs of drinks were distributed, and tens of thousands of votes were bought for cash. And this army of graft had, of course, to be maintained the year round. The leaders and organizers were maintained by the businessmen directly, aldermen and legislators by means of bribes, party officials out of the campaign funds, lobbyists and corporation lawyers in the form of salaries, contractors by means of jobs, labor union leaders by subsidies, and newspaper proprietors and editors by advertisements. The rank and file, however, were either foisted upon the city or else lived off the population directly. There was the police department and the fire and water departments, and the whole balance of the civil list from the meanest office boy to the head of a city department. And for the horde who could find no room in these, there was the world of vice and crime. There was license to seduce, to swindle, and plunder, and pray. 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 madams into the combination. It was the same with the gambling housekeeper and the poolroom man and the same with any other man or woman who had a means of getting grafted and was willing to pay over a share of it. The green goods man and the highway man, 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 push cart man, the prize fighter and the professional slugger, the racetrack tout, the procurer, the white slave agent and the expert seducer of young girls. All of these agencies of corruption were banded together and leaned 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 brothels he pretended to raid. The politician would open his headquarters in his saloon. Hinky Dink or Bathhouse John or others of that ilk were proprietors of the most notorious dives in Chicago and also the gray wolves of the city council who gave away the streets of the city to the businessmen and those who patronized their places were the gamblers and prize fighters who set the law at defiance and the burglars and holdup men who kept the whole city in terror. On election day, all these powers of vice and crime were one power. They could tell within one percent what the vote of their district would be and they could change it at an hour's notice. A month ago, Jorges 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 Jorges for a while and then told him that he had a little plan by which a man who looked like a working man might make some easy money. But it was a private affair and had to be kept quiet. Jorges 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. Jorges 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 gave the name of Sergei Remititsky. Halloran had quite a list of imaginary working men, and Jorges 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 Jorges was excellent at keeping quiet, he soon won the trust of Buck Halloran and was introduced to others as a man who could be depended upon. This acquaintance was useful to him in another way, also before long Jorges made his discovery of the meaning of Paul and just why his boss, Connor, and also the pugilist bartender, had been able to send him to jail. One night there was given a ball, the benefit of one-eyed Larry, a lame man who played the violin in one of the big high-class houses of prostitution on Clark Street, and was a wag and a popular character on the levee. This ball was held in a big dance hall, and was one of the occasions when the city's power of debauchery gave themselves up to madness. Jorges 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, Jorges did not relish staying there to sleep off his liquor, and sent for Halloran, who called up the district leader, and had Jorges 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 Jorges Rudkist was a decent fellow, who had been indiscreet, and so Jorges was fined ten dollars, and the fine was suspended, which meant he did not have to pay for it, and never would have to pay it, unless somebody chose to bring it up against him in the future. Among the people Jorges lived with now, money was valued according to an entirely different standard from that of the people of Packingtown. As strange as it may seem, he did a great deal less drinking than he had as a working man. 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 great deal fonder of both wine and women than he. One thing led to another. In the saloon where Jorges met Buck Halloran, he was sitting late one night with Dwayne, 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, Jorges and Dwayne followed him. He went round the corner, and in a dark place made by a combination of the elevated railroad and an unrented building, Jorges leaped forward and shoved a revolver under his nose, while Dwayne, 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 parable 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 of falling out with the police chance 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 entering advertisements for servants and factory hands, and found themselves trapped by fake employment agencies, and locked up in a body house. It was generally enough to take all their clothes away from them, but sometimes they would have to be doped and kept prisoners for weeks, and meantime their parents might be telegraphing the police and even coming on to see why nothing was done. Occasionally there was no way of satisfying them, but to let them search the place to which the girl had been traced. For his help in this little job, the bartender received twenty out of the hundred and thirty odd dollars that the pair secured, and naturally this put them on friendly terms with him, and a few days later he introduced them to a little sheenie 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 card-sharp 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. Yurtigus, 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. Dwayne took all this in at once, but Yurtigus had to have the whole racetrack situation explained to him before he realized the importance of such an opportunity. There was the gigantic racing trust. It owned the legislatures in every state in which it did business. It even owned some of the big newspapers and made public opinion. There was no power in the land that could oppose it unless, perhaps, it were the pool room 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 flundered 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, under-trained or over-trained. It could be made to fall at any moment, or its gate 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 pool rooms. The word came by long-distance telephone in a cypher code, just a little while before each race, and any man who could get the secret had as good as a fortune. If Jörgis 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. Jörgis was willing, and so was Dwayne, and so they went to one of the high-class pool rooms where brokers and merchants gambled with society women in a private room, and they put up ten dollars each upon a horse called Black Veldom, a six-to-one shot, and won. For a secret like that they would have done a good many sluggings, but the next day Goldberger informed them that the offending gambler had got wind of what was coming to him and had skipped the town. There were ups and downs at the business, but there was always a living, inside of a jail, if not out of it. Early in April the city's elections were due, and that meant prosperity for all the powers of wrath. Jörgis, hanging round in dives and gambling houses and brothels, met with the healers 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 Jörgis 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 Jörgis 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 affected a bargain whereby the Italians were to vote half-and-half for a glass of beer apiece, while the balance of the fund went to the conspirators. Not long after this, Jörgis' wearying of the risks and vicissitudes of miscellaneous crime was moved to give up the career for that of a politician. Just at this time there was a tremendous uproar being raised concerning the alliance between the criminals and the police, for the criminal graft was one in which the businessmen had no direct part. It was what is called a sideline carried by the police. The trade-open gambling and debauchery made the city pleasing to trade, but burglaries and hold-ups did not. One night it chanced that while Jack Dwayne 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 Dwayne was slated for sacrifice, and barely got out of town in time. And just at that juncture it happened that Jörgis was introduced to a man named Harper, whom he recognized as the night watchman at Browns, 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 Jörgis. He handled too many green ones in his time, he said. He sat in a dance hall with Jörgis 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 working man, and a good union man as well. It was not until some months afterward that Jörgis understood that the quarrel with the superintendent had been prearranged and that Harper was in reality drawing a salary of twenty dollars a week from the Packers for an inside report of his union's secret proceedings. The yards were seething with agitation just then, said the man, speaking as a unionist. The people of Packingtown had borne about all that they would bear, and it looked as if a strike might begin any week. After this talk the man made inquiries concerning Jörgis 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 Ultraman. 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 sheenee, 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 ten pins in the cellar of an Ashland Avenue Saloon, and he, Scully, would elect him with the sheenee'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 re-election as the other Alderman from the ward. To this the Republicans had ascended 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 Warwoop League, to support the Republican openly. The difficulty would 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 Yurgis was a poor little Tamoshius Kushlaika, who had called himself one, and would go out with a couple of other men in a soapbox and shout himself horse on a street corner Saturday nights. Tamoshius had tried to explain to Yurgis what it was all about, but Yurgis, who was not of an imaginative turn, had never quite gotten 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. Big 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 Yurgis 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 working man. 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 Yurgis might count upon Mike Scully, who had never yet gone back on a friend. Just what could he do, Yurgis 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 might not 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 Sheenee, 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 brewers best beer by the hogshead, and fireworks and speeches, just like the Warwoop League. Surely Yurgis must know hundreds of men who would like that sort of fun, and there would be the regular Republican leaders and workers to help him out, and they would deliver a big enough majority on Election Day. When he had heard all this explanation to the end, Yurgis demanded, but how can I get a job in Packingtown? I'm blacklisted. At which Bush Harper laughed. I'll attend to that, all right, he said. And the other replied, It's a go then. I'm your man. So Yurgis went out to the stockyards again, and was introduced to the political lord of the district, the boss of Chicago's mayor. It was Scully who owned the brickyards, and the dump, and the ice pond, though Yurgis did not know it. It was Scully who was to blame for the unpaid street in which Yurgis' child had been drowned. It was Scully who had put into office the magistrate who had first sent Yurgis to jail. It was Scully who was principal stockholder in the company which had sold in the ramshackle tenement and then robbed him of it. But Yurgis knew none of these things any more than he knew that Scully was but a tool and puppet of the Packers. To him, Scully was a mighty power, the biggest man he had ever met. He was a little dried up Irishman whose hands shook. He had a brief talk with his visitor, watching him with his rat-like eyes and making up his mind about him, and then he gave him a note to Mr. Harmon, one of the head managers of Durham's. The bearer, Yurgis Rudkis, is a particular friend of mine, and I would like you to find him a good place for important reasons. He was once indiscreet, but you will perhaps be so good as to overlook that. Mr. Harmon looked up inquiringly when he read this. What does he mean by indiscreet, he asked. I was blacklisted, sir, said Yurgis. At which the other frowned. Blacklisted, he said. How do you mean? And Yurgis turned red with embarrassment. He had forgotten that a blacklist did not exist. I, that is, I had difficulty in getting a place, he stammered. What was the matter? I got into a quarrel with a foreman, not my own boss, sir, and struck him. I see, said the other, and meditated for a few moments. What do you wish to do, he asked. Anything, sir, said Yurgis, only I had a broken arm this winter, and so I have to be careful. How would it suit you to be a night watchman? That wouldn't do, sir. I have to be among the men at night. I see. Politics. Well, would it suit you to trim hogs? Yes, sir, said Yurgis. And Mr. Harmon called the timekeeper and said, Take this fellow to Pat Murphy and tell him to find room for him somehow. And so Yurgis marched into the hog-killing room, a place where, in the days gone by, he had come begging for a job. Now he walked gently and smiled to himself, seeing the frown that came to the boss's face as the timekeeper said. Mr. Harmon says to put this man on, it would overcrowd his department and spoil the record he was trying to make. But he said, not a word, except, all right. And so Yurgis became a working man once more, and straight away 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 working man himself, and would represent the working man. Why did they want to vote for a millionaire sheenie, 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 Yurgis 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 haul, with some of the brewers money. And every night Yurgis 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 Spearshanks, presidential candidate, wrote out in an automobile to discuss the sacred privileges of American citizenship, and protection and prosperity for the American working man. His inspiring address was quoted to the extent of half a column in all the morning newspapers, which also said that it could be stated upon excellent authority that the unexpected popularity developed by Doyle, the Republican candidate for Alderman, was giving great anxiety to Mr. Scully, the chairman of the Democratic City Committee. The chairman was still more worried when the monster torchlight procession came off, with the members of the Doyle Republican Association all in red capes and hats, and free beer for every worker 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, Yorgis 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 brewers' money, administering it with naive and touching fidelity. Toward the end, however, he learned that he was regarded with hatred by the rest of the boys, because he compelled them either to make a poorer showing than he or to do without their share of the pie. After that, Yorgis did his best to please them, and to make up for the time he had lost before he discovered the extra bung holes of the campaign barrel. He pleased Mike Scully also. On election morning he was out at four o'clock, getting out the vote. He had a two-horse carriage to ride in, and he went from house to house for his friends and escorted them in triumph to the polls. He voted half a dozen times himself, and voted some of his friends as often. He brought bunch after bunch of the newest foreigners, Lithuanians, Poles, Bohenians, and Slobaks, and when he had put them through the mill he turned them over to another man to take to the next holding place. When Yorgis 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 valance all went for actual votes, and on a day of democratic landslides they elected Scotty Doyle, the ex-ten-pinsetter by nearly a thousand plurality, and beginning at five o'clock in the afternoon and then they get three the next morning Yorgis treated himself to a most unholy and horrible jag. Nearly everyone else in Packingtown did the same, however, for there was universal exaltation over this triumph of popular government, this crushing defeat of an arrogant plutocrat by the power of the common people.