Jurgis sat gazing about the room for an hour or two; he was in hopes that someone of the family would come, but in this he was disappointed. Finally, he was led before the bar, and a lawyer for the company appeared against him. Connor was under the doctor’s care, the lawyer explained briefly, and if his Honor would hold the prisoner for a week⁠—“Three hundred dollars,” said his Honor, promptly.

Jurgis was staring from the judge to the lawyer in perplexity. “Have you anyone to go on your bond?” demanded the judge, and then a clerk who stood at Jurgis’s 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.