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.
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.
“Hospital!” exclaimed the young fellow, still smiling sweetly, “thass too bad! Same’s my Aunt Polly—hic—my Aunt Polly’s in the hospital, too—ole auntie’s been havin’ twins! Whuzzamatter whiz you ?”
“I’ve got a broken arm—” Jurgis began.
“So,” said the other, sympathetically. “That ain’t so bad—you get over that. I wish somebody’s break my arm, ole chappie—damfi don’t! Then they’s treat me better—hic—hole me up, ole sport! Whuzzit you wamme do?”
“I’m hungry, sir,” said Jurgis.
“Hungry! Why don’t you hassome supper?”
“I’ve got no money, sir.”
“No money! Ho, ho—less be chums, ole boy—jess like me! No money, either—a’most busted! Why don’t you go home, then, same’s me?”
“I haven’t any home,” said Jurgis.
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.