“I don’t know where,” she answered. “Go on the street, if there is no other place⁠—only go! And stay all night!”

In the end she and Marija pushed him out of the door and shut it behind him. It was just about sundown, and it was turning cold⁠—the rain had changed to snow, and the slush was freezing. Jurgis shivered in his thin clothing, and put his hands into his pockets and started away. He had not eaten since morning, and he felt weak and ill; with a sudden throb of hope he recollected he was only a few blocks from the saloon where he had been wont to eat his dinner. They might have mercy on him there, or he might meet a friend. He set out for the place as fast as he could walk.

“Hello, Jack,” said the saloon-keeper, when he entered⁠—they call all foreigners and unskilled men “Jack” in Packingtown. “Where’ve you been?”