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?”

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.”

They were close to a lamp post, 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?”

“I’ve been in the hospital.”