One of the bums started to march and the rest followed. He seemed to know just what to do and where to go. A short walk across the tracks brought us up in front of a big barnlike house with a hotel sign and broad steps in front. The bum led us straight up the steps and into a barroom, where he stood up against the wall opposite the bar. We did the same. A stout, grayish, red-faced man with a very positive air was busy serving drinks. He paused and spoke to one of our captors:

“What have you there, Mike?”

“Eight bums, judge.”

He served another round of drinks and turned to us again.

“Are you guilty or not guilty?”

The big bum that led us in immediately answered: “We’re all guilty, judge, an’ hungry.”