filling of molars; crown and bridge work; or the fitting of artificial
teeth, would be done by Painless Perkins in a "Particularly Pleasing
Way," and that he was "Predisposed to Popular Prices."

With no books to read, and no advertisements to answer, and no friend
with whom to gossip, the day stretched before me a weary, dreary waste,
when I happened to think of the church across the way, something of the
history of which I had heard from Painless Perkins. And so I joined the
crowd of strangers who were pouring into the doors of "All People's" to
the music of a sweet-toned bell.

I was there early, but the auditorium was packed, and I was ushered to a
camp-chair in the aisle. The crowd was not suggestive of fashionable New
York, though there were present many fine-looking, well-groomed men and
women. But nearly everybody was neatly and decently if not well dressed.
Many of the faces looked as sad and lonely as I felt. They appeared to
be strangers--homeless wanderers who had come here to church not so much
for worship as to come in touch with human beings. I was too tired, too
discouraged even to hear what the earnest-voiced preacher said. The two
girls sitting directly in front of me listened intently, as they passed
a little bag of peppermints back and forth, and I envied them the
friendship which that furtive bag of peppermints betokened. If I had had
any prospect of getting a job the following week, I too could have
listened to the preacher. As it was, my ears were attuned only to the
terrifying refrain which had haunted me all week: "WORK OR STARVE, WORK
OR STARVE!" After a while I tried to rouse myself and to take in the
sermon which was holding the great congregation breathless. It was about
the Good Samaritan. I heard a few sentences. Then the preacher's voice
was lost once more in that insistent refrain.

Dinner at noon and supper in the evening in the dark house across the
street, and still my friend was absent. The scandal-mongers were as busy
as ever, for Painless Perkins was away.

Monday morning I made my way eastward on foot, across Union Square. The
snow had been falling all night and was still sifting down in big,
flowery flakes. The trees under their soft, feathery burdens looked like
those that grow only in a child's picture-book. The slat-benches were
covered with soft white blankets that were as yet undisturbed, for the
habitual bench tramp was not abroad so early in the morning.

I was up ext