ound and investigated with a little more care the causes that led
them to drink, and this was the more fruitful of the two
investigations. I wondered why men would not even stick at a job when
I got them work. A careful investigation led me to the belief that,
when a man gets out of a job once, he loses just a little of the
routine, the continuity, the habit of work, and it is just a little
harder to apply himself when he begins again. If a man loses a job two
or three times in a year, it is just as many times harder to go on
with a regular job when it comes. Lack of regular employment is the
cause not only of the physical disintegration, but of the moral
disintegration also; so, these men who had been out of employment so
often, actually could not stick at a job when they got it. They were
disorganized. A few of them had the stamina to overcome this
disorganization. I found the same to be true in morals. When a man
made his first break, it was easier to make the second, and it was as
easy for him to lose a good habit as to acquire a bad one.

The same thing holds good in what we call charity. A terrific
soul-struggle goes on in every man and woman before the hand is put
out for the first time. Self-respect is a tremendous asset, and
people hold on to it as to their very souls; but when a hand is held
out once and the community puts alms therein, the fabric of
self-respect begins to totter, and the whole process of disintegration
begins.

CHAPTER VIII

A BUNK-HOUSE AND SOME BUNK-HOUSE MEN

I made my headquarters, while a lodging-house missionary, in the
Mulberry Street bunk-house. It was only a block from Chatham Square,
and central. The first thing I did was to clean it. I proceeded with
soap and water to scrub it out, dressed in a pair of overalls. While
performing this operation, a tall gaunt figure lurched into the room
with his hands in his pockets--a slit for a mouth, shaggy eyebrows,
rather small eyes. He looked at me for a moment as if in astonishment,
and then he said:

"Hello, bub, what's de game?"

"I'm a missionary," I answered.

"Ye are, eh?"

"Yes. When I finish cleaning the floor, I am going to attempt to clean
up some other things around here."

"Me too, hey?"

"Yes; don't you think you need it?"

He laughed a hoarse, gutteral laugh, and said:

"Don't get bughouse, boss. Ye'd wind up just where ye begun--on the
floor."

This man, who was known in the bunk-house as "Gar," was kn