as many more occupied chairs about
the stove and along the wall. Half a dozen were reading newspapers,
tattered and greasy through constant handling, but the rest of the
company stared idly at each other, or at nothing, talking little, but
smoking almost to a man.

An artist could have found a study for almost every emotion in the
figures and faces of that dimly-lighted room. Excitement in the
expression of the fair-haired lad following with his finger the
closely-printed "ads.," and quickly noting the promising ones on a scrap
of paper by his side.--Anxiety on the face of the handsome fellow with
the pointed beard, turning the pages of the long-coveted newspaper to
find his particular "want column."--Indifference in the attitude of the
strong but unhealthy looking man with hands in pockets, his outstretched
legs forming a V, as he lolled back in his chair, pipe in mouth, his
eyes on vacancy.--Despair in the huddled bit of humanity at the head of
the table, with head on arms--his hair showing very white against the
black coat-sleeve.

I walked into the room and took a seat at the long table, near the front
windows. My entrance attracted no attention, either owing to the smoke
in the room or the indifference of its occupants. But I viewed the
neglect with complacency, whatever the cause.

"What are they waiting for--why don't they go to bed?" I asked in a low
tone of my neighbour at the table--a rough but shrewd looking fellow.

"Who's _they_?" he replied surlily--"What's yer waiting for yourself?"

"Nothing," I answered--"not sleepy, that's all."

"Well, that's what the rest's waiting for--for nothing--not sleepy
nor--nor anything." He gave a sharp glance at my face, and then,
appearing to see a puzzled look on it, added, "Say, d'yer mean ter tell
me yer don't know what's bitin' this crowd?"

"No," I replied, and my voice must have demonstrated my ignorance, for
he exclaimed:

"Then yer must be a jay, sure. Why, they're waiting for the morning
papers, of course. Do yer think yer'll ever get a job if yer wait till
the noospapers gets on the stands? Well, yer will--I guess not! Where in
hell did yer drift from, anyway?"

"Hist--there he comes," exclaimed a man opposite.

I glanced towards the door, and saw a man standing with his hand on the
door-knob. His tall figure was so slight as to be almost emaciated, and
his clean though threadbare clothing hung loosely, as if it had once
fitted a far stouter frame. H