ceman crouched over him, clutching his stick, waiting for him to
try to rise again; and meantime the barkeeper got up, and put his hand
to his head. "Christ!" he said, "I thought I was done for that time. Did
he cut me?"

"Don't see anything, Jake," said the policeman. "What's the matter with
him?"

"Just crazy drunk," said the other. "A lame duck, too--but he 'most got
me under the bar. Youse had better call the wagon, Billy."

"No," said the officer. "He's got no more fight in him, I guess--and
he's only got a block to go." He twisted his hand in Jurgis's collar and
jerked at him. "Git up here, you!" he commanded.

But Jurgis did not move, and the bartender went behind the bar, and
after stowing the hundred-dollar bill away in a safe hiding place, came
and poured a glass of water over Jurgis. Then, as the latter began to
moan feebly, the policeman got him to his feet and dragged him out of
the place. The station house was just around the corner, and so in a few
minutes Jurgis was in a cell.

He spent half the night lying unconscious, and the balance moaning in
torment, with a blinding headache and a racking thirst. Now and then
he cried aloud for a drink of water, but there was no one to hear him.
There were others in that same station house with split heads and
a fever; there were hundreds of them in the great city, and tens of
thousands of them in the great land, and there was no one to hear any of
them.

In the morning Jurgis was given a cup of water and a piece of bread, and
then hustled into a patrol wagon and driven to the nearest police court.
He sat in the pen with a score of others until his turn came.

The bartender--who proved to be a well-known bruiser--was called to the
stand. He took the oath and told his story. The prisoner had come into
his saloon after midnight, fighting drunk, and had ordered a glass
of beer and tendered a dollar bill in payment. He had been given
ninety-five cents' change, and had demanded ninety-nine dollars more,
and before the plaintiff could even answer had hurled the glass at him
and then attacked him with a bottle of bitters, and nearly wrecked the
place.

Then the prisoner was sworn--a forlorn object, haggard and unshorn, with
an arm done up in a filthy bandage, a cheek and head cut, and bloody,
and one eye purplish black and entirely closed. "What have you to say
for yourself?" queried the magistrate.

"Your Honor," said Jurgis, "I went into his place and asked th