round he had hurt his arm again, and so could not work, but
had to be attended by the physician. Also his head and his eye had to
be tied up--and so he was a pretty-looking object when, the second
day after his arrival, he went out into the exercise court and
encountered--Jack Duane!

The young fellow was so glad to see Jurgis that he almost hugged him.
"By God, if it isn't 'the Stinker'!" he cried. "And what is it--have you
been through a sausage machine?"

"No," said Jurgis, "but I've been in a railroad wreck and a fight." And
then, while some of the other prisoners gathered round he told his wild
story; most of them were incredulous, but Duane knew that Jurgis could
never have made up such a yarn as that.

"Hard luck, old man," he said, when they were alone; "but maybe it's
taught you a lesson."

"I've learned some things since I saw you last," said Jurgis mournfully.
Then he explained how he had spent the last summer, "hoboing it," as
the phrase was. "And you?" he asked finally. "Have you been here ever
since?"

"Lord, no!" said the other. "I only came in the day before yesterday.
It's the second time they've sent me up on a trumped-up charge--I've had
hard luck and can't pay them what they want. Why don't you quit Chicago
with me, Jurgis?"

"I've no place to go," said Jurgis, sadly.

"Neither have I," replied the other, laughing lightly. "But we'll wait
till we get out and see."

In the Bridewell Jurgis met few who had been there the last time, but
he met scores of others, old and young, of exactly the same sort. It
was like breakers upon a beach; there was new water, but the wave looked
just the same. He strolled about and talked with them, and the biggest
of them told tales of their prowess, while those who were weaker, or
younger and inexperienced, gathered round and listened in admiring
silence. The last time he was there, Jurgis had thought of little but
his family; but now he was free to listen to these men, and to realize
that he was one of them--that their point of view was his point of view,
and that the way they kept themselves alive in the world was the way he
meant to do it in the future.

And so, when he was turned out of prison again, without a penny in his
pocket, he went straight to Jack Duane. He went full of humility and
gratitude; for Duane was a gentleman, and a man with a profession--and
it was remarkable that he should be willing to throw in his lot with a
humble workingman, one wh