furious
and cursing, a big Polish woman, the owner of the saloon, rushed in
screaming, and received a poke in the stomach that doubled her up on
the floor. Meantime Jurgis, who was of a practical temper, was helping
himself at the bar; and the first policeman, who had laid out his man,
joined him, handing out several more bottles, and filling his pockets
besides, and then, as he started to leave, cleaning off all the balance
with a sweep of his club. The din of the glass crashing to the floor
brought the fat Polish woman to her feet again, but another policeman
came up behind her and put his knee into her back and his hands over her
eyes--and then called to his companion, who went back and broke open
the cash drawer and filled his pockets with the contents. Then the three
went outside, and the man who was holding the woman gave her a shove and
dashed out himself. The gang having already got the carcass on to the
truck, the party set out at a trot, followed by screams and curses,
and a shower of bricks and stones from unseen enemies. These bricks and
stones would figure in the accounts of the "riot" which would be sent
out to a few thousand newspapers within an hour or two; but the episode
of the cash drawer would never be mentioned again, save only in the
heartbreaking legends of Packingtown.

It was late in the afternoon when they got back, and they dressed out
the remainder of the steer, and a couple of others that had been killed,
and then knocked off for the day. Jurgis went downtown to supper, with
three friends who had been on the other trucks, and they exchanged
reminiscences on the way. Afterward they drifted into a roulette parlor,
and Jurgis, who was never lucky at gambling, dropped about fifteen
dollars. To console himself he had to drink a good deal, and he went
back to Packingtown about two o'clock in the morning, very much the
worse for his excursion, and, it must be confessed, entirely deserving
the calamity that was in store for him.

As he was going to the place where he slept, he met a painted-cheeked
woman in a greasy "kimono," and she put her arm about his waist to
steady him; they turned into a dark room they were passing--but scarcely
had they taken two steps before suddenly a door swung open, and a man
entered, carrying a lantern. "Who's there?" he called sharply. And
Jurgis started to mutter some reply; but at the same instant the man
raised his light, which flashed in his face, so that it was