for Jurgis--in the "Levee"
district, where he was known; but he went there, all the same, for he
was desperate, and beginning to think of even the Bridewell as a place
of refuge. So far the weather had been fair, and he had slept out every
night in a vacant lot; but now there fell suddenly a shadow of the
advancing winter, a chill wind from the north and a driving storm of
rain. That day Jurgis bought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, and
at night he spent his last two pennies in a "stale-beer dive." This was
a place kept by a Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs of
beer that lay in barrels set outside of the saloons; and after he had
doctored it with chemicals to make it "fizz," he sold it for two cents a
can, the purchase of a can including the privilege of sleeping the night
through upon the floor, with a mass of degraded outcasts, men and women.

All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, because he
was always contrasting them with the opportunities he had lost. For
instance, just now it was election time again--within five or six weeks
the voters of the country would select a President; and he heard the
wretches with whom he associated discussing it, and saw the streets
of the city decorated with placards and banners--and what words could
describe the pangs of grief and despair that shot through him?

For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He had begged
all day, for his very life, and found not a soul to heed him, until
toward evening he saw an old lady getting off a streetcar and helped
her down with her umbrellas and bundles and then told her his "hard-luck
story," and after answering all her suspicious questions satisfactorily,
was taken to a restaurant and saw a quarter paid down for a meal. And so
he had soup and bread, and boiled beef and potatoes and beans, and pie
and coffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight as a football. And
then, through the rain and the darkness, far down the street he saw red
lights flaring and heard the thumping of a bass drum; and his heart gave
a leap, and he made for the place on the run--knowing without the asking
that it meant a political meeting.

The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspapers termed
"apathy." For some reason the people refused to get excited over the
struggle, and it was almost impossible to get them to come to meetings,
or to make any noise when they did come. Those which had been held