"Aren't you going to shake hands with me? Well, you're a dandy!That's all right, shake hands."。, Hurstwood swallowed something that rose to his throat. Hungerand weakness had made a coward of him.
Standing tells. Hurstwood became more weary waiting. He thoughthe should drop soon and shifted restlessly from one foot to theother. At last his turn came. The man ahead had been paid forand gone to the blessed line of success. He was now first, andalready the captain was talking for him.。,
STIRRING TROUBLED WATERS。, At both of these two charities, during the severe winter whichwas now on, Hurstwood was a frequent visitor. On one occasion itwas peculiarly cold, and finding no comfort in begging about thestreets, he waited until noon before seeking this free offeringto the poor. Already, at eleven o'clock of this morning, severalsuch as he had shambled forward out of Sixth Avenue, their thinclothes flapping and fluttering in the wind. They leaned againstthe iron railing which protects the walls of the Ninth RegimentArmory, which fronts upon that section of Fifteenth Street,having come early in order to be first in. Having an hour towait, they at first lingered at a respectful distance; but otherscoming up, they moved closer in order to protect their right ofprecedence. To this collection Hurstwood came up from the westout of Seventh Avenue and stopped close to the door, nearer thanall the others. Those who had been waiting before him, butfarther away, now drew near, and by a certain stolidity ofdemeanour, no words being spoken, indicated that they were first.
。, When he neared Broadway, he noticed the captain's gathering ofwanderers, but thinking it to be the result of a street preacheror some patent medicine fakir, was about to pass on. However, incrossing the street toward Madison Square Park, he noticed theline of men whose beds were already secured, stretching out fromthe main body of the crowd. In the glare of the neighbouringelectric light he recognised a type of his own kind--the figureswhom he saw about the streets and in the lodging-houses, driftingin mind and body like himself. He wondered what it could be andturned back.
。, At eleven o'clock of another evening, perhaps two weeks later, hewas at the midnight offering of a loaf--waiting patiently. Ithad been an unfortunate day with him, but now he took his fatewith a touch of philosophy. If he could secure no supper, or washungry late in the evening, here was a place he could come. Afew minutes before twelve, a great box of bread was pushed out,and exactly on the hour a portly, round-faced German tookposition by it, calling "Ready." The whole line at once movedforward each taking his loaf in turn and going his separate way.On this occasion, the ex-manager ate his as he went plodding thedark streets in silence to his bed.
"Is that so?" said the hotel man. "How did you come to get outof that?"。, She was opening her purse, and now pulled out all the bills init--a five and two twos.
Accordingly, he headed for the Casino one afternoon, passing itseveral times in an effort to locate the stage entrance. Then hesat in Bryant Park, a block away, waiting. "She can't refuse tohelp me a little," he kept saying to himself.。,
"That's your field," he added.。, Carrie put out her hand, smiling, if for nothing more than theman's exuberant good-nature. Though older, he was but slightlychanged. The same fine clothes, the same stocky body, the samerosy countenance.
。, For nearly a quarter of a century, in another section of thecity, Fleischmann, the baker, had given a loaf of bread to anyone who would come for it to the side door of his restaurant atthe corner of Broadway and Tenth Street, at midnight. Everynight during twenty years about three hundred men had formed inline and at the appointed time marched past the doorway, pickedtheir loaf from a great box placed just outside, and vanishedagain into the night. From the beginning to the present timethere had been little change in the character or number of thesemen. There were two or three figures that had grown familiar tothose who had seen this little procession pass year after year.Two of them had missed scarcely a night in fifteen years. Therewere about forty, more or less, regular callers. The remainderof the line was formed of strangers. In times of panic andunusual hardships there were seldom more than three hundred. Intimes of prosperity, when little is heard of the unemployed,there were seldom less. The same number, winter and summer, instorm or calm, in good times and bad, held this melancholymidnight rendezvous at Fleischmann's bread box.
At eleven o'clock of another evening, perhaps two weeks later, hewas at the midnight offering of a loaf--waiting patiently. Ithad been an unfortunate day with him, but now he took his fatewith a touch of philosophy. If he could secure no supper, or washungry late in the evening, here was a place he could come. Afew minutes before twelve, a great box of bread was pushed out,and exactly on the hour a portly, round-faced German tookposition by it, calling "Ready." The whole line at once movedforward each taking his loaf in turn and going his separate way.On this occasion, the ex-manager ate his as he went plodding thedark streets in silence to his bed.。, Carrie looked straight into his face, wholly aroused.