They had only one thing in abundance--namely,
air; for the lower frame of the window having long lacked glass in it,
a couple of pages of the _Examiner_, fixed in it, flapped dismally
every time the wind came blowing down 216th Street. They had not lived there always. In the palmy days of work, before the
firm smashed, they had aspired to what might properly be called
diggings; and, moreover, had "digged" in respectable surroundings. It
was the usual thing--the thing that is happening always, every hour of
the day, in all the great cities of the world--starvation, through
lack of employment. Civilization still shuts its eyes to everyday
poverty. Who knows? Who cares? Who is responsible? No one. Is there a
remedy? Ah! that is a question that requires time. Time--always time! Time for the politician, and time for the starving ones! Half the
world thinks, whilst half the world dies; and the cause of it all is
time--too much, a damned sight too much--time! But Kelson and Curtis could not grumble. They had their room--bare,
dirty and well-ventilated--for next to nothing. Fifty cents a week! And they could furnish it as they pleased. Fancy that! What a
privilege! They were glad of it all the same--glad of it in preference
to the streets; and probably, when asleep, they thought of it as home. But on leaving Hamar's, that evening, they had fully resolved to
convert their little room into a cemetery. What else could they do? What can any one do who has no money and no prospect of getting any,
and who has reached the pitch of acute hunger? He has passed the stage
of wanting work, because, if work were offered to him, he would not be
in a fit state to do it--he would be too weak. Too weak to work! What
a phenomenon! Yes--to all those who have never missed a day's meals. To others--no! They can understand--and understand only too well--the
really poor who have long ceased to eat, cannot work--they are beyond
it. When Curtis and Kelson staggered down the stairs of the house where
Hamar lodged, they realized that unless something turned up pretty
soon, it would be too late--they would be past the stage of caring for
anything--too feeble to do anything but lie on the ground and pray
that death would come quickly. "Home?" Kelson inquired, as they emerged on to the pavement. "Hell!" Curtis answered, and Kelson, taking it for granted that the
terms were synonymous, at once headed for their garret. "Don't walk so confoundedly fast," Curtis gasped; "this pain in my
side is like a hundred stitches rolled in one. It fairly doubles me
up. Ease down a bit, for heaven's sake!" Kelson obeyed, and presently came to a dead halt before a
dingy-looking restaurant. Both men leaned against the window and gazed
wolfishly at the food. A warm, foetid rush of air from under the
grating at their feet tickled their nostrils and mocked their hunger
with a mockery past endurance. Arranged on the window-sill was a
miscellaneous collection of very smeary plates and dishes, containing
an even more miscellaneous collection of food. A half-consumed ham,
with more than a mere suspicion of dirt on its yellowish-white fat;
some concoction in a bowl that might have been brawn made from some
peculiarly liverish pig, or--from one of the many homeless mongrels
that roam the streets at night; a pile of noxious-looking mussels,
side by side with a glistening mass of particularly yellow whelks; a
round of what purported to be beef--very fat and very underdone; some
black shiny sausages, and a score or so of luridly red polonies. A
similar assortment was to be seen on the counter behind which lolled
an anæmic girl, in a dirty cotton blouse, and a much soiled sky-blue
skirt. A month ago such an exhibition would have been an offence in the
fastidious eyes of Messrs. Kelson and Curtis; but now it was
otherwise. Their stomachs would have refused nothing short of garbage. "Matt!" Curtis's hands had left off clutching at his belt and were now
hanging by his side; the fingers twitching to and fro in a manner that
fascinated Kelson. "Matt! Is there any logic in our starving?" "None, excepting that we haven't a cent between us!" Kelson rejoined. "I know that," Curtis went on slowly, "but--I mean--why should we
starve when all this grub is within two inches of us! It's
unreasonable--it's intolerable." "Doesn't the smell of it satisfy you?" Kelson replied, attempting to
force a smile, and failing dismally. "D--n the smell!" Curtis cried. "It's the ham I want. I'd give my soul
for a good munch at it. And just look at that tea, too! Don't you see
it steaming over there? What wouldn't I give for just one cup! Ten
minutes more and it may be too late. The pain will come on again--and
it will be very doubtful if I shall ever get home. I'm close on the
stage when one begins to digest one's own stomach. Curse it! I won't
starve any longer! Matt! she's in there all by herself!" "So I've been thinking," Kelson murmured, glancing uneasily up and
down the street. "Still she's a girl, Ed!" "That's just it!" Curtis whispered; "it is because she is a girl. If
she were a man, in our present condition we shouldn't stand a chance. Come! It's this or dying in the gutters. It's our one and only chance. Let's go in--have a feed--take what we can and make a bolt for it. If
she tries to stop us we can settle her right enough." "Without being too rough! There's no need to be too rough with her,
Ed." "I shouldn't stick at much!" Curtis answered. "Occasions like these
don't admit of chivalry. Come along! It's the ham I'm after." Curtis shuffled forward as he spoke, and the next moment Kelson and he
were standing in front of the counter. The girl eyed Curtis very dubiously and it is more than likely would
have refused to serve him had he been alone. But her expression
changed on looking at Kelson. Kelson was one of those individuals who
seldom fail to meet with the approval of women--there was a something
in him they liked. Probably neither he nor they could have defined
that something; but there it was, and it came in extremely handy now. "What do you want?" she inquired shortly. "Ham! Give me some of that ham over there, miss, and a cup of tea! Bread too!" Curtis cried eagerly. "Do you know what it is to have a
twist on, miss? I have one on now--so please give us a full
twenty-five cents' worth." Kelson said nothing, but his eyes glistened, and the girl wondered as
she passed him the polonies. Both men ate as they had never eaten before, and as they would not have
eaten now had they paid any attention to the advice of hunger experts. However, they survived, and when they could eat no more they leaned
back in their chairs to enjoy the sensation of returning--albeit,
slowly returning--strength. Curtis was the first to make a move. "Matt," he murmured, "we've about
sat our sit. We'd better be off. You go and say a few nice words to
the girl and make pretence of paying. I'll secure the ham--there's
still a good bit left--and anything else I can grab.