Chapter 27

by Upton Sinclair

　　Poor Jurgis was now an outcast and a tramp once more. He wascrippled--he was as literally crippled as any wild animal whichhas lost its claws, or been torn out of its shell. He had beenshorn, at one cut, of all those mysterious weapons whereby he hadbeen able to make a living easily and to escape the consequencesof his actions. He could no longer command a job when he wantedit; he could no longer steal with impunity--he must take hischances with the common herd. Nay worse, he dared not minglewith the herd--he must hide himself, for he was one marked outfor destruction. His old companions would betray him, for thesake of the influence they would gain thereby; and he would bemade to suffer, not merely for the offense he had committed,but for others which would be laid at his door, just as had beendone for some poor devil on the occasion of that assault upon the"country customer" by him and Duane.And also he labored under another handicap now. He had acquirednew standards of living, which were not easily to be altered.When he had been out of work before, he had been content if hecould sleep in a doorway or under a truck out of the rain, and ifhe could get fifteen cents a day for saloon lunches. But now hedesired all sorts of other things, and suffered because he had todo without them. He must have a drink now and then, a drink forits own sake, and apart from the food that came with it. Thecraving for it was strong enough to master every otherconsideration--he would have it, though it were his last nickeland he had to starve the balance of the day in consequence.Jurgis became once more a besieger of factory gates. But neversince he had been in Chicago had he stood less chance of gettinga job than just then. For one thing, there was the economiccrisis, the million or two of men who had been out of work in thespring and summer, and were not yet all back, by any means. Andthen there was the strike, with seventy thousand men and womenall over the country idle for a couple of months--twenty thousandin Chicago, and many of them now seeking work throughout thecity. It did not remedy matters that a few days later the strikewas given up and about half the strikers went back to work;for every one taken on, there was a "scab" who gave up and fled.The ten or fifteen thousand "green" Negroes, foreigners, andcriminals were now being turned loose to shift for themselves.Everywhere Jurgis went he kept meeting them, and he was in anagony of fear lest some one of them should know that he was"wanted." He would have left Chicago, only by the time he hadrealized his danger he was almost penniless; and it would bebetter to go to jail than to be caught out in the country in thewinter time.At the end of about ten days Jurgis had only a few pennies left;and he had not yet found a job--not even a day's work atanything, not a chance to carry a satchel. Once again, as whenhe had come out of the hospital, he was bound hand and foot, andfacing the grisly phantom of starvation. Raw, naked terrorpossessed him, a maddening passion that would never leave him,and that wore him down more quickly than the actual want of food.He was going to die of hunger! The fiend reached out its scalyarms for him--it touched him, its breath came into his face; andhe would cry out for the awfulness of it, he would wake up in thenight, shuddering, and bathed in perspiration, and start up andflee. He would walk, begging for work, until he was exhausted;he could not remain still--he would wander on, gaunt and haggard,gazing about him with restless eyes. Everywhere he went, fromone end of the vast city to the other, there were hundreds ofothers like him; everywhere was the sight of plenty and themerciless hand of authority waving them away. There is one kindof prison where the man is behind bars, and everything that hedesires is outside; and there is another kind where the thingsare behind the bars, and the man is outside.When he was down to his last quarter, Jurgis learned that beforethe bakeshops closed at night they sold out what was left at halfprice, and after that he would go and get two loaves of stalebread for a nickel, and break them up and stuff his pockets withthem, munching a bit from time to time. He would not spend apenny save for this; and, after two or three days more, he evenbecame sparing of the bread, and would stop and peer into the ashbarrels as he walked along the streets, and now and then rake outa bit of something, shake it free from dust, and count himselfjust so many minutes further from the end.So for several days he had been going about, ravenous all thetime, and growing weaker and weaker, and then one morning he hada hideous experience, that almost broke his heart. He waspassing down a street lined with warehouses, and a boss offeredhim a job, and then, after he had started to work, turned him offbecause he was not strong enough. And he stood by and sawanother man put into his place, and then picked up his coat, andwalked off, doing all that he could to keep from breaking downand crying like a baby. He was lost! He was doomed! There wasno hope for him! But then, with a sudden rush, his fear gaveplace to rage. He fell to cursing. He would come back thereafter dark, and he would show that scoundrel whether he was goodfor anything or not!He was still muttering this when suddenly, at the corner, he cameupon a green-grocery, with a tray full of cabbages in front ofit. Jurgis, after one swift glance about him, stooped and seizedthe biggest of them, and darted round the corner with it. Therewas a hue and cry, and a score of men and boys started in chaseof him; but he came to an alley, and then to another branchingoff from it and leading him into another street, where he fellinto a walk, and slipped his cabbage under his coat and went offunsuspected in the crowd. When he had gotten a safe distanceaway he sat down and devoured half the cabbage raw, stowing thebalance away in his pockets till the next day.Just about this time one of the Chicago newspapers, which mademuch of the "common people," opened a "free-soup kitchen" for thebenefit of the unemployed. Some people said that they did thisfor the sake of the advertising it gave them, and some otherssaid that their motive was a fear lest all their readers shouldbe starved off; but whatever the reason, the soup was thick andhot, and there was a bowl for every man, all night long. WhenJurgis heard of this, from a fellow "hobo," he vowed that hewould have half a dozen bowls before morning; but, as it proved,he was lucky to get one, for there was a line of men two blockslong before the stand, and there was just as long a line when theplace was finally closed up.This depot was within the danger line 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 theBridewell as a place of refuge. So far the weather had beenfair, and he had slept out every night in a vacant lot; but nowthere fell suddenly a shadow of the advancing winter, a chillwind from the north and a driving storm of rain. That day Jurgisbought two drinks for the sake of the shelter, and at night hespent his last two pennies in a "stale-beer dive." This was aplace kept by a Negro, who went out and drew off the old dregs ofbeer that lay in barrels set outside of the saloons; and after hehad doctored it with chemicals to make it "fizz," he sold it fortwo cents a can, the purchase of a can including the privilege ofsleeping the night through upon the floor, with a mass ofdegraded outcasts, men and women.All these horrors afflicted Jurgis all the more cruelly, becausehe was always contrasting them with the opportunities he hadlost. For instance, just now it was election time again--withinfive or six weeks the voters of the country would select aPresident; and he heard the wretches with whom he associateddiscussing it, and saw the streets of the city decorated withplacards and banners--and what words could describe the pangs ofgrief and despair that shot through him?For instance, there was a night during this cold spell. He hadbegged all day, for his very life, and found not a soul to heedhim, until toward evening he saw an old lady getting off astreetcar and helped her down with her umbrellas and bundles andthen told her his "hard-luck story," and after answering all hersuspicious questions satisfactorily, was taken to a restaurantand saw a quarter paid down for a meal. And so he had soup andbread, and boiled beef and potatoes and beans, and pie andcoffee, and came out with his skin stuffed tight as a football.And then, through the rain and the darkness, far down the streethe 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 therun--knowing without the asking that it meant a politicalmeeting.The campaign had so far been characterized by what the newspaperstermed "apathy." For some reason the people refused to getexcited over the struggle, and it was almost impossible to getthem to come to meetings, or to make any noise when they didcome. Those which had been held in Chicago so far had provenmost dismal failures, and tonight, the speaker being no less apersonage than a candidate for the vice-presidency of the nation,the political managers had been trembling with anxiety. But amerciful providence had sent this storm of cold rain--and now allit was necessary to do was to set off a few fireworks, and thumpawhile on a drum, and all the homeless wretches from a milearound would pour in and fill the hall! And then on the morrowthe newspapers would have a chance to report the tremendousovation, and to add that it had been no "silk-stocking" audience,either, proving clearly that the high tariff sentiments of thedistinguished candidate were pleasing to the wage-earners of thenation.So Jurgis found himself in a large hall, elaborately decoratedwith flags and bunting; and after the chairman had made hislittle speech, and the orator of the evening rose up, amid anuproar from the band--only fancy the emotions of Jurgis uponmaking the discovery that the personage was none other than thefamous and eloquent Senator Spareshanks, who had addressed the"Doyle Republican Association" at the stockyards, and helped toelect Mike Scully's tenpin setter to the Chicago Board ofAldermen!In truth, the sight of the senator almost brought the tears intoJurgis's eyes. What agony it was to him to look back upon thosegolden hours, when he, too, had a place beneath the shadow of theplum tree! When he, too, had been of the elect, through whom thecountry is governed--when he had had a bung in the campaignbarrel for his own! And this was another election in which theRepublicans had all the money; and but for that one hideousaccident he might have had a share of it, instead of being wherehe was!The eloquent senator was explaining the system of protection; aningenious device whereby the workingman permitted themanufacturer to charge him higher prices, in order that he mightreceive higher wages; thus taking his money out of his pocketwith one hand, and putting a part of it back with the other.To the senator this unique arrangement had somehow become identifiedwith the higher verities of the universe. It was because of itthat Columbia was the gem of the ocean; and all her futuretriumphs, her power and good repute among the nations, dependedupon the zeal and fidelity with which each citizen held up thehands of those who were toiling to maintain it. The name of thisheroic company was "the Grand Old Party"--And here the band began to play, and Jurgis sat up with a violentstart. Singular as it may seem, Jurgis was making a desperateeffort to understand what the senator was saying--to comprehendthe extent of American prosperity, the enormous expansion ofAmerican commerce, and the Republic's future in the Pacific andin South America, and wherever else the oppressed were groaning.The reason for it was that he wanted to keep awake. He knew thatif he allowed himself to fall asleep he would begin to snoreloudly; and so he must listen--he must be interested! But he hadeaten such a big dinner, and he was so exhausted, and the hallwas so warm, and his seat was so comfortable! The senator'sgaunt form began to grow dim and hazy, to tower before him anddance about, with figures of exports and imports. Once hisneighbor gave him a savage poke in the ribs, and he sat up with astart and tried to look innocent; but then he was at it again,and men began to stare at him with annoyance, and to call out invexation. Finally one of them called a policeman, who came andgrabbed Jurgis by the collar, and jerked him to his feet,bewildered and terrified. Some of the audience turned to see thecommotion, and Senator Spareshanks faltered in his speech; but avoice shouted cheerily: "We're just firing a bum! Go ahead, oldsport!" And so the crowd roared, and the senator smiled genially,and went on; and in a few seconds poor Jurgis found himselflanded out in the rain, with a kick and a string of curses.He got into the shelter of a doorway and took stock of himself.He was not hurt, and he was not arrested--more than he had anyright to expect. He swore at himself and his luck for a while,and then turned his thoughts to practical matters. He had nomoney, and no place to sleep; he must begin begging again.He went out, hunching his shoulders together and shivering at thetouch of the icy rain. Coming down the street toward him was alady, well dressed, and protected by an umbrella; and he turnedand walked beside her. "Please, ma'am," he began, "could youlend me the price of a night's lodging? I'm a poor working-man--"Then, suddenly, he stopped short. By the light of a street lamphe had caught sight of the lady's face. He knew her.It was Alena Jasaityte, who had been the belle of his weddingfeast! Alena Jasaityte, who had looked so beautiful, and dancedwith such a queenly air, with Juozas Raczius, the teamster!Jurgis had only seen her once or twice afterward, for Juozas hadthrown her over for another girl, and Alena had gone away fromPackingtown, no one knew where. And now he met her here!She was as much surprised as he was. "Jurgis Rudkus!" shegasped. "And what in the world is the matter with you?""I--I've had hard luck," he stammered. "I'm out of work, andI've no home and no money. And you, Alena--are you married?""No," she answered, "I'm not married, but I've got a good place."They stood staring at each other for a few moments longer.Finally Alena spoke again. "Jurgis," she said, "I'd help you ifI could, upon my word I would, but it happens that I've come outwithout my purse, and I honestly haven't a penny with me: I cando something better for you, though--I can tell you how to gethelp. I can tell you where Marija is."Jurgis gave a start. "Marija!" he exclaimed."Yes," said Alena; "and she'll help you. She's got a place,and she's doing well; she'll be glad to see you."It was not much more than a year since Jurgis had leftPackingtown, feeling like one escaped from jail; and it had beenfrom Marija and Elzbieta that he was escaping. But now, at themere mention of them, his whole being cried out with joy. Hewanted to see them; he wanted to go home! They would helphim--they would be kind to him. In a flash he had thought overthe situation. He had a good excuse for running away--his griefat the death of his son; and also he had a good excuse for notreturning--the fact that they had left Packingtown. "All right,"he said, "I'll go."So she gave him a number on Clark Street, adding, "There's noneed to give you my address, because Marija knows it." And Jurgisset out, without further ado. He found a large brownstone houseof aristocratic appearance, and rang the basement bell. A youngcolored girl came to the door, opening it about an inch,and gazing at him suspiciously."What do you want?" she demanded."Does Marija Berczynskas live here?" he inquired."I dunno," said the girl. "What you want wid her?""I want to see her," said he; "she's a relative of mine."The girl hesitated a moment. Then she opened the door and said,"Come in." Jurgis came and stood in the hall, and she continued:"I'll go see. What's yo' name?""Tell her it's Jurgis," he answered, and the girl went upstairs.She came back at the end of a minute or two, and replied, "Deyain't no sich person here."Jurgis's heart went down into his boots. "I was told this waswhere she lived!" he cried. But the girl only shook her head."De lady says dey ain't no sich person here," she said.And he stood for a moment, hesitating, helpless with dismay.Then he turned to go to the door. At the same instant, however,there came a knock upon it, and the girl went to open it. Jurgisheard the shuffling of feet, and then heard her give a cry;and the next moment she sprang back, and past him, her eyes shiningwhite with terror, and bounded up the stairway, screaming at thetop of her lungs: "Police! Police! We're pinched!"Jurgis stood for a second, bewildered. Then, seeing blue-coatedforms rushing upon him, he sprang after the Negress. Her crieshad been the signal for a wild uproar above; the house was fullof people, and as he entered the hallway he saw them rushinghither and thither, crying and screaming with alarm. There weremen and women, the latter clad for the most part in wrappers,the former in all stages of dishabille. At one side Jurgis caught aglimpse of a big apartment with plush-covered chairs, and tablescovered with trays and glasses. There were playing cardsscattered all over the floor--one of the tables had been upset,and bottles of wine were rolling about, their contents runningout upon the carpet. There was a young girl who had fainted,and two men who were supporting her; and there were a dozen otherscrowding toward the front door.Suddenly, however, there came a series of resounding blows uponit, causing the crowd to give back. At the same instant a stoutwoman, with painted cheeks and diamonds in her ears, came runningdown the stairs, panting breathlessly: "To the rear! Quick!"She led the way to a back staircase, Jurgis following; in thekitchen she pressed a spring, and a cupboard gave way and opened,disclosing a dark passageway. "Go in!" she cried to the crowd,which now amounted to twenty or thirty, and they began to passthrough. Scarcely had the last one disappeared, however, beforethere were cries from in front, and then the panic-strickenthrong poured out again, exclaiming: "They're there too! We'retrapped!""Upstairs!" cried the woman, and there was another rush of themob, women and men cursing and screaming and fighting to befirst. One flight, two, three--and then there was a ladder tothe roof, with a crowd packed at the foot of it, and one man atthe top, straining and struggling to lift the trap door. It wasnot to be stirred, however, and when the woman shouted up tounhook it, he answered: "It's already unhooked. There's somebodysitting on it!"And a moment later came a voice from downstairs: "You might aswell quit, you people. We mean business, this time."So the crowd subsided; and a few moments later several policemencame up, staring here and there, and leering at their victims.Of the latter the men were for the most part frightened andsheepish-looking. The women took it as a joke, as if they wereused to it--though if they had been pale, one could not havetold, for the paint on their cheeks. One black-eyed young girlperched herself upon the top of the balustrade, and began to kickwith her slippered foot at the helmets of the policemen, untilone of them caught her by the ankle and pulled her down. On thefloor below four or five other girls sat upon trunks in the hall,making fun of the procession which filed by them. They werenoisy and hilarious, and had evidently been drinking; one ofthem, who wore a bright red kimono, shouted and screamed in avoice that drowned out all the other sounds in the hall--andJurgis took a glance at her, and then gave a start, and a cry,"Marija!"She heard him, and glanced around; then she shrank back and halfsprang to her feet in amazement. "Jurgis!" she gasped.For a second or two they stood staring at each other. "How didyou come here?" Marija exclaimed."I came to see you," he answered."When?""Just now.""But how did you know--who told you I was here?""Alena Jasaityte. I met her on the street."Again there was a silence, while they gazed at each other. Therest of the crowd was watching them, and so Marija got up andcame closer to him. "And you?" Jurgis asked. "You live here?""Yes," said Marija, "I live here." Then suddenly came a hail frombelow: "Get your clothes on now, girls, and come along. You'dbest begin, or you'll be sorry--it's raining outside.""Br-r-r!" shivered some one, and the women got up and entered thevarious doors which lined the hallway."Come," said Marija, and took Jurgis into her room, which was atiny place about eight by six, with a cot and a chair and adressing stand and some dresses hanging behind the door. Therewere clothes scattered about on the floor, and hopeless confusioneverywhere--boxes of rouge and bottles of perfume mixed with hatsand soiled dishes on the dresser, and a pair of slippers and aclock and a whisky bottle on a chair.Marija had nothing on but a kimono and a pair of stockings;yet she proceeded to dress before Jurgis, and without even taking thetrouble to close the door. He had by this time divined what sortof a place he was in; and he had seen a great deal of the worldsince he had left home, and was not easy to shock--and yet itgave him a painful start that Marija should do this. They hadalways been decent people at home, and it seemed to him that thememory of old times ought to have ruled her. But then he laughedat himself for a fool. What was he, to be pretending to decency!"How long have you been living here?" he asked."Nearly a year," she answered."Why did you come?""I had to live," she said; "and I couldn't see the childrenstarve."He paused for a moment, watching her. "You were out of work?" heasked, finally."I got sick," she replied. "and after that I had no money. Andthen Stanislovas died--""Stanislovas dead!""Yes," said Marija, "I forgot. You didn't know about it.""How did he die?""Rats killed him," she answered.Jurgis gave a gasp. "Rats killed him!""Yes," said the other; she was bending over, lacing her shoes asshe spoke. "He was working in an oil factory--at least he washired by the men to get their beer. He used to carry cans on along pole; and he'd drink a little out of each can, and one dayhe drank too much, and fell asleep in a corner, and got locked upin the place all night. When they found him the rats had killedhim and eaten him nearly all up."Jurgis sat, frozen with horror. Marija went on lacing up hershoes. There was a long silence.Suddenly a big policeman came to the door. "Hurry up, there," hesaid."As quick as I can," said Marija, and she stood up and beganputting on her corsets with feverish haste."Are the rest of the people alive?" asked Jurgis, finally."Yes," she said."Where are they?""They live not far from here. They're all right now.""They are working?" he inquired."Elzbieta is," said Marija, "when she can. I take care of themmost of the time--I'm making plenty of money now."Jurgis was silent for a moment. "Do they know you live here--howyou live?" he asked."Elzbieta knows," answered Marija. "I couldn't lie to her. Andmaybe the children have found out by this time. It's nothing tobe ashamed of--we can't help it.""And Tamoszius?" he asked. "Does he know?"Marija shrugged her shoulders. "How do I know?" she said."I haven't seen him for over a year. He got blood poisoning andlost one finger, and couldn't play the violin any more; and thenhe went away."Marija was standing in front of the glass fastening her dress.Jurgis sat staring at her. He could hardly believe that she wasthe same woman he had known in the old days; she was so quiet--sohard! It struck fear to his heart to watch her.Then suddenly she gave a glance at him. "You look as if you hadbeen having a rough time of it yourself," she said."I have," he answered. "I haven't a cent in my pockets, andnothing to do.""Where have you been?""All over. I've been hoboing it. Then I went back to theyards--just before the strike." He paused for a moment,hesitating. "I asked for you," he added. "I found you had goneaway, no one knew where. Perhaps you think I did you a dirtytrick. running away as I did, Marija--""No," she answered, "I don't blame you. We never have--any ofus. You did your best--the job was too much for us." She pauseda moment, then added: "We were too ignorant--that was thetrouble. We didn't stand any chance. If I'd known what I knownow we'd have won out.""You'd have come here?" said Jurgis."Yes," she answered; "but that's not what I meant. I meantyou--how differently you would have behaved--about Ona."Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it."When people are starving," the other continued, "and they haveanything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say. I guess yourealize it now when it's too late. Ona could have taken care ofus all, in the beginning." Marija spoke without emotion, as onewho had come to regard things from the business point of view."I--yes, I guess so," Jurgis answered hesitatingly. He did notadd that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman's job,for the satisfaction of knocking down "Phil" Connor a secondtime.The policeman came to the door again just then. "Come on, now,"he said. "Lively!""All right," said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was bigenough to be a drum major's, and full of ostrich feathers.She went out into the hall and Jurgis followed, the policemanremaining to look under the bed and behind the door"What's going to come of this?" Jurgis asked, as they starteddown the steps."The raid, you mean? Oh, nothing--it happens to us every now andthen. The madame's having some sort of time with the police;I don't know what it is, but maybe they'll come to terms beforemorning. Anyhow, they won't do anything to you. They always letthe men off.""Maybe so," he responded, "but not me--I'm afraid I'm in for it.""How do you mean?""I'm wanted by the police," he said, lowering his voice, thoughof course their conversation was in Lithuanian. "They'll send meup for a year or two, I'm afraid.""Hell!" said Marija. "That's too bad. I'll see if I can't getyou off."Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were nowmassed, she sought out the stout personage with the diamondearrings, and had a few whispered words with her. The latterthen approached the police sergeant who was in charge of theraid. "Billy," she said, pointing to Jurgis, "there's a fellowwho came in to see his sister. He'd just got in the door whenyou knocked. You aren't taking hoboes, are you?"The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis. "Sorry," he said,"but the orders are every one but the servants."So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodgingbehind each other like sheep that have smelled a wolf. Therewere old men and young men, college boys and gray-beards oldenough to be their grandfathers; some of them wore eveningdress--there was no one among them save Jurgis who showed anysigns of poverty.When the roundup was completed, the doors were opened and theparty marched out. Three patrol wagons were drawn up at thecurb, and the whole neighborhood had turned out to see the sport;there was much chaffing, and a universal craning of necks. Thewomen stared about them with defiant eyes, or laughed and joked,while the men kept their heads bowed, and their hats pulled overtheir faces. They were crowded into the patrol wagons as if intostreetcars, and then off they went amid a din of cheers. At thestation house Jurgis gave a Polish name and was put into a cellwith half a dozen others; and while these sat and talked inwhispers, he lay down in a corner and gave himself up to histhoughts.Jurgis had looked into the deepest reaches of the social pit,and grown used to the sights in them. Yet when he had thought of allhumanity as vile and hideous, he had somehow always excepted hisown family. that he had loved; and now this sudden horriblediscovery--Marija a whore, and Elzbieta and the children livingoff her shame! Jurgis might argue with himself all he chose,that he had done worse, and was a fool for caring--but still hecould not get over the shock of that sudden unveiling, he couldnot help being sunk in grief because of it. The depths of himwere troubled and shaken, memories were stirred in him that hadbeen sleeping so long he had counted them dead. Memories of theold life--his old hopes and his old yearnings, his old dreams ofdecency and independence! He saw Ona again, he heard her gentlevoice pleading with him. He saw little Antanas, whom he hadmeant to make a man. He saw his trembling old father, who hadblessed them all with his wonderful love. He lived again throughthat day of horror when he had discovered Ona's shame--God, howhe had suffered, what a madman he had been! How dreadful it hadall seemed to him; and now, today, he had sat and listened, andhalf agreed when Marija told him he had been a fool! Yes--toldhim that he ought to have sold his wife's honor and lived byitthatbrief story which Marija had narrated so calmly, with such dullindifference! The poor little fellow, with his frostbittenfingers and his terror of the snow--his wailing voice rang inJurgis's ears, as he lay there in the darkness, until the sweatstarted on his forehead. Now and then he would quiver with asudden spasm of horror, at the picture of little Stanislovas shutup in the deserted building and fighting for his life with therats!All these emotions had become strangers to the soul of Jurgis;it was so long since they had troubled him that he had ceased tothink they might ever trouble him again. Helpless, trapped,as he was, what good did they do him--why should he ever haveallowed them to torment him? It had been the task of his recentlife to fight them down, to crush them out of him, never in hislife would he have suffered from them again, save that they hadcaught him unawares, and overwhelmed him before he could protecthimself. He heard the old voices of his soul, he saw its oldghosts beckoning to him, stretching out their arms to him! Butthey were far-off and shadowy, and the gulf between them wasblack and bottomless; they would fade away into the mists of thepast once more. Their voices would die, and never again would hehear them--and so the last faint spark of manhood in his soulwould flicker out.