samuel's money was gone, but he was suffering too keenly from hunger and thirst to worry about it for more than a minute. then the thought came to him—he was here in a lonely place at night, and the train was going! if he were left he might still starve.

he ran over and caught the iron ladder of one of the freight cars and drew himself up and clung there. later on he climbed on top of the car; but the wind was too cold—he could not stand it, and had to climb down again. and then he realized that he had left the bundle of his belongings in the empty car.

fortunately for him the train began to slow up at the end of an hour or so, and peering out samuel saw lights ahead. also there were lights here and there in the landscape, and he realized that he had come to a large town. the east was just beginning to turn gray, and faint shadows of buildings were visible.

samuel got off and walked up the track very carefully, for he was stiff as well as weak. there was a light in one of the offices at the depot, and he looked in at the window and saw a man seated at a desk writing busily. he knocked at the door.

“come in,” said a voice, and he entered.

“please, may i have a drink of water?” he asked.

“over there in the corner,” said the man, scarcely looking up from his papers.

there was a bucket and dipper, and samuel drank. the taste of the water was a kind of ecstasy to him—he drank until he could drink no more.

then he stood waiting. “i beg pardon, sir,” he began timidly.

“hey?” said the man.

“i'm nearly starved, sir. i've had nothing to eat for i don't know how long.”

“oh!” exclaimed the other. “so that's it. get out!”

“you don't understand,” began samuel, perplexed.

“get out!” cried the man. “that don't go in here. no beggars allowed!”

beggars! the word struck samuel like a whip-lash.

“i'm no beggar!” he cried wildly. “i—” and then he stopped. he had been going to say, “i will pay for it.”

he went out burning with shame, and on the spot he took his resolution—come what might, he would never beg. he would not put a morsel of food into his mouth until he had earned it.

across from the depot was a public square, and a broad street with trolley tracks. samuel walked down the street; and then, feeling weak and seeing a dark doorway, he went in and crouched in a corner. for a while he dozed; and then it was daylight. people were passing.

he got more water at a fountain and felt better. he went down one of the poorer streets where a man was opening a shop. there was food in the window—fruit and bread—and the sight made him ravenous. but he asked for work and the man shook his head.

samuel went on. shops were opened here and there; and everywhere he asked for a job—for any little thing to do—and always it was no. now and then he caught a whiff of some one's breakfast—bacon frying, and coffee or hot bread in a bake shop. but each time he gripped his hands together and set his teeth. he would not beg. he would find work.

and so on through the morning. he went into stores, big and little. sometimes they answered politely—sometimes gruffly; but no one hesitated a moment. he went past warehouses, where men were loading wagons—surely there would be work here.

he spoke to a busy foreman in his shirt sleeves.

“how often must i tell you no?” cried the man.

“but you never told me before,” protested samuel with great earnestness.

“get out!” said the man. “there are so many of you—how the devil can i tell?”

there were so many! and suddenly samuel realized that he had passed a good many poor-looking men upon the streets. and were they all hunting jobs and not finding them? perhaps some were even begging and getting nothing by that.

he went on with a blank terror in his soul. he gazed at the people he passed on the street; some of them had kindly faces—surely they would have helped him had they known. but there was no way for him to let them know—no way but to be a beggar!

he came to the suburbs and asked at the houses. but no one wanted anything done. it was noon and people were at luncheon—he caught odors as doors were opened. he went back into the city, because he could not stand it. he was feeling weaker, and he was afraid with a ghastly fear. pretty soon he might not be able to work!

it was a new idea to samuel, that a man might starve in the midst of civilization. he could hardly believe it, and grew half-delirious as he thought about it. what would happen at the end? would they let him lie down and die in the street? or was there some place where starving men went to die?

so the day passed, and he found nothing. several people advised him to get out of town—this was no place to look for work, they said. apparently something was the matter with the place, but they did not stop to tell him what.

this was the first large town samuel had ever seen, and under other circumstances he would have gazed at it with wonder. he passed great buildings of brick and stone, and trolley cars, and a fire-engine house, and many other strange sights. he came to a great high fence, inclosing many acres of buildings, dingy and black with smoke; there were tall chimneys, and rows of sheds, and railroad tracks running in. he passed other factories, huge brick buildings with innumerable windows; and many blocks of working-men's houses, small and dirty frame structures, with pale-faced children in the doorways. the roads and sidewalks here were all of black cinders, and it was hot even in may.

and then he came to a steel bridge and crossed a river and the road broadened out, and he climbed a hill and found himself walking upon a macadamized avenue lined with trees, and with beautiful residences overlooking the ridge. rich people lived here, evidently; and samuel stared, marveling at the splendor. he came to a great estate with a stone gateway and iron railings ten feet high, and an avenue of stately elm trees; there were bright green lawns with peacocks and lyre birds strutting about, and a great colonial mansion with white pillars in the distance. “fairview,” read the name upon the gates.

and then again samuel remembered his appetite. surely amid all this luxury there would be some chance for him! he started up the path!

he had got about halfway to the house when a man who was tending the flowers caught sight of him and came toward him. “what are you doing here?” he called, before he had come halfway.

“i'm looking for some work,” began samuel.

“do you want to get your head punched?” shouted the man. “what do you mean by coming in here?”

“why, what's the matter?” asked the boy perplexed.

“get out, you loafer!” cried the other.

and samuel turned and went quickly. a loafer!

so for the first time it occurred to him to look at his clothes, which were muddy from his tumble in the ditch. and no doubt his face and hands were dirty also, and his hair unkempt, and his aspect unprepossessing enough for an applicant for labor. at any rate it was clear that this was not the part of the town to seek it in; so he went back across the bridge.

twilight had fallen and the stores were shutting up. soon everything would be closed; and that night he felt that he would perish. and so at last desperation seized him.

he bolted into the first lighted place he saw.

it was a saloon—empty, save for a man in white behind the bar.

“i'm no beggar!” shouted samuel.

“hey?” said the man.

“i say i'm no beggar! i'll come back and pay you. i'm starving. i must have something to eat.”

“gee whiz!” said the man.

“i was never in a saloon in my life before,” added samuel, as he realized the character of the place. “but please—please give me something to eat.”

“hully gee, young feller!” exclaimed the bar-keeper. “you do it great. you ought to be an actor. step up and feed your face.”

“what?” stammered samuel, perplexed.

“eat!” said the other, and pointed. “maybe you understand that.”

and samuel turned and saw a lot of food set out upon a counter. he rushed to it and began. at the first taste a kind of madness seized him, and he ate like a wild beast, gulping things.

for several minutes he did this, while the other watched curiously. then he remarked, “say, you'd better quit.”

“what?” asked samuel, seizing more food.

“i say quit,” said the man. “just for your own good. i see your story's true, an' a little rest won't hurt you.”

samuel gazed longingly at the food, desiring more handfuls. “come over here,” said the man. “what happened to you?”

“i was locked in an empty freight car.”

“humph! that's a new one! how long?”

“what day is this?”

“friday.”

“i was locked in wednesday morning. it seemed longer.”

“it's long enough,” commented the barkeeper.

“i was robbed,” samuel went on. “a man took all my money.” and then the old shame started up in him. “don't think i'm a beggar. i'll work and pay for this.”

“that's all right,” said the barkeeper. “be easy.”

“haven't you anything i can do? some wood to split?”

“we don't burn wood.”

“or some cleaning up?” samuel looked round. the place did not seem very neat to him. “i'll scrub the floors for you,” he said.

“we have 'em scrubbed in the early morning,” replied the man.

“well, let me come and do it,” said samuel.

“go on!” said the other. “you'll be ready for more feed then.”

“i'll come, just the same, sir.”

“if you take my advice,” the bartender observed, “you'll get out of this town. lockmanville's a poor place to hunt jobs in.”

samuel started. “lockmanville!” he gasped.

“yes,” said the other. “don't you know where you are?”

“i didn't know,” said the boy. “lockmanville! the one where the big glass works are?”

“that's the one.”

“and where old henry lockman lived!”

“what about it?” asked the other.

“nothing,” said samuel, “only my father invested all his money in lockman's company, and lost it.”

“gee!” said the bartender.

“maybe if i told them,” said the boy, “they'd give me some work here.”

“maybe,” said the other—“only the works is shut down.”

“shut down!” cried samuel; and then added, “on account of his death?”

“no—they always close in summer. but this year they closed in march. times is bad.”

“oh,” said samuel.

“so there's plenty of men looking for jobs in lockmanville,”. the other continued, “an' some of the other factories is closed, too—the cotton mill is only runnin' half time.”

“i see.”

“old lockman used to say there was too many glass works,” the barkeeper added. “an' the fellers he bought out went an' built more. so there you are.”

there was a pause. “i'm coming back in the morning,” said samuel doggedly.

“all right,” said the other, with a smile—“if you don't forget it.” then a couple of customers entered. “run along now,” said he.

and samuel went—the more readily because he realized that he had been all this time in a saloon, a place of mystery and wickedness to him.

he started down the street again. a fine cold rain had begun to fall. what was he to do?

he felt warm, having feasted. but there was no use in getting wet. he glanced into the doorways as he passed, and seeing a dark and empty one, crouched inside.

lockmanville! what a curious coincidence! and there were hundreds in the town out of work. it seemed a strange and terrible thing. could it be that they let people starve as he was starving—people they knew? could it be that they went on about their business and paid no attention to such a thing?

he must get out, they told him. but how? would the railroad take him, if he explained? or would the people on the way give him work? he had got some food at last, but only by begging. and was he expected to beg?

there came footsteps outside. a man strode into the doorway and took hold of the door and tried it. then he turned to go out. samuel moved his foot out of the way.

“hello!” said the man. “who's that?”

“only me,” said samuel.

“get up there,” commanded the other.

he got up and a hand seized him by the collar. “who are you?”

he was jerked into the light before he had a chance to reply. “more bums!” growled the voice; and samuel, terrified, saw that he was in the grasp of a policeman.

“please, sir, i'm not doing any harm,” he began.

“come,” said the policeman.

“where to?” he cried.

but the other merely jerked him along. a sudden wild horror seized samuel. “you're not going to arrest me!” he exclaimed.

“sure,” said the other. “why not?”

“but,” he exclaimed, “i've not done anything. i can't help it. i—”

he started to drag back, and the man twisted a huge hand, in his collar, choking him. “do you want to be hit?” he growled.

so samuel went on. but sobs shook him, convulsive sobs of terror and despair, and tears of shame rolled down his cheeks. he was going to jail!

“what's the matter with you?” said the policeman after a bit. “why don't you be quiet?”

“you've no business to arrest me,” wailed the boy. “i haven't done anything, and i couldn't help it. i've no place to go and no money. and it's not my fault.”

“you can tell that to the judge,” replied the other.

“but—but what have i done? why—”

“shut up!” said the officer, and gave another twist at his throat. and after that samuel was quiet.