Jurgis, and then, as the keeper closed the door upon him, began gazing critically about him.
'Well, pal,' he said, as his glance encountered Jurgis again, 'good morning.'
'Good morning,' said Jurgis.
'A rum go for Christmas, eh?' added the other.
Jurgis nodded.
The newcomer went to the bunks and inspected the blankets; he lifted up the mattress, and then dropped it with an exclamation. 'My God!' he said, 'that's the worst yet.'
He glanced at Jurgis again. 'Looks as if it hadn't been slept in last night. Couldn't stand it, eh?'
'I didn't want to sleep last night,' said Jurgis.
'When did you come in?'
'Yesterday.'
The other had another look around, and then wrinkled up his nose. 'There's the devil of a stink in here,' he said, suddenly. 'What is it?'
'It's me,' said Jurgis.
'You?'
'Yes, me.'
'Didn't they make you wash?'
'Yes, but this don't wash.'
'What is it?'
'Fertilizer.'
'Fertilizer! The deuce! What are you?'
'I work in the stockyards—at least I did until the other day. It's in my clothes.'
'That's a new one on me,' said the newcomer. 'I thought I'd been up against 'em all. What are you in for?'
'I hit my boss.' 'Oh—that's it. What did he do?'
'He—he treated me mean.'
'I see. You're what's called an honest workingman!'
'What are you?' Jurgis asked.
'I?' The other laughed. 'They say I'm a cracksman,' he said.
'What's that?' asked Jurgis.
'Safes, and such things,' answered the other.
'Oh,' said Jurgis, wonderingly, and stated at the speaker in awe. 'You mean you break into them—you—you—'
'Yes,' laughed the other, 'that's what they say.'
He did not look to be over twenty-two or three, though, as Jurgis found afterward, he was thirty. He spoke like a man of education, like what the world calls a 'gentleman.'
'Is that what you're here for?' Jurgis inquired.
'No,' was the answer. 'I'm here for disorderly conduct. They were mad because they couldn't get any evidence.
'What's your name?' the young fellow continued after a pause. 'My name's Duane—Jack Duane. I've more than a dozen, but that's my company one.' He seated himself on the floor with his back to the wall and his legs crossed, and went on talking easily; he soon put Jurgis on a friendly footing—he was evidently a man of the world, used to getting on, and not too proud to hold conversation with a mere laboring man. He drew Jurgis out, and heard all about his life all but the one unmentionable thing; and then he told stories about his own life. He was a great one for stories, not always of the choicest. Being sent to jail had apparently not disturbed his cheerfulness; he had 'done time' twice before, it seemed, and he took it all with a frolic welcome. What with women and wine and the excitement of his vocation, a man could afford to rest now and then.
Naturally, the aspect of prison life was changed for Jurgis by the arrival of a cell mate. He could not turn his face to the wall and sulk, he had to speak when he was spoken to; nor could he help being interested in the conversation of Duane—the first educated man with whom he had ever talked. How could he help listening with
