for a breakfast. I spurned the dollar hotly.

"I came here to enlist, not to beg money for breakfast," I said, and
strode out of the office, my head in the air, but my stomach crying out
miserably in rebellion against my pride. I revenged myself upon it by
leaving my top-boots with the "uncle," who was my only friend and
relative here, and filling my stomach upon the proceeds. I had one
good dinner, anyhow, for when I got through there was only twenty-five
cents left of the dollar I borrowed upon my last article of "dress."
That I paid for a ticket to Perth Amboy, near which place I found work
in Pfeiffer's clay-bank.

Pfeiffer was a German, but his wife was Irish and so were his hands,
all except a giant Norwegian and myself. The third day was Sunday, and
was devoted to drinking much beer, which Pfeiffer, with an eye to
business, furnished on the premises. When they were drunk, the tribe
turned upon the Norwegian, and threw him out. It seems that this was a
regular weekly occurrence. Me they fired out at the same time, but
afterward paid no attention to me. The whole crew of them perched on
the Norwegian and belabored him with broomsticks and balesticks until
they roused the sleeping Berserk in him. As I was coming to his
relief, I saw the human heap heave and rock. From under it arose the
enraged giant, tossed his tormentors aside as if they were so much
chaff, battered down the door of the house in which they took refuge,
and threw them all, Mrs. Pfeiffer included, through the window. They
were not hurt, and within two hours they were drinking more beer
together and swearing at one another endearingly. I concluded that I
had better go on, though Mr. Pfeiffer regretted that he never paid his
hands in the middle of the month. It appeared afterward that he
objected likewise to paying them at the end of the month, or at the
beginning of the next. He owes me two days' wages yet.

At sunset on the second day after my desertion of Pfeiffer I walked
across a footbridge into a city with many spires, in one of which a
chime of bells rang out a familiar tune. The city was New Brunswick.
I turned down a side street where two stone churches stood side by
side. A gate in the picket fence had been left open, and I went in
looking for a place to sleep. Back in the churchyard I found what I
sought in the brownstone slab covering the tomb of, I know now, an old
pastor of the Dutch Reformed Church, who died full of