into groups, the villages
merged into suburban towns, and the train began to clatter through sooty
freight yards filled with box cars and switching engines; at last, after
crawling through tangled, thickening webs of steel, it plunged into a
huge, dark and noisy shed and came to a halt and a few moments later I
faced the hackmen of Chicago, as verdant a youth as these experienced
pirates had ever made common cause against.

I knew of them (by report), and was prepared for trouble, but their
clanging cries, their cynical eyes, their clutching insolent hands were
more terrifying than anything I had imagined. Their faces expressed
something remorseless, inhuman and mocking. Their grins were like those
of wolves.

In my hand I carried an imitation leather valise, and as I passed, each
of the drivers made a snatch at it, almost tearing it from my hands, but
being strong as well as desperate, I cleared myself of them, and so,
following the crowd, not daring to look to right or left, reached the
street and crossed the bridge with a sigh of relief. So much was
accomplished.

Without knowing where I should go, I wandered on, shifting my bag from
hand to hand, till my mind recovered its balance. My bewilderment, my
depth of distrust, was augmented by the roar and tumult of the crowd. I
was like some wild animal with exceedingly sensitive ears. The waves of
sound smothered me.

At last, timidly approaching a policeman, I asked the way to the
Atlantic Hotel.

"Keep straight down the street five blocks and turn to the left," he
said, and his kind voice filled me with a glow of gratitude.

With ears benumbed and brain distraught, I threaded the rush, the clamor
of Clark street and entered the door of the hotel, with such relief as a
sailor must feel upon suddenly reaching safe harbor after having been
buffeted on a wild and gloomy sea by a heavy northeast gale.

It was an inconspicuous hotel of the "Farmer's Home" type, but I
approached the desk with meek reluctance and explained, "I am expecting
to meet my brother here. I'd like permission to set my bag down and
wait."

With bland impersonal courtesy the clerk replied, "Make yourself at
home."

Gratefully sinking into a chair by the window, I fell into study of the
people streaming by, and a chilling sense of helplessness fell upon me.
I realized my ignorance, my feebleness. As a minute bubble in this
torrent of human life, with no friend in whom I could put trust, and