Bill Sykes." "You're under me. You get
a move on you, and don't give me any more of your lip."

Eugene was startled. It was a flash of brutality out of a clear sky. The
animal, whom he had been scanning as an artist would, as a type, out of
the corner of his eye, was revealing himself.

"You go to the devil," said Eugene, only half awake to the grim reality
of the situation.

"What's that!" exclaimed the man, making for him. He gave him a shove
toward the wall, and attempted to kick him with his big, hob-nailed
boot. Eugene picked up a stove leg. His face was wax white.

"Don't you try that again," he said darkly. He fixed the leg in his hand
firmly.

"Call it off, Jim," said the other man, who saw the uselessness of so
much temper. "Don't hit him. Send him down stairs if you don't like
him."

"You get to hell out of here, then," said Eugene's noble superior.

Eugene walked to a nail where his hat and coat were, carrying the stove
leg. He edged past his assailant cautiously, fearing a second attack.
The man was inclined to kick at him again because of his stubbornness,
but forebore.

"You're too fresh, Willie. You want to wake up, you dough face," he said
as Eugene went.

Eugene slipped out quietly. His spirit was hurt and torn. What a scene!
He, Eugene Witla, kicked at, and almost kicked out, and that in a job
that paid six dollars a week. A great lump came up in his throat, but it
went down again. He wanted to cry but he could not. He went downstairs,
stovepolish on his hands and face and slipped up to the desk.

"I want to quit," he said to the man who had hired him.

"All right, what's the matter?"

"That big brute up there tried to kick me," he explained.

"They're pretty rough men," answered the employer. "I was afraid you
wouldn't get along. I guess you're not strong enough. Here you are." He
laid out three dollars and a half. Eugene wondered at this queer
interpretation of his complaint. He must get along with these men? They
musn't get along with him? So the city had that sort of brutality in it.

He went home and washed up, and then struck out again, for it was no
time now to be without a job. After a week he found one,--as a house
runner for a real estate concern, a young man to bring in the numbers of
empty houses and post up the "For Rent" signs in the windows. It paid
eight dollars and seemed to offer opportunities of advancement. Eugene
might have stayed there indefinitely had it not fail