ying, roasting and boiling, did duty for a teapot and a slop-basin.
They had no crockery. They had only one thing in abundance--namely,
air; for the lower frame of the window having long lacked glass in it,
a couple of pages of the _Examiner_, fixed in it, flapped dismally
every time the wind came blowing down 216th Street.

They had not lived there always. In the palmy days of work, before the
firm smashed, they had aspired to what might properly be called
diggings; and, moreover, had "digged" in respectable surroundings. It
was the usual thing--the thing that is happening always, every hour of
the day, in all the great cities of the world--starvation, through
lack of employment. Civilization still shuts its eyes to everyday
poverty. Who knows? Who cares? Who is responsible? No one. Is there a
remedy? Ah! that is a question that requires time. Time--always time!
Time for the politician, and time for the starving ones! Half the
world thinks, whilst half the world dies; and the cause of it all is
time--too much, a damned sight too much--time!

But Kelson and Curtis could not grumble. They had their room--bare,
dirty and well-ventilated--for next to nothing. Fifty cents a week!
And they could furnish it as they pleased. Fancy that! What a
privilege! They were glad of it all the same--glad of it in preference
to the streets; and probably, when asleep, they thought of it as home.
But on leaving Hamar's, that evening, they had fully resolved to
convert their little room into a cemetery. What else could they do?
What can any one do who has no money and no prospect of getting any,
and who has reached the pitch of acute hunger? He has passed the stage
of wanting work, because, if work were offered to him, he would not be
in a fit state to do it--he would be too weak. Too weak to work! What
a phenomenon! Yes--to all those who have never missed a day's meals.
To others--no! They can understand--and understand only too well--the
really poor who have long ceased to eat, cannot work--they are beyond
it.

When Curtis and Kelson staggered down the stairs of the house where
Hamar lodged, they realized that unless something turned up pretty
soon, it would be too late--they would be past the stage of caring for
anything--too feeble to do anything but lie on the ground and pray
that death would come quickly.

"Home?" Kelson inquired, as they emerged on to the pavement.

"Hell!" Curtis answered, and Kelson, taking it for granted that