How did jokubas szedvilas say he would help the family

JUNGLE

UPTON SINCLAIR

Presented to the

LIBRARY o/tfte

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

by

GORDON DOWSLEY

THE JUNGLE

THE JUNGLE

BY

UPTON SINCLAIR

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

, 190K, 1006,

UPTON SINCLAIR

Published February, 1906,

^K rights rttervad, &at ef translation into including ike Scandinavian.

TO THE WORKINGMEN OF AMERICA

THE JUNGLE

CHAPTER I

IT was four o'clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the exuberance ot Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon Marija's broad shoulders it was her task to see that all things went in due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and exhorting all day with her tre- mendous voice, Marija was too eager to see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself. She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at the hali, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had flung up the window of the carriage, and< leaning out, proceeded to tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of her in altitude, the driver had stood his

ground and even ventured to attempt to speak ; and the result had been a furious altercation, which, continuing all the way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of urchins to the cortege at each side street for half a mile.

This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door. The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull "broom, broom" of a 'cello, witn the squeaking of two fiddles which vied with each other in intricate and altitudinoua gymnastics. Se-

2 THE JUNGLE

ing the throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the ancestors of her coachman, and springing from the moving carriage, plunged in and proceeded to clear a way to the hall. Once within, she turned and began to push the other way, roaring, meantime,

" Eik ! Eikl Uzdaryk-duris /" in tones which made the orchestral uproar sound like fairy music.

" Z. Graiezunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and Liquors. Union Headquarters' that was the way the signs ran. The reader, who per- haps has never held much converse in the language of far-off Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the

place was the rear-room of a saloon in that part of Chi- cago known as

" back of the yards." This information is definite and suited to the matter of fact ; but how piti- fully inadequate it would have seemed to one who under- stood that it was also the supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of God's gentlest creatures, the scene of the

wedding-feast and the joy-transfiguration of little Ona Lukoszaite.!

She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from pushing through the crowd, and in her

happiness painful to look upon. There was a light oi wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and her other- wise wan little face was flushed. She wore a muslin C?ess, conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders. There were five pink paper-roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright green rose-leaves. There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together fever- ishly. It was almost too much for her you could see the pain of too great emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was so young not quite six- teen and small for her age, a mere child ; and she had just been married and married to Jurgis,

1 of all men, to

Jurgis Kudkus, he with the white flower in the button- hole of his new black suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands.

'Pronounced Yoorglvit*

THE JUNGLE 8

Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with beetling brows, and thick black Lair that curled in waves about his ears in short, they were one of those incongruous and impossible married couples with which Mother Nature so often wills to confound all proph- ets, before and after. Jurgis could take up a two-hundred-

and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and carry it into a car without a stagger, or even a thought ; and now he stood in a far corner, frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his lips with his tongue each time before he could answer the congratulations of his friends.

Gradually there was effected a separation between the

spectators and the guests a separation at least suffi-

ciently complete for working purposes. There was no time during the festivities whicn ensued when there were not groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners j and if any one of these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked sufficiently hungry, a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the feast. It was one of the laws of the vesdija that no one goes hungry ; and, while a rule made in the forests of Lithuania is hard to apply in the stock-yards district of Chicago, with its quarter of a mill- ion inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children who ran in from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A charmiDg informality was one of the characteristics of this celebration. The men wore their hats, or, if they wished, they took them off, and their coats with them ; they ate when and where they pleased, and moved as often as they pleased. There were to be speeches and singing, but no one had to listen who did not care to ; if he wished, meantime, to speak or sing himself, he was

perfectly free. The resulting medley of sound distracted no one, save possibly alone the babies, of which there were

present a number equal to the total possessed by all the guests invited. There was no other place for the babies to be, and so part of the preparations for the evening consisted of a collection of cribs and carriages in one corner. In these the babies slept, three or four together, or wakened together, as the case might be. Those who were still

i THE JUNGLE

older, and could reach the tables, inarched about munch-

ing contentedly at meat-bones and bologna sausages.

The room is about thirty feet square, with whitewashed walls, bare save for a calendar, a picture of a race-horse, and a family tree in a gilded frame. To the right there is a door from the saloon, with a few loafers in the door-

way, and in the corner beyond it a bar, with a presiding genius clad in soiled white, with waxed black mustaches and a carefully oiled curl plastered against one side of his forehead. In the opposite corner are two tables, filling a third of the room and laden with dishes and cold viands, which a few of the hungrier gnests are already munching. At the head, where sits the bride, is a snow-white cake, with an Eiffel tower of constructed decoration, with sugar roses and two angels upon it, and a generous sprinkling of pink and green and yellow candies. Beyond opens a door into the kitchen, where there is a glimpse to be had of a range with much steam ascending from it, and many women, old and young, rushing hither and thither. In the corner to the left are the three musicians, upon a little platform, toiling heroically tomake some impression upon the hubbub ; also the babies, similarly occupied, and an open window whence the populace imbibes the sights and sounds and odors.

Suddenly some of the steam begins to advance, and, peering through it, you discern Aunt Elizabeth, Ona's step-mother Teta Elzbieta, as they call her bearing aloft a great platter of stewed duck. Behind her is Ko- trina, making her way cautiously, staggering beneath a similar burden ; and half a minute later there appears 'old Grandmother Majauszkiene, with a big yellow bowl of smoking potatoes, nearly as big as herself. So, bit by bit, the feast takes form there is a ham and a dish of sauerkraut, boiled rice, macaroni, bologna sausages, great piles of penny buns, bowls of milk, and foaming pitchers of beer. There is also, not six feet from your back, the

bar, where you may order all you please and do not have to pay for it.

" Eiksx I Graicziau /" screams Marija Be*-

THE JUNGLE ft

czynskas,and falls to work herself for there is more upon the stove inside that will be spoiled if it be not eaten.

So, with laughter and shouts and endless badinage and merriment, the guests take their places. The young men, who for the most part have been huddled near the door, summon their resolution and advance; and the shrinking Jurgis is poked and scolded by the old folks until he con- sents to seat himself at the right hand of the bride. The two bridesmaids,whose insignia of office are paperwreaths, come next, and after them the rest of the guests, old and

young, boys and girls. The spirit of the occasion takes hold of the stately bartender, who condescends to a plate of stewed duck ; even the fat policeman whose duty it will be, later in the evening, to break up the fights draws up a chair to the foot of the table. And the chil- dren shout and the babies yell, and everyone laughs and sings and chatters while above all the deafening clamor Cousin Marija shouts orders to the musicians. The musicians how shall one begin to describe them?

All this time they have been there, playing in a mad frenzy all of this scene must be read, or said, or sung, to music. It is the music which makes it what it is ; it is the music which changes the place from the rear-room of a saloon in back of the yards to a fairy place, a won- derland, a little corner of the high mansions of the sky. The little person who lea'"

1

'this trio is an inspired man. His fiddle is out of tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an inspired man the hands of the muses have been laid upon him. He plays like one possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can feel them in the air round about him, capering frenetically ; with their invisible feet they set the pace, and the hair of the leader of the orchestra rises on end, and his eye- balls start from their sockets, as he toils to keep up with them. Tamoszius Kuszleika is his name, and he has taught

himself to play

the violin by practising aU night, after working all day on the "killing beds.

" He is in his shirt- sleeves, with a rest figured with faded gold horseshoes,

C THE JUNGLE

and a pink-striped shirt, suggestive of peppermint candy. A pair of military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to give that suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band. He is only about five feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight inches short of the

ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or rather you would wonder, if the excitement of being in his presence left you time to think of such things.

For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is in-

spiredyou might almost say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his head, he sways and

swings to and fro ; he has a wizened-up little face, irre-

sistibly comical ; and, when he executes a turn or a flour- ish, his brows knit and his lips work and his eyelids wink

the very ends of his necktie bristle out. And every now and then he turns upon his companions, nodding, sig- nalling, beckoning frantically with every inch of him

appealing, imploring, in behalf of the muses and their call.

For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of the orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with black-rimmed spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven mule ; he responds to the whip but feebly, and then always falls back into his old rut. The third man is very fat, with a round, red, sentimental nose, and he plays with his eyes turned up to the sky and a look of infinite yearning. He is playing a bass part upon his 'cello, and so the excitement is nothing to him ; no matter what happens in the treble, it is his task to saw out one long-drawn and lugubrious note after

another, from four o'clock in the afternoon until nearly the same hour next morning, for his third of the total income of one dollar per hour.

Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika has risen in his excitement ; a min- ute or two more and you see that he is beginning to edgje over toward the tables. His nostrils are dilated and his breath comes fast Ms demons are driving him. He uoda and shakes his bead at his companions, jerking at

*HE JUNGLE T

them with his violin, until at last the long form of the second violinist also rises up. In the end all three of them begin advancing, step by step, upon the banqueters, Valentinavyczia, the 'cellist, bumping along with his in- strument between notes. Finally all three are gathered at the foot of the tables, and there Tamoszius mounts upon a stool.

Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are eating, some are laughing and talking but

you will make a great mistake if you think there is one of them who does not hear him. His notes are never true, and his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and scratches on the high ; but these things they heed no more than they heed the dirt and noise and squalor about them it is out of this material that they have to build their lives, with it that they have to utter their souls. And this is their utterance ; merry and boisterous, or mournful and wailing, or passionate and rebellious, this music is their music, music of home. It stretches out its arms to them, they have only to give themselves up. Chicago and its saloons and its slums fade away there are green meadows and sunlit rivers, mighty forests and snow-clad hills. They behold home landscapes and child- hood scenes returning ; old loves and friendships begin to waken, old joys and griefs to laugh and weep. Some fall back and close their eyes, some beat upon the table. Now and then one leaps up with a cry and calls for this song or that ; and then the fire leaps brighter in Tamoszius's eyes, and he flings up his fiddle and shouts to his companions, and away they go in mad career. The company takes up the choruses, and men and women cry out like all pos- sessed =ome leap to their feet and stamp upon the floor, lifting Jieir glasses and^.pledging each other. Before

long it occurs to some one to demand an old wedding- song, which celebrates the beauty of the bride and the

joys of love. In the excitement of this masterpiece Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, making his way toward the head, where sits the bride. There is not a foot of space between the chairs of the

8 THE JUNGLE

gunsts, and Tamoszius is so short that he pokes them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the low notes ; but still he presses in, and insists relentlessly that his

companions must follow. During their progress, needless to say, the sounds of the 'cello are pretty well extin-

guished ; but at last the three are at the head, and Tamoszius takes his station at the right hand of the bride and begins to pour out his soul hi melting strains.

Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her ; but, for the most part, she sits gaz- jng with the same fearful eyes of wonder. Teta Elzbieta is all in a flutter, like a humming-bird; her sisters, too, keep running up behind her, whispering, breathless. But Ona seems scarcely to hear them the music keeps calling, and the far-off look comes back, and she sits with her hands

pressed together over her heart. Then the tears begin to come into her eyes ; and as she is ashamed to wipe them

away, and ashamed to let them run down her cheeks, she turns and shakes her head a little, and then flushes red when she sees that Jurgis is watching her. When in the end Tamoszius Kuszleika has reached her side, and is

waving his magic wand above her, Ona's cheeks are scar- let, and she looks as if she would have to get up and run

away. In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Barczyn-

skas, whom the muses suddenly visit. Marija is fond of a song, a song of lovers' parting ; she wishes to hear it, and, as the musicians do not know it, she has risen, and is proceeding to teach them. Marija is short, but power- ful in build. She works in a canning factory, and all

day long she handles cans of beef that weigh fourteen

pounds. She has a broad Slavic face, with prominent red cheeks. When she opens her mouth, it is tragical, but you cannot help thinking of a horse. She wears a blue flannel shirt-waist, which is now rolled up at the sleeves, disclosing her brawny arms ; she has a carving-fork in her hand, with which she pounds on the table to mark the time. As she roars her song, in a voice of which it is

THE JUNGLE 9

enough to say that it leaves no portion of the room vn- cant, the three musicians follow her, laboriously and note

by note, but averaging one note behind; thus they toil

through stanza after stanza of a love-sick swain's lamen- tation:

" Sudiev' kvietkeli, tu "brangiansis; Sudiev' ir laime, man biednam, Matau paskyre teip Aukszcziausis, Jog vargt ant svieto reik vienam I

**

When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas rises to his feet. Grandfather An-

thony, Jurgis's father, is not more than sixty years of age, but you would think that he was eighty. He has been only six months in America, and the change has not done him good. In his manhood he worked in a cotton-mill, but then a coughing fell upon him, and he had to leave ; out in the country the trouble disappeared, but he has been working in the pickle-rooms at Durham's, and the

breathing of the cold, damp air all day has brought it back. Now as he rises he is seized with a coughing-fit. and holds himself by his chair and turns away his v;*n and battered face until it passes.

Generally it is the custom for the speech at a veselija to be taken out of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days Dede Antanas used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love-letters of his friends. Now it is understood that he has composed an original speech of congratulation and benediction, and this is one of the events of the day. Even the boys, who are romping about the room, draw near and listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons in their eyes. It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become possessed of the idea that he has not much longer to stay with his children. His speech leaves them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps a delicates- sen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and hearty, is moved to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and then to go on and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers congratulations and prophecies of hap*

20 THE

piness upon the bride and groom, proceeding to particu* lars which greatly delight the y

~

en, but which cause Ona to blush more furiou

, .ii ever. Jokubas

possesses what his wife complacently describes as "poetis- zka vaidintuve" a poetical imagination. Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since

there is no pretence of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men gather about the bar ; some wander about, laughing and singing; here and there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime indifference to the others and to the orchestra as well.

Everybody is more or less restless one would guess that

something is on their minds. And so it proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, and the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real celebration of the evening begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up, reviews the

scene ; he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin, then tucks it carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an elaborate flourish, and finally smites the sounding strings and closes his eyes, and floats away, in

spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz. His companion follows, but with his eyes open, watching where he treads, so to speak ; and finally Valentinavyczia, after waiting for a little and beating with his foot to get the time, casts

up his eyes to the ceiling and begins to saw *' Broom I

broom ! broom ! "

The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. Apparently nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any consequence there is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just as before they sang. Most of them prefer the "two-step," especially the young, with whom it is the fashion. The older people have dances from home, strange and complicated steps which they execute with grave solemnity. Some do not dance anything at all, but simply hold each other's hands and allow the undisciplined joy of motion to express

THE JUNGLE 11

itself with their feet. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilaa and his wife, Lucija, fho together keep the delicatessen

store, and consume iieaily as much as they sell ; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the middle of the

floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking slowly from side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of toothless and perspiring ecstasy. Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent

in some detail of home an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gayly colored handkerchief, or a coat with

large cuffs and fancy buttons. All these things are care-

fully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing. The girls wear ready-made dresses or shirt-waists, and some of them look quite pretty. Some of the young taen you would take to be Americans, of the type of clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats* in the room. Each of these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing. Some hold each other tightly, some at a cau- tious distance. Some hold their arms out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some dance springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity. There are boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one out of their way. There are nervous

couples, whom these frighten, and who cry, " Nustok I Kas yra?" at them as they pass. Each couple is paired for the evening you will never see them change about. There is Alena Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas Raczius, to whom she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the evening, and she would be really beautiful if she were not so proud. She wears a white shirt-waist, which represents, perhaps, half a week's labor painting cans. She holds her skirt with her hand as she dances, with stately precision, after the manner of the grandes dames. Juozas is driving one of Durham's wagons, and is making big wages. He affects a " tough

" aspect, wearing his hat on one side and keep-

ing a cigarette in his mouth all the evening. Then there i Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is also beautiful, but humble

12 THE JUNGLE

Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then she has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and so she does not spend her wages for shirt-waists. Jadvyga is small and delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little knot and tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white dress which she has made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is high- waisted almost under her arms, and not very becoming,

but that does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas. She is small, while he is big and powerful ; she nestles in his arms as if she would hide herself from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder. He in turn has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would

carry her away; and so she dances, and will dance the entire evening, and would dance forever, in ecstasy of bliss. You would smile, perhaps, to see them but you would not smile if you knew all the story. This is the fifth year, now, that Jadvyga has been engaged to Mikolas, and her heart is sick. They would have been married in the beginning, only Mikolas has a father who is drunk all day, and he is the only other man in a large family. Even so they might have managed it (for Mikolas is a skilled

man) but for cruel accidents which have almost taken the heart out of them. He is a beef-boner, and that is a dan- gerous trade, especially when you are on piece-work and

trying to earn a bride. Your hands are slippery, and

your knife is slippery, and you are toiling like mad, when

somebody happens to speak to you, or you strike a bone. Then your hand slips up on the blade, and there is a fear- ful gash. And that would not be so bad, only for the deadly contagion. The cut may heal, but you never can tell. Twice now, within the last three years, Mikolas has been lying at home with blood-poisoning once for three months and once for nearly seven. The last time, too, he lost his job, and that meant six weeks more of standing at the doors of the packing-houses, at six o'clock on bitter

winter mornings, with a foot of snow on the ground and more in the air. There are learned people who can tell vou out of the statistics that beef-boners make forty cents

THE JUNGLE 19

an hour, but, perhaps, these people hare never looked into a beef-boner's hands.

When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they must, now and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently. They never seem to tire ; and there is no place for them to sit down if they did. It is only for a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up again, in spite of all the protests of the other two. This time it is another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. Those who prefer to, go on with the two-step, but the majority go through an intricate series of motions, resem-

bling more fancy skating than a dance. The climax of it is a furious prestissimo, at which the couples seize hands and begin a mad whirling. This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room joins in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies, quite dazzling to look

upon. But the sight of sights at this moment is Tamos - zius Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, but Tamoszius has no mercy. The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he bends over like a cyclist on the last lap of a race. His body shakes and throbs like a

runaway steam-engine, and the ear cannot follow the fly- ing showers of notes there is a pale blue mist where you look to see his bowing arm. With a most wonderful rush he comes to the end of the tune, and flings up his hands and staggers back exhausted; and with a final shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling here and

there, bringing up against the walls of the room. After this there is beer for every one, the musicians in-

cluded, and the revellers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the evening, which is the acziavimas. The acziavimas is a ceremony which, once begun, will con- tinue for three or four hours, and it involves one uninter-

rupted dance. The guests form a great ring, locking bands, and, when the music starts up, begin to move around in a circle. In the centre stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the enclosure and dance with her. Each dances for several minutes as long as he pleases j it is a very merry proceeding, with laughter

14 THE JUNGLE

and singing, and when the guest has finished, he finds himself face to face with Teta Elzbieta, who holds the hat. Into it he drops a sum of money a dollar, or per- haps five dollars, according to his power, and his estimate of the value of the privilege. The guests are expected to pay for this entertainment ; if they be proper guests, they will see that there is a neat sum left over for the bride and bridegroom to start life upon. Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of

this entertainment. They will certainly be over two hun- dred dollars, and may be three hundred ; and three hun- dred dollars is more than the year's income of many a person in this room. There are able-bodied men here who work from early morning until late at night, in ice- cold cellars with a quarter of an inch of water on the floor men who for six or seven months in the year never see the sunlight from Sunday afternoon till the next Sun-

day morning and who cannot earn three hundred dol- lars in a year. There are little children here, scarce in their teens, who can hardly see the top of the work benches whose parents have lied to get them their

places and who do not make the half of three hundred dollars a year, and perhaps not even the third of it. And then to spend such a sum, all in a single day of your life, at a wedding-feast! (For obviously it is the same thing, whether you spend it at once for your own wedding, or in a long time, at the weddings of all your friends.)

It is very imprudent, it is tragic but, ah, it is so beau- tiful I Bit by bit these poor people have given up every- thing else ; but to this they cling with all the power of their souls they cannot give up the veaelija ! To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to acknowl-

edge defeat and the difference between these two things is what keeps the world going. The veselija has come down to them from a far-off time ; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave and gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could break his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun ; prorided that once in his lifetime he might testify to the

THE JUNGLE 15

fact that life, with all its cares and its terrors, is no such

great thing after all, but merely a bubble upon the surface of a river, a thing that one may toss about and play with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a thing that one may quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine. Thus having known himself for the master of things, a man could go back to his toil and live upon the memory all his days.

Endlessly the dancers swung round and round when

they were dizzy they swung the other way. Hour after hour this had continued the darkness had fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. The musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and

played only one tune, wearily, ploddingly. There were

twenty bars or so of it, and when they came to the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or so they would fail to begin again, but instead would sink back exhausted ; a circumstance which invariably brought on a painful and terrifying scene, that made the fat police- man stir uneasily in his sleeping-place behind the door.

It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those

hungry souls who cling with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse. All day long she had been in a state of wonderful exaltation ; and now it was leaving and she would not let it go. Her soul cried out in the words of Faust,

" Stay, thou art fair I

" Whether it was by beer, or by shouting, or by music, or by motion, she meant that it should not go. And she would go back to the chase of it and no sooner be fairly started than her chariot would be thrown off the track, so to speak, by the stupidity of those thrice-accursed musicians. Each time, Marija would emit a howl and fly at them, shaking her fists in their

faces, stamping upon the floor, purple and incoherent with

rage. In vain the frightened Tamoszius would attempt to speak, to plead the limitations of the flesh ; in vain would the puffing and breathless ponas Jokubas insist, in vain would Teta Elzbieta implore.

" Szalin I " Marija would

scream. "PalaukI isz kelio! What are you paid for, children of hell?

" And so, in sheer terror, "the orchestra

16 THE JUNGLE

would strike up again, and Marija would return to her place and take up her task.

She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired the soul of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers what had once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a very volcano of energy. Now and then some one coming in or out would leave the door open, and the night air was chill ; Marija as she passed would stretch out her foot and kick the door-knob, and slam would go the door! Once this procedure was the cause of a calamity of which Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. Little Sebastijonas, aged three, had been wander-

ing about oblivious to all things, holding turned up over his mouth a bottle of liquid known as "pop," pink- colored, ice-cold, and delicious. Passing through the

doorway the door smote him full, and the shriek which followed brought the dancing to a halt. Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred times a day, and would weep over the injury of a fly, seized little Sebasti-

jonas in her arms and bid fair to smother him with kisses. There was a long rest for the orchestra, and plenty of

refreshments, while Marija was making her peace with her victim, seating him upon the bar, and standing beside him and holding to his lips a foaming schooner of beer.

In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of the more intimate friends of the family. A trouble was come upon them. The veselija is a compact, a compact not expressed, but there-

fore only the more binding upon all. Every one's share was different and yet every one knew perfectly well what his share was, and strove to give a little more. Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all this was changing ; it seemed as if there must be some subtle

poison in the air that one breathed here it was affecting all the young men at once. They would come in crowds

THE JUNGLE 17

and fill themselves with a fine dinner, and then sneak off. One would throw another's hat out of the window, and both would go out to get it, and neither would be seen

again. Or now and then half a dozen of them would get together and march out openly, staring at you, and mak-

ing fun of you to your face. Still others, worse yet, would crowd about the bar, and at the expense of the host drink themselves sodden, paying not the least attention to any one, and leaving it to be thought that either they had danced with the bride already, or meant to later on.

All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with dismay. So long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! Ona stood by, her eyes wide with terror. Those frightful bills how they had haunted her, each item gnawing at her soul all day and

spoiling her rest at night. How often she had named them over one by one and figured on them as she went to work fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two dollars and a quarter for the ducks, twelve dollars for the musi- cians, five dollars at the church, and a blessing of the

Virgin besides and so on without an end ! Worst of all was the frightful bill that was still to come from Graic- zunas for the beer and liquor that might be consumed. One could never get in advance more than a guess as to this from a saloon-keeper and then, when the time came he always came to you scratching his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but that he had done his best your guests had gotten so very drunk. By him you were sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even