The market for “sitters” was glutted that afternoon, however, and there was no place for Jurgis.  In all he had to spend six nickels in keeping a shelter over him that frightful day, and then it was just dark, and the station houses would not open until midnight!  At the last place, however, there was a bartender who knew him and liked him, and let him doze at one of the tables until the boss came back; and also, as he was going out, the man gave him a tip—­on the next block there was a religious revival of some sort, with preaching and singing, and hundreds of hoboes would go there for the shelter and warmth.

Jurgis went straightway, and saw a sign hung out, saying that the door would open at seven-thirty; then he walked, or half ran, a block, and hid awhile in a doorway and then ran again, and so on until the hour.  At the end he was all but frozen, and fought his way in with the rest of the throng (at the risk of having his arm broken again), and got close to the big stove.

By eight o’clock the place was so crowded that the speakers ought to have been flattered; the aisles were filled halfway up, and at the door men were packed tight enough to walk upon.  There were three elderly gentlemen in black upon the platform, and a young lady who played the piano in front.  First they sang a hymn, and then one of the three, a tall, smooth-shaven man, very thin, and wearing black spectacles, began an address.  Jurgis heard smatterings of it, for the reason that terror kept him awake—­he knew that he snored abominably, and to have been put out just then would have been like a sentence of death to him.

The evangelist was preaching “sin and redemption,” the infinite grace of God and His pardon for human frailty.  He was very much in earnest, and he meant well, but Jurgis, as he listened, found his soul filled with hatred.  What did he know about sin and suffering—­with his smooth, black coat and his neatly starched collar, his body warm, and his belly full, and money in his pocket—­and lecturing men who were struggling for their lives, men at the death grapple with the demon powers of hunger and cold!—­This, of course, was unfair; but Jurgis felt that these men were out of touch with the life they discussed, that they were unfitted to solve its problems; nay, they themselves were part of the problem—­they were part of the order established that was crushing men down and beating them!  They were of the triumphant and insolent possessors; they had a hall, and a fire, and food and clothing and money, and so they might preach to hungry men, and the hungry men must be humble and listen!  They were trying to save their souls—­and who but a fool could fail to see that all that was the matter with their souls was that they had not been able to get a decent existence for their bodies?