“No,” she answered, “I don’t blame you.  We never have—­any of us.  You did your best—­the job was too much for us.”  She paused a moment, then added:  “We were too ignorant—­that was the trouble.  We didn’t stand any chance.  If I’d known what I know now we’d have won out.”

“You’d have come here?” said Jurgis.

“Yes,” she answered; “but that’s not what I meant.  I meant you—­how differently you would have behaved—­about Ona.”

Jurgis was silent; he had never thought of that aspect of it.

“When people are starving,” the other continued, “and they have anything with a price, they ought to sell it, I say.  I guess you realize it now when it’s too late.  Ona could have taken care of us all, in the beginning.”  Marija spoke without emotion, as one who had come to regard things from the business point of view.

“I—­yes, I guess so,” Jurgis answered hesitatingly.  He did not add that he had paid three hundred dollars, and a foreman’s job, for the satisfaction of knocking down “Phil” Connor a second time.

The policeman came to the door again just then.  “Come on, now,” he said.  “Lively!”

“All right,” said Marija, reaching for her hat, which was big enough to be a drum major’s, and full of ostrich feathers.  She went out into the hall and Jurgis followed, the policeman remaining to look under the bed and behind the door.

“What’s going to come of this?” Jurgis asked, as they started down the steps.

“The raid, you mean?  Oh, nothing—­it happens to us every now and then.  The madame’s having some sort of time with the police; I don’t know what it is, but maybe they’ll come to terms before morning.  Anyhow, they won’t do anything to you.  They always let the men off.”

“Maybe so,” he responded, “but not me—­I’m afraid I’m in for it.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m wanted by the police,” he said, lowering his voice, though of course their conversation was in Lithuanian.  “They’ll send me up for a year or two, I’m afraid.”

“Hell!” said Marija.  “That’s too bad.  I’ll see if I can’t get you off.”

Downstairs, where the greater part of the prisoners were now massed, she sought out the stout personage with the diamond earrings, and had a few whispered words with her.  The latter then approached the police sergeant who was in charge of the raid.  “Billy,” she said, pointing to Jurgis, “there’s a fellow who came in to see his sister.  He’d just got in the door when you knocked.  You aren’t taking hoboes, are you?”

The sergeant laughed as he looked at Jurgis.  “Sorry,” he said, “but the orders are every one but the servants.”

So Jurgis slunk in among the rest of the men, who kept dodging behind each other like sheep that have smelled a wolf.  There were old men and young men, college boys and gray-beards old enough to be their grandfathers; some of them wore evening dress—­there was no one among them save Jurgis who showed any signs of poverty.