“Lithuanian, sir.”

The man thought for a moment, and then turned to his friend.  “Who is there, Walters?” he asked.  “There is Ostrinski—­but he is a Pole—­”

“Ostrinski speaks Lithuanian,” said the other.  “All right, then; would you mind seeing if he has gone yet?”

The other started away, and the speaker looked at Jurgis again.  He had deep, black eyes, and a face full of gentleness and pain.  “You must excuse me, comrade,” he said.  “I am just tired out—­I have spoken every day for the last month.  I will introduce you to some one who will be able to help you as well as I could—­”

The messenger had had to go no further than the door, he came back, followed by a man whom he introduced to Jurgis as “Comrade Ostrinski.”  Comrade Ostrinski was a little man, scarcely up to Jurgis’s shoulder, wizened and wrinkled, very ugly, and slightly lame.  He had on a long-tailed black coat, worn green at the seams and the buttonholes; his eyes must have been weak, for he wore green spectacles that gave him a grotesque appearance.  But his handclasp was hearty, and he spoke in Lithuanian, which warmed Jurgis to him.

“You want to know about Socialism?” he said.  “Surely.  Let us go out and take a stroll, where we can be quiet and talk some.”

And so Jurgis bade farewell to the master wizard, and went out.  Ostrinski asked where he lived, offering to walk in that direction; and so he had to explain once more that he was without a home.  At the other’s request he told his story; how he had come to America, and what had happened to him in the stockyards, and how his family had been broken up, and how he had become a wanderer.  So much the little man heard, and then he pressed Jurgis’s arm tightly.  “You have been through the mill, comrade!” he said.  “We will make a fighter out of you!”

Then Ostrinski in turn explained his circumstances.  He would have asked Jurgis to his home—­but he had only two rooms, and had no bed to offer.  He would have given up his own bed, but his wife was ill.  Later on, when he understood that otherwise Jurgis would have to sleep in a hallway, he offered him his kitchen floor, a chance which the other was only too glad to accept.  “Perhaps tomorrow we can do better,” said Ostrinski.  “We try not to let a comrade starve.”

Ostrinski’s home was in the Ghetto district, where he had two rooms in the basement of a tenement.  There was a baby crying as they entered, and he closed the door leading into the bedroom.  He had three young children, he explained, and a baby had just come.  He drew up two chairs near the kitchen stove, adding that Jurgis must excuse the disorder of the place, since at such a time one’s domestic arrangements were upset.  Half of the kitchen was given up to a workbench, which was piled with clothing, and Ostrinski explained that he was a “pants finisher.”  He brought great bundles of clothing here to his home, where he and his wife worked