One of the consequences of this episode was that the first joints of three of the little boy’s fingers were permanently disabled, and another that thereafter he always had to be beaten before he set out to work, whenever there was fresh snow on the ground.  Jurgis was called upon to do the beating, and as it hurt his foot he did it with a vengeance; but it did not tend to add to the sweetness of his temper.  They say that the best dog will turn cross if he be kept chained all the time, and it was the same with the man; he had not a thing to do all day but lie and curse his fate, and the time came when he wanted to curse everything.

This was never for very long, however, for when Ona began to cry, Jurgis could not stay angry.  The poor fellow looked like a homeless ghost, with his cheeks sunken in and his long black hair straggling into his eyes; he was too discouraged to cut it, or to think about his appearance.  His muscles were wasting away, and what were left were soft and flabby.  He had no appetite, and they could not afford to tempt him with delicacies.  It was better, he said, that he should not eat, it was a saving.  About the end of March he had got hold of Ona’s bankbook, and learned that there was only three dollars left to them in the world.

But perhaps the worst of the consequences of this long siege was that they lost another member of their family; Brother Jonas disappeared.  One Saturday night he did not come home, and thereafter all their efforts to get trace of him were futile.  It was said by the boss at Durham’s that he had gotten his week’s money and left there.  That might not be true, of course, for sometimes they would say that when a man had been killed; it was the easiest way out of it for all concerned.  When, for instance, a man had fallen into one of the rendering tanks and had been made into pure leaf lard and peerless fertilizer, there was no use letting the fact out and making his family unhappy.  More probable, however, was the theory that Jonas had deserted them, and gone on the road, seeking happiness.  He had been discontented for a long time, and not without some cause.  He paid good board, and was yet obliged to live in a family where nobody had enough to eat.  And Marija would keep giving them all her money, and of course he could not but feel that he was called upon to do the same.  Then there were crying brats, and all sorts of misery; a man would have had to be a good deal of a hero to stand it all without grumbling, and Jonas was not in the least a hero—­he was simply a weatherbeaten old fellow who liked to have a good supper and sit in the corner by the fire and smoke his pipe in peace before he went to bed.  Here there was not room by the fire, and through the winter the kitchen had seldom been warm enough for comfort.  So, with the springtime, what was more likely than that the wild idea of escaping had come to him?  Two years he had been yoked like a horse to a half-ton truck in Durham’s dark cellars, with never a rest, save on Sundays and four holidays in the year, and with never a word of thanks—­only kicks and blows and curses, such as no decent dog would have stood.  And now the winter was over, and the spring winds were blowing—­and with a day’s walk a man might put the smoke of Packingtown behind him forever, and be where the grass was green and the flowers all the colors of the rainbow!