It was all as foreign to any previous experience of this countryman as though he had come from a different planet.  He had read of the city slums as of Stanley’s Central African negro tribes with unpronounceable names; and he had thought of them in much the same way.  To him they had been something known to exist, but with which it was but remotely probable he would ever come in contact.  Now, without preparation or premeditation, thrown face to face with the reality, it brought upon him a sickening feeling, a sort of mental nausea.  Ben was not a philanthropist or a social reformer; the inspiring thought of the inexhaustible field for usefulness therein presented had never occurred to him.  He wished chiefly to get away from the stench and ugliness; and, turning down a cross street, he started to return.

The locality he now entered was more modern and better lighted than the one he left behind.  The decorated building fronts, with their dazzling electric signs, partook of the characteristics of the inhabitants, who seemed overdressed and vulgarly ostentatious.  The gaudily trapped saloons, cafes, and music halls, spoke a similar message.  This was the recreation spot of the people of the quarter; their land of lethe.  So near were the saloons and drinking gardens that from their open doorways there came a pungent odor of beer.  Every place had instrumental music of some kind.  Mandolins and guitars, in the hands of gentlemen of color, were the favorites.  Pianos of execrable tone, played by youths with defective complexions, or by machinery, were a close second.  Before one place, a crowd blocked the sidewalk; and there Ben stopped.  A vaudeville performance was going on within—­an invisible dialect comedian doing a German stunt to the accompaniment of wooden clogs and disarranged verbs.  A barker in front, coatless, his collar loosened, a black string tie dangling over an unclean shirt front, was temporarily taking a much-needed rest.  An electric sign overhead dyed his cheeks with shifting colors—­first red, then green, then white.  Despite its veneer of brazen effrontery, the face, with its great mouth and two days’ growth of beard, was haggard and weary looking.  Ben mentally pictured, with a feeling of compassion, other human beings doing their idiotic “stunts” inside, sweltering in the foul air; and he wondered how, if an atom of self-respect remained in their make-up, they could fail to despise themselves.

But the comedian had subsided in a roar of applause, and again the barker’s hands were gesticulating wildly.

“Now’s your time, ladies and gentlemen,” he harangued.  “It’s continuous, you know, and Madame—­”

But Ben did not wait for more.  Elbow first, he pushed into the crowd, and as it instantly closed about him the odor of unclean bodies made him fairly hold his breath.

Straight ahead, looking neither to right nor to left, went the countryman; he turned the corner of the block, a corner without a light.  Suddenly, with an instinctive tightening of his breath, he drew back.  He had nearly stepped upon a man, dead drunk, stretched half in a darkened doorway, half on the walk.  The wretch’s head was bent back over one of the iron steps until it seemed as if he must choke, and he was snoring heavily.