American railroads will be forced sooner or later to see that it is up to them to take care of the homeless, wandering wage-worker, or the homeless, wandering wage-worker will take care of the railroads. CHAPTER IV THE MERCIFUL AWAKENING OF NEW YORK "_I said, I will walk in the country. He said, walk in the city. I said, but there are no flowers there. He said, but there are crowns._" In New York I repeated my Chicago plan. I left the Waldorf-Astoria at ten o'clock, dressed in my blue jeans and with my cloak covering my outfit until I could reach unobserved a place to leave it. The police were courteous and directed me to New York City's "House of God." [Illustration: _Municipal Lodging House, Department of Public Charities, New York City_] Before entering I stepped back and looked at the wonderful building, beautifully illuminated. As I stood there with a heart full of thankfulness for this gift to those in need, I saw a young girl about fifteen years of age approach the woman's entrance. Her manner indicated that this was her first appeal for help. She hesitated to enter and stood clinging to the side of the door for support. At my right was the long dark street leading to New York's Great White Way; on my left the dark East River. I could see the lights of the boats and almost hear the splash of the water. As she raised her face and the light fell upon it, I read as plainly as though it were written there, those lines of Adelaide Procter's: "The night cries a sin to be living And the river a sin to be dead." Then the door opened and I saw a motherly matron take the girl in her arms and disappear. This incident brought to me a startling revelation. This home was a haven between sin and suicide. The night I slept in New York's Emergency Home I was told a mother, with seven children, one a babe in arms, at one o'clock in the morning, had sought shelter there. And as the door was opened to receive her, she said, in broken, trembling words, "My man's killed himself--he's out of work."