I felt his pulse; it was jumping like a trip-hammer. But in the way of assurance I answered, "No, your pulse is normal." "Have we been up here four hours? They gave me some medicine downstairs to take every four hours, and if I was restless, I was to send down for it and take a dose." "No, I think we have been up here about two hours. You might send down for it, and if it is a good thing to take a full dose every four hours, you might take a half-dose in two hours." He hesitated for a moment, then agreed. I advised him to cut out the drink, and he went to the attendant for his medicine, received it, and slept like a babe until dawn. There is an attendant in each dormitory all night long, and he must report to the office by telephone every hour, not being allowed to sleep one moment on duty. A few days later, after my visit was made public, I received many letters at my hotel, and among them was one from this man. He thanked me for my bit of advice to cut out the drink, and said that he had braced up and had not drunk a drop since that night, and that he had determined to be a man and fill a man's place in the world. His resolution was not due to my advice at all. It was due to the influence of "God's House," to New York's Municipal Emergency Home, and had turned him back to his true inheritance. At six o'clock in the morning we were called. Every man took the linen from his bed and put it in a pile where it was all gathered up and taken afterward to the laundries. Every day fresh and spotless linen is supplied. We then went down and dressed and were given our breakfast--as fine a dish of oatmeal as I ever ate, and again most delicious hot coffee with milk and sugar, bread and butter. And again every man had abundance. I said to a boy who sat on my right, "How do you feel this morning?" "I tell you I feel as if someone cared for me," he answered, "I feel like getting out and hustling harder than ever for a job to-day."