I asked of the first policeman I met where I could get a free bed, and he looked at me seemingly in surprise and said, "A free bed?" then continued, "Go to the Union Mission." I asked, "Do they charge for a bed there?" and he replied, "Yes, 10 or 15 cents." "But I haven't even that tonight," I answered. Then he seemed to remember that Washington had a municipal lodging house, and told me I would find it on Twelfth Street, next to the police station. I asked two other policemen with similar results, and started in search of my desired object. I looked down Pennsylvania Avenue, a blaze of lights, and for one mile I could see and read guiding signs of theaters, breweries, hotels, and cafés. Presently I came to Twelfth Street, dark and gloomy, but there was no sign as in Chicago to guide the homeless man or woman, boy or girl, to the door of the free home. It was with difficulty I found it. There was a three-cornered box over the door, intended for a light, but it was not illuminated. Through smoke-dimmed windows there came a feeble light by which I could just discern the words, "Municipal Lodging House," and on the door the inscription, "To the Office." Before entering I stepped back into the street and looked up at the building. It was an old three-story brick building, with no sign of a fire escape. I entered and found myself in a low and very narrow passageway. I applied to the "office" through a small window-door for my bed. There was an honest-faced, comfortably dressed young man just ahead of me, who gave his occupation as machinist, received his bed check, and passed on. When I stepped to the window and asked for a bed, I received no word of welcome from a woman seated at her desk, her demeanor being decidedly unwelcome. Abruptly a man's voice asked from within, "Are you willing to work for it?" I replied earnestly that I was. The woman then snatched up a pen and asked, "Were you ever here before? Where were you born? Where do you live? What is your business?"