I was compelled to try the so-called "Christian Missions," and they made a good starting point for my investigations,--investigations which proved to me that they prey upon the gullible with a pretense of helping the homeless. I went first to the Salvation Army and asked for a bed. The attendant told me he could not give me one as their lodging house was run for profit and not for charity. "I am willing to work for it. Have you no such place." "We have," was the answer, "but it is closed." Then I went to the old Liberty Mission on Fourth Street and I read the following inscription over the door, "The man who belongs nowhere belongs here." Prayers were being said on the inside, and the doorway was blocked by a desk behind which sat a negro. I asked if I could get a free bed. He answered, "You can for ten cents." Still on the street, I made my way to the Volunteers of America on Second Avenue, made an appeal for a bed, and was flatly denied that comfort unless I had twenty-five cents to pay for it. So, touched by the lack of hospitality offered by "Christian" institutions in Pittsburg to an indigent man, I looked straight at this Volunteer, and said earnestly, "Is there no place in all this great city where a destitute man can find an asylum for only one night?" and started for the door. I think my ardent manner created a little suspicion, for he called me back and said, "You might ask the Captain; he is out there holding service in the street." I stepped out just as they concluded their service. I addressed one of the followers and asked for the Captain. "He has just gone," was the answer, "but what do you want of him?" "I am without means, and I wanted to know if he would give me a bed for the night." The follower said, "No, I don't think we can, but I can give you work. Do you want work?" "I do, where is it, and what is it?" The work proved to be driving one of their wagons four miles out in the country. "And what do they pay?" I asked. "I don't know." I said, "It is late and I am tired, and I want to be taken care of just for to-night. I may find work at my trade to-morrow. Do you see?" He replied with a sneer, "Oh, yes I see," and abruptly turned his back upon me and went in to pray. All that was left for me was the public park. Pittsburg has no breathing spots, squares, or parks down in the city, although there is a large fine park, I am told, several miles out. Just across the Allegheny River in Allegheny City (Greater Pittsburg) is a beautiful park with many statues, fountains, flowers, and trees; but I must cross the bridge and the toll was one cent. I reached down in my jeans for my last penny, paid my toll, and went over. How lucky I was in having that one last penny! It was one of the places where "the penny counts." I had been told during the day that one of the inducements offered to Allegheny City for coming into Pittsburg was that this toll, a mighty revenue, would be abolished, but as yet it still exists.