The moon was setting behind the towers of the city. The shadows were lengthening; that part of the city near at hand looked grewsome. The park was silent and somber. As I waited I saw two men standing in the shadow just outside the park; from their manner, I knew they were discussing me. Presently they started through the entrance toward me, and as they did so one of the men put his hand in his lower coat pocket. Half protruding from the pocket I caught the gleam of a revolver. As they approached, my heart for a moment seemed to stand still. I did not dare to run or cry out. I simply arose and stood behind the bench. They walked rapidly and directly toward me. When they came near enough to observe me closely they stopped. Then one of them said in a disgusted manner, "I told you so; it's only a hobo," and they hurriedly turned and left me. I had to get back to Pittsburg, and learn what it means to the fullest to be a homeless man in this great industrial center. It came to me that I had spent my last penny coming over. How could I get back? Surely it was the place where the penny counts! During the day I had been told that the only free crossing between Pittsburg and Allegheny was the railroad bridge, used by the railroad employees. I must find that. In spite of my startling experience, I was compelled to thread the gloom of this black part of the city to find the bridge. I found it and started to walk the ties, fearing at any moment that the headlight of a fast approaching train might flash upon me. Suddenly I slipped on an oiled tie, falling. In the darkness I threw out my hand, clutching an iron rod. In my stumble I discovered for the first time that two planks had been laid on the side of the bridge where one could safely walk. With a feeling of relief and security, I quickly stepped upon them, and the rest of my walk upon the bridge was filled with a feeling of gratitude for my escape. Shortly after crossing the bridge, I saw a policeman and asked him where I could get a free bed, or if I would be allowed to sleep in the park. He gave me a severe look and in a harsh manner said, "No, there is no free beds in this town, and you can't sleep in the park, either." I said I knew some people on Fifth Avenue who, perhaps, would take me in, but I did not care to trouble them at that hour. I asked him the way to the Avenue and he directed me. I had gone scarcely half a block when he commanded me to stop. He came up to me and said roughly, "Who are you, anyway? I don't believe you have a place to go." I replied that I was an honest man. "What is your business? What do you do?" were his next questions. With no other thought, except that I must answer something, I told him that I was a carpenter. He started to search me and all he found was the carpenter's rule and the nail which I had picked up the previous day.