He shrinks from the repugnant old drunk with a shiver of loathing and flings himself down on a bench in a paroxysm of bitter tears. Yes, weep poor wretch! Down on your knees—down on your knees in this foul place and float your prayers to heaven. You are a young man yet, yours may not be unavailing tears, the best years of your life are before you—down on your knees! The old drunk comes stumbling forward. “Wash yer cryin’ for? Brash up, brash up—it’s all in a life time, look at me.” Yes, look at him! He’s a dandy! His face is gray with drink, there are blood lines in the yellowish white of his dim, dry eyes, his beard and hair unkempt, his clothes muddy and tattered, and his shoes all broken. But the miserable old creature means well with the youth. “Brash up I shay, the world owes ush a living, an’ we’re goin’ through the world for the lash time.” Going through the world for the last time! Ah! The young man leaps to his feet with a fresh sensation of horror. What means that sound of struggling on the stairway—those fearful curses and frenzied cries of helpless rage that make his muscles quiver? The officers are dragging a fresh victim to the cells. He struggles with his captors every inch of the way. The door is flung violently open, and the wretch is thrown into the room. Is this a man or a lower species of beast? Its face is covered with blood, its matted hair stands stiff about its head, its eyes flash fire, and its covering is in tatters. The police drag it to a cell, shut it in, lock it up, and then, flushed and panting, stand looking in at it with an expression on their faces that we might expect to see on that of a hunter who had meshed a lion. Yes, it is a man—no other animal can curse. He springs to his feet with a hoarse roar, and taking the bars in his hands, shakes the gate with the strength of a maniac. He paces up and down his narrow cell, uttering wild cries of vengeance, till at last he falls upon his bench exhausted, and his labored breathing tells that he is asleep. More drunks! all noisy, all battered. One of them wants to embrace the young man, who springs from him with a cry of downright fear. Then the affectionate drunk becomes indifferent and wants to thump him, but, fortunately, he is too drunk to carry it out. The door opens, and a man comes in quietly this time. His hat is pulled down over his evil eyes and as he slinks to a corner “common thief” is marked on every inch of him. The affectionate drunk wants to embrace him also, but the thief rises with a growl and threatens to hit him a crack on the nose if he doesn’t go and lie down and give him a rest. The door opens again, and a fashionably-dressed gambler comes in, whose last word to the officer at the door is to “Send for Tommy; he’ll bail me out.” The affectionate drunk stands in awe of the newcomer’s good clothes, and the thief, with a side glance at his stylish pin, shrugs his shoulders, pulls his slouch hat further down over his eyes, and