The Jungle

by Upton Sinclair

  “There’s a button here, ole sport,” said Master Freddie. “Hole my arm while I find her! Steady, now—oh, yes, here she is! Saved!”

  A bell rang, and in a few seconds the door was opened. A man in blue livery stood holding it, and gazing before him, silent as a statue.

  They stood for a moment blinking in the light. Then Jurgis felt his companion pulling, and he stepped in, and the blue automaton closed the door. Jurgis’s heart was beating wildly; it was a bold thing for him to do—into what strange unearthly place he was venturing he had no idea. Aladdin entering his cave could not have been more excited.

  The place where he stood was dimly lighted; but he could see a vast hall, with pillars fading into the darkness above, and a great staircase opening at the far end of it. The floor was of tesselated marble, smooth as glass, and from the walls strange shapes loomed out, woven into huge portières in rich, harmonious colors, or gleaming from paintings, wonderful and mysterious-looking in the half-light, purple and red and golden, like sunset glimmers in a shadowy forest.

  The man in livery had moved silently toward them; Master Freddie took off his hat and handed it to him, and then, letting go of Jurgis’s arm, tried to get out of his overcoat. After two or three attempts he accomplished this, with the lackey’s help; and meantime a second man had approached, a tall and portly personage, solemn as an executioner. He bore straight down upon Jurgis, who shrank away nervously; he seized him by the arm without a word, and started toward the door with him. Then suddenly came Master Freddie’s voice, “Hamilton! My fren’ will remain wiz me.”

  The man paused and half released Jurgis. “Come ‘long, ole chappie,” said the other, and Jurgis started toward him.

  “Master Frederick!” exclaimed the man.

  “See that the cabbie—hic—is paid,” was the other’s response; and he linked his arm in Jurgis’s. Jurgis was about to say, “I have the money for him,” but he restrained himself. The stout man in uniform signalled to the other, who went out to the cab, while he followed Jurgis and his young master.

  They went down the great hall, and then turned. Before them were two huge doors.

  “Hamilton,” said Master Freddie.

  “Well, sir?” said the other.

  “Whuzzamatter wizze dinin‘-room doors?”

  “Nothing is the matter, sir.”

  “Then why dontcha openum?”

  The man rolled them back; another vista lost itself in the darkness. “Lights,” commanded Master Freddie; and the butler pressed a button, and a flood of brilliant incandescence streamed from above, half blinding Jurgis. He stared; and little by little he made out the great apartment, with a domed ceiling from which the light poured, and walls that were one enormous painting—nymphs and dryads dancing in a flower-strewn glade—Diana with her hounds and horses, dashing headlong through a mountain streamlet—a group of maidens bathing in a forest-pool-all life-size, and so real that Jurgis thought that it was some work of enchantment, that he was in a dream-palace. Then his eye passed to the long table in the centre of the hall, a table black as ebony, and gleaming with wrought silver and gold. In the centre of it was a huge carven bowl, with the glistening gleam of ferns and the red and purple of rare orchids, glowing from a light hidden somewhere in their midst.

  “This’s the dinin‘-room,” observed Master Freddie. “How you like it, hey, ole sport?”

  He always insisted on having an answer to his remarks, leaning over Jurgis and smiling into his face. Jurgis liked it.

  “Rummy ole place to feed in all ‘lone, though,” was Freddie’s comment—“rummy’s hell! Whuzya think, hey?” Then another idea occurred to him and he went on, without waiting: “Maybe you never saw anything—hic—like this ’fore? Hey, ole chappie?”

  “No,” said Jurgis.

  “Come from country, maybe—hey?”

  “Yes,” said Jurgis.

  “Aha! I thosso! Lossa folks from country never saw such a place. Guv‘ner brings ’em—free show—hic—reg‘lar circus! Go home tell folks about it. Ole man Jones’s place—Jones the packer—beef-trust man. Made it all out of hogs, too, damn ole scoundrel. Now we see where our pennies go—rebates, an’ private-car lines—hic—by Harry! Bully place, though—worth seein’! Ever hear of Jones the packer, hey, ole chappie?”

  Jurgis had started involuntarily; the other, whose sharp eyes missed nothing, demanded: “Whuzzamatter, hey? Heard of him?”

  And Jurgis managed to stammer out: “I have worked for him in the yards.”

  “What!” cried Master Freddie, with a yell. “You! In the yards? Ho, ho! Why, say, thass good! Shake hands on it, ole man—by Harry! Guv‘ner ought to be here—glad to see you. Great fren’s with the men, guv’ner—labor an’ capital, commun‘ty ’f int‘rests, an’ all that—hic! Funny things happen in this world, don’t they, ole man? Hamilton, lemme interduce you—fren’ the family—ole fren’ the guv’ner‘s—works in the yards. Come to spend the night wiz me, Hamilton—have a hot time. My fren’, Mr.—whuzya name, ole chappie? Tell us your name.”

  “Rudkus—Jurgis Rudkus.”

  “My fren‘, Mr. Rudnose, Hamilton—shake han’s.”

  The stately butler bowed his head, but made not a sound; and suddenly Master Freddie pointed an eager finger at him. “I know whuzzamatter wiz you, Hamilton—lay you a dollar I know! You think—hic—you think I’m drunk! Hey, now?”

  And the butler again bowed his head. “Yes, sir,” he said, at which Master Freddie hung tightly upon Jurgis’s neck and went into a fit of laughter. “Hamilton, you damn ole scoundrel,” he roared, “I’ll ‘scharge you for impudence, you see ’f I don‘t! Ho, ho, ho! I’m drunk! Ho, ho!”

  The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim would seize him. “Whatcha wanta do?” he queried suddenly. “Wanta see the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv‘ner—show you roun’? State parlors—Looee Cans—Looee Sez—chairs cost three thousand apiece. Tea-room—Maryanntnet—picture of shepherds dancing—Ruysdael—twenty-three thousan‘! Ball-room—balc’ny pillars—hic—imported—special ship-sixty-eight thousan‘! Ceilin’ painted in Rome—whuzzat feller’s name, Hamilton—Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this place—silver bowl—Benvenuto Cellini—rummy ole Dago! An’ the organ—thirty thousan’ dollars, sir—starter up, Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No—never mind—clean forgot—says he’s hungry, Hamilton—less have some supper. Only—hic—don’t less have it here—come up to my place, ole sport—nice an’ cosy. This way—steady now, don’t slip on the floor. Hamilton, we’ll have a cole spread, an’ some fizz—don’t leave out the fizz, by Harry. We’ll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the butler, “but, Master Frederick, your father left orders—”

  And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. “My father’s orders were left to me—hic—an’ not to you,” he said. Then, clasping Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room; on the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked: “Any—hic—cable message for me, Hamilton?”

  “No, sir,” said the butler.

  “Guv‘ner must be travellin’. An’ how’s the twins, Hamilton?”

  “They are doing well, sir.”

  “Good!” said Master Freddie; and added fervently: “God bless ‘em, the little lambs!”

  They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top of it there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph crouching by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm and glowing with the hues of life. Above was a huge court, with domed roof, the various apartments opening into it. The butler had paused below but a few minutes to give orders, and then followed them; now he pressed a button, and the hall blazed with light. He opened a door before them, and then pressed another button, as they staggered into the apartment.

  It was fitted up as a study. In the centre was a mahogany table, covered with books, and smokers’ implements; the walls were deco
rated with college trophies and colors,—flags, posters, photographs and knickknacks—tennis-rackets, canoe-paddles, golf-clubs, and polo-sticks. An enormous moose head, with horns six feet across, faced a buffalo head on the opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the polished floor. There were lounging-chairs and sofas, window-seats covered with soft cushions of fantastic designs; there was one corner fitted in Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jewelled lamp beneath. Beyond, a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a swimming pool of the purest marble, that had cost about forty thousand dollars.

  Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then out of the next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous object that Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, opening a mouth like a dragon’s; and he came toward the young man, wagging his tail. “Hello, Dewey!” cried his master. “Been havin’ a snooze, ole boy? Well, well—hello there, whuzzamatter?” (The dog was snarling at Jurgis.) “Why, Dewey—this’ my fren‘, Mr. Rednose—ole fren’ the guv’ner‘s! Mr. Rednose, Admiral Dewey; shake ban’s—hic. Ain’t he a daisy, though—blue ribbon at the New York show—eighty-five hundred at a clip! How’s that, hey?”

  The speaker sank into one of the big arm-chairs, and Admiral Dewey crouched beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes off Jurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral.

  The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Jurgis every second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, as he opened the door a man in livery entered, carrying a folding-table, and behind him two men with covered trays. They stood like statues while the first spread the table and set out the contents of the trays upon it. There were cold pates, and thin slices of meat, tiny bread and butter sandwiches with the crust cut off, a bowl of sliced peaches and cream (in January), little fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow and white, and half a dozen ice-cold bottles of wine.

  “Thass the stuff for you!” cried Master Freddie, exultantly, as he spied them. “Come ‘long, ole chappie, move up.”

  And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, and he took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession down his throat. Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and cried again to Jurgis to seat himself.

  The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Jurgis thought it was to keep him out of it; but finally he understood that it was the other’s intention to put it under him, and so he sat down, cautiously and mistrustingly. Master Freddie perceived that the attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked, with a nod to them, “You may go.”

  They went, all save the butler.

  “You may go too, Hamilton,” he said.

  “Master Frederick—” the man began.

  “Go!” cried the youngster, angrily. “Damn you, don’t you hear me?”

  The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as he, observed that he took the key out of the lock, in order that he might peer through the keyhole.

  Master Frederick turned to the table again. “Now,” he said, “go for it.”

  Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. “Eat!” cried the other. “Pile in, ole chappie!”

  “Don’t you want anything?” Jurgis asked.

  “Ain’t hungry,” was the reply—“only thirsty. Kitty and me had some candy—you go on.”

  So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, his fork in one hand and his knife in the other; when he once got started his wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for breath until he had cleared every plate. “Gee whiz!” said the other, who had been watching him in wonder.

  Then he held Jurgis the bottle. “Lessee you drink now,” he said; and Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderful unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve of him, thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and then he gave vent to a long-drawn “Ah!”

  “Good stuff, hey?” said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned back in the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing at Jurgis.

  And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening-dress, was Freddie, and looked very handsome—he was a beautiful boy, with light golden hair and the head of an Antinous.22 He smiled at Jurgis confidingly, and then started talking again, with his blissful insouciance. This time he talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in the course of the speech he told Jurgis all of his family history. His big brother Charlie was in love with the guileless maiden who played the part of “Little Bright-Eyes” in “The Kaliph of Kamskatka.” He had been on the verge of marrying her once, only “the guv‘ner” had sworn to disinherit him, and had presented him with a sum that would stagger the imagination, and that had staggered the virtue of “Little Bright-Eyes.” Now Charlie had got leave from college, and had gone away in his automobile on the next best thing to a honeymoon. “The guv’ner” had made threats to disinherit another of his children also, sister Gwendolen, who had married an Italian marquis with a string of titles and a duelling record. They lived in his chateau, or rather had, until he had taken to firing the breakfast-dishes at her; then she had cabled for help, and the old gentleman had gone over to find out what were his Grace’s terms. So they had left Freddie all alone, and he with less than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in arms and meant serious business, as they would find in the end—if there was no other way of bringing them to terms he would have his “Kittens” wire that she was about to marry him, and see what happened then.

  So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled his sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, sleepily. Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed them and forgot to open them.

  For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and revelling in the strange sensations of the champagne. Once he stirred, and the dog growled; after that he sat almost holding his breath—until after a while the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came in.

  He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis rose up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and then the butler came close, and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here!” he whispered.

  Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring softly. “If you do, you son of a—” hissed the butler, “I’ll mash in your face for you before you get out of here!”

  And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw “Admiral Dewey” coming up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his threats. Then he surrendered and started toward the door.

  They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, and through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler strode close to him.

  “Hold up your hands,” he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, clinching his one well fist.

  “What for?” he cried; and then understanding that the fellow proposed to search him, he answered, “I’ll see you in hell first.”

  “Do you want to go to jail?” demanded the butler, menacingly. “I’ll have the police—”

  “Have ‘em!” roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. “But you won’t put your hands on me till you do! I haven’t touched anything in your damned house, and I’ll not have you touch me!”

  So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, stepped suddenly to the door, and opened it. “Get out of here!” he said; and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he gave him a ferocious kick that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and landed him sprawling in the snow at the bottom.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  JURGIS GOT up, wild with rage; but the door was shut and the great castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit into him, and he turned and went away at a run.

  When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last h
umiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out ahead on that deal! He put his hand into his trousers’ pocket every now and then, to make sure that the precious hundred-dollar bill was still there.

  Yet he was in a plight—a curious and even dreadful plight, when he came to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one bill! And he had to find some shelter that night—he had to change it!

  Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was no one he could go to for help—he had to manage it all alone. To get it changed in a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands—he would almost certainly be robbed, and perhaps murdered, before morning. He might go to some hotel or railroad-depot and ask to have it changed; but what would they think, seeing a “bum” like him with a hundred dollars? He would probably be arrested if he tried it; and what story could he tell? On the morrow Freddie Jones would discover his loss, and there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. The only other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. He might pay them to change it, if it could not be done otherwise.

  He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as being too crowded—then finally, chancing upon one where the bartender was all alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in.

  “Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” he demanded.

  The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, and a three weeks’ stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Jurgis. “What’s that youse say?” he demanded.

  “I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?”

  “Where’d youse get it?” he inquired incredulously.