When he neared Broadway, he noticed the captain's gathering of wanderers, but thinking it to be the result of a street preacher or some patent medicine fakir, was about to pass on.However, in crossing the street toward Madison Square Park, he noticed the line of men whose beds were already secured, stretching out from the main body of the crowd.In the glare of the neighbouring electric light he recognised a type of his own kind--the figures whom he saw about the streets and in the lodging-houses, drifting in mind and body like himself.He wondered what it could be and turned back.
There was the captain curtly pleading as before.He heard with astonishment and a sense of relief the oft-repeated words: "These men must have a bed." Before him was the line of unfortunates whose beds were yet to be had, and seeing a newcomer quietly edge up and take a position at the end of the line, he decided to do likewise.What use to contend? He was weary to-night.It was a simple way out of one difficulty, at least.To-morrow, maybe, he would do better.
Back of him, where some of those were whose beds were safe, a relaxed air was apparent.The strain of uncertainty being removed, he heard them talking with moderate freedom and some leaning toward sociability.Politics, religion, the state of the government, some newspaper sensations, and the more notorious facts the world over, found mouthpieces and auditors there.
Cracked and husky voices pronounced forcibly upon odd matters.
Vague and rambling observations were made in reply.
There were squints, and leers, and some dull, ox-like stares from those who were too dull or too weary to converse.