Its handle served as a poker, and its pan, as well as for
frying, roasting and boiling, did duty for a teapot and a slop-basin.
They had no crockery. They had only one thing in abundance--namely,
air; for the lower frame of the window having long lacked glass in it,
a couple of pages of the _Examiner_, fixed in it, flapped dismally
every time the wind came blowing down 216th Street.
They had not lived there always. In the palmy days of work, before the
firm smashed, they had aspired to what might properly be called
diggings; and, moreover, had "digged" in respectable surroundings. It
was the usual thing--the thing that is happening always, every hour of
the day, in all the great cities of the world--starvation, through
lack of employment. Civilization still shuts its eyes to everyday
poverty. Who knows? Who cares? Who is responsible? No one. Is there a
remedy? Ah! that is a question that requires time. Time--always time!
Time for the politician, and time for the starving ones! Half the
world thinks, whilst half the world dies; and the cause of it all is
time--too much, a damned sight too much--time!
But Kelson and Curtis could not grumble. They had their room--bare,
dirty and well-ventilated--for next to nothing. Fifty cents a week!
And they could furnish it as they pleased. Fancy that! What a
privilege! They were glad of it all the same--glad of it in preference
to the streets; and probably, when asleep, they thought of it as home.
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