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----- {{tjbusp395.jpg}} || The Jungle ||


up into the current of this great stream, things which
had before been the whole of life to him came to seem of
relatively slight importance; his interests were elsewhere,
in the world of ideas. His outward life was commonplace
and uninteresting; he was just a hotel-porter, and ex~
pected to remain one while he lived; but meantime, in
the realm of thought, his life was a perpetual adventure.
There was so much to know -- so many wonders to be dis~
covered! Never in all his life did Jurgis forget the day
before election, when there came a telephone message from a
friend of Harry Adams, asking him to bring Jurgis to see
him that night; and Jurgis went, and met one of the minds
of the movement.

The invitation was from a man named Fisher, a Chicago
millionaire who had given up his life to settlement-work,
and had a little home in the heart of the city's slums. He
did not belong to the party, but he was in sympathy with
it; and he said that he was to have as his guest that
night the editor of a big Eastern magazine, who wrote
against Socialism, but really did not know what it was.
The millionaire suggested that Adams bring Jurgis along,
and then start up the subject of "pure food," in which the
editor was interested.

Young Fisher's home was a little two-story brick house,
dingy and weather-beaten outside, but attractive within.
The room that Jurgis saw was half lined with books, and
upon the walls were many pictures, dimly visible in the
soft, yellow light; it was a cold, rainy night, so a log-fire
was crackling in the open hearth. Seven or eight people
were gathered about it when Adams and his friend arrived,
and Jurgis saw to his dismay that three of them were
ladies. He had never talked to people of this sort before,
and he fell into an agony of embarrassment. He stood in
the doorway clutching his hat tightly in his hands, and
made a deep bow to each of the persons as he was intro~
duced; then, when he was asked to have a seat, he took a
chair in a dark corner, and sat down upon the edge of it,
and wiped the perspiration off his forehead with his sleeve.
He was terrified lest they should expect him to talk.


[[395]]

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