other continued, "an' some of the other factories is closed, too--the
cotton mill is only runnin' half time."

"I see."

"Old Lockman used to say there was too many glass works," the
barkeeper added. "An' the fellers he bought out went an' built more.
So there you are."

There was a pause. "I'm coming back in the morning," said Samuel
doggedly.

"All right," said the other, with a smile--"if you don't forget it."
Then a couple of customers entered. "Run along now," said he.

And Samuel went--the more readily because he realized that he had been
all this time in a saloon, a place of mystery and wickedness to him.

He started down the street again. A fine cold rain had begun to fall.
What was he to do?

He felt warm, having feasted. But there was no use in getting wet. He
glanced into the doorways as he passed, and seeing a dark and empty
one, crouched inside.

Lockmanville! What a curious coincidence! And there were hundreds in
the town out of work. It seemed a strange and terrible thing. Could it
be that they let people starve as he was starving--people they knew?
Could it be that they went on about their business and paid no
attention to such a thing?