nearly all the decencies of a funeral; they had only a hearse, and one hack for the women and children; and Jurgis, who was learning things fast, spent all Sunday making a bargain for these, and he made it in the presence of witnesses, so that when the man tried to charge him for all sorts of incidentals, he did not have to pay. For twenty-five years old Antanas Rudkus and his son had dwelt in the forest together, and it was hard to part in this way; perhaps it was just as well that Jurgis had to give all his attention to the task of having a funeral without being bankrupted, and so had no time to indulge in memories and grief.
Now the dreadful winter was come upon them. In the
forests, all summer long, the branches of the trees do
battle for light, and some of them lose and die; and
then come the raging blasts, and the storms of snow and
hail, and strew the ground with these weaker branches.
Just so it was in Packingtown; the whole district braced
itself for the struggle that was an agony, and those whose
time was come died off in hordes. All the year round
they had been serving as cogs in the great packing-machine; and now was the time for the renovating of
it, and the replacing of damaged parts. There came
pneumonia and grippe, stalking among them, seeking
for weakened constitutions; there was the annual harvest of those whom tuberculosis had been dragging down.
There came cruel, cold, and biting winds, and blizzards of
snow, all testing relentlessly for failing muscles and impoverished blood. Sooner or later came the day when
the unfit one did not report for work; and then, with no
time lost in waiting, and no inquiries or regrets, there
was a chance for a new hand.
The new hands were here by the thousands. All day long the gates of the packing-houses were besieged by starving and penniless men; they came, literally, by the thousands every single morning, fighting with each other for a chance for life. Blizzards and cold made no difference to them, they were always on hand; they were on
