Life — May 3, 1883 — page 4: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

~— thought of Leather-Stocking. I had vicariously eaten my last shirt on the evening before, and I presented a doleful: appearance with a wisp of handkerchief tied around my neck, and my coat collar turned up to hide the absence of any shirt collar. As I stood beating the Devil’s tattoo on the window of a bake-shop, and meditating whether I should break it and be sent to jail, where I might get fed, I was tapped upon the shoulder. Turning, I perceived a most degraded-looking work- ingman, wearing a black, slouched hat. “Ah, you are here,” he said, in bad French. “Yes, I am,” I replied, in equally bad French. “The banquet, are you not to be at it?” he asked, making a queer sign with his hand. “ Un Banquet! je sourirat!” 1 cried, making a sign at hap-hazard. “Allons, donc,” growled the wretch. I followed him willingly. Our way lay through dark, crooked alleys, down slippery steps, through arched, oozing passages. We finally stopped at the door of a sordid house. My guide gave a curious double knock at the door; a wicket was opened; there was a low whispering, and presently the door was opened and I found myself in a long passageway. I stumbled over something on the floor, but pressed on. I found myself in a low-studded, dingy room, filled with bad tobacco smoke. The smoke lifted for a moment, and I saw fifty or sixty villainous faces ; I soon lost my first acquaint- ance among the other wretches. A wild-eyed German shuffled towards me, tore open my coat, and pointing at the vacant space muttered to the crowd, “ Er hat kein Hemd; er ist einer von uns!” He then made me hold up my hand and put me through the forms of a terrible oath. “When I had sworn to the rigmarole he filched a pipe from the pocket of one neighbor, some tobacco from that of another. “ Wenn du die Lungen versorgen willst,” he said, grimly. Accommodating myself to my surroundings I tipped a little man from a chair and took his match-box away from him. I then sat in the chair and lighted the pipe. Every one was talking at once. In the corner a jocose man was showing the others how he had blown up a government office, and gave a very droll imitation of the dis- organized condition of a shat- tered official; a Russian was showing the exact spot where he had stabbed a farmer of taxes; suddenly a clock struck with a harsh clang. “Dinner!” 3 yelled the crowd in many languages, and a wild rush was made to a door, which was crushed in by the pack. A dark lantern swung from a beam in the banquet- room and showed a mass of plates of cold food and jugs of liquor upon a deal table in the centre of the room. A supper table crush at a ball is the only thing in civilized life which gives one an idea of the hideous crowd around the table. Each man held a knife in his hand and hacked a hunk from a dish of meat. As a grim joke a large goose was blown up and there was a scramble on the dirty floor for the fragments. This was called by the joker “dinner a /a Russe.” z I had been faint with hunger, but I could not eat; in fact, I was so terrified that my appetite was gone. As I stood looking at the wild banquet, a big Irishman came towards me : _“ And why are ye not atin’ ?” he asked; “are the victuals not to your taste ?” “T have dined,” I gasped. “Dined ! Ye bloated aristocrat! Dined! Have ye? Dined! Anarchists feed! You have sworn to kill those who dine !” “There is not much chance of my dining again,” I said. “I dined on my shirt yesterday, and as you may imagine, I have not a good appetite after it.” “Bad cess to ye, dined on your shirt! Ye must have a full stomach; take a nip of whiskey, then, to digest the rag; if it was made of Irish linen the two will have a natural laning to each other.” He handed mea demijohn of whiskey ; Itook along pull, for you may imagine I needed some sort of cour- age, and to my surprise, the whiskey was good. “Sto- len from the hotel,” explained the Irishman. They now began to clear the table by breaking it into inch- bits ; and the German, who had sworn me in, got up and proposed the usual health, “ Success to crime !” comicbooks.com