Brandon of the Engineers

When he had sold his motorcycle at Liverpool, Dick found it would be

prudent to take a third-class passage, but regretted this as soon as the

liner left the St. George's channel. The food, though badly served, was

good of its kind, and his berth was comfortable enough for a man who had

lived under canvas, but when the hatches were closed on account of bad

weather the foul air of the steerage sickened him and the habits of his

companions left much to be desired. It was difficult to take refuge in

the open air, because the steerage deck was swept by bitter spray and

often flooded as the big ship lurched across the Atlantic against a

western gale.

A spray-cloud veiled her forward when the bows plunged into a comber's

hollow side, and then as they swung up until her forefoot was clear, foam

and green water poured aft in cataracts. Sometimes much of her hull

before the bridge sank into the crest of a half-mile sea and lower decks

and alleyways looked like rivers. The gale held all the way across, and

Dick felt jaded and gloomy when they steamed into New York, a day late.

He had some trouble with the immigration officers, who asked awkward

questions about his occupation and his reason for giving it up, but he

satisfied them at length and was allowed to land.

The first few days he spent in New York helped him to realize the change

in his fortunes and the difficulties he must face. Until the night he

lost the plans, he had scarcely known a care; life had been made easy,

and his future had looked safe. He had seldom denied himself anything; he

had started well on a career he liked, and all his thoughts were centered

on fitting himself for it. Extravagance was not a failing of his, but he

had always had more money than would satisfy his somewhat simple needs.

Now, however, there was an alarming difference.

To begin with, it was obvious that he could only stay for a very limited

time at the cheap hotel he went to, and his efforts to find employment

brought him sharp rebuffs. Business men who needed assistance asked him

curt questions about his training and experience, and when he could not

answer satisfactorily promptly got rid of him. Then he tried manual labor

and found employment almost as hard to get. The few dollars he earned at

casual jobs did not pay his board at the hotel where he lived in squalid

discomfort, but matters got worse when he was forced to leave it and take

refuge in a big tenement house, overcrowded with unsavory foreigners from

eastern Europe. New York was then sweltering under a heat wave, and he

came home, tired by heavy toil or sickened by disappointment, to pass

nights of torment in a stifling, foul-smelling room.