Denmead," said Colonel Manysnifters, turning to another
representative of the press, "it's your turn. Let us have it good and
strong. I have read your East Side Sketches, and like 'em immensely.
Can't you give us a touch of New York in yours?"
"I'll try," said Denmead modestly, "though it isn't exactly a story. It
was just a passing incident, but it was something that I will not soon
forget. An affair of that kind is apt to make more or less of an
impression on a fellow. Maybe you will agree with me."
XI
WHAT HAPPENED TO DENMEAD
"Several years ago I found myself in New York; penniless, weary, and
heartsick. I wandered one morning into a tiny park, mouldering in the
shadow of the huge skyscrapers with which Manhattan is everywhere
defaced. I sank upon a bench, pulled a soiled newspaper from my pocket,
and scanned for the fiftieth time the 'Help Wanted' columns. Work I
wanted of any kind, and work of any kind had eluded my tireless search
for days--ever since my arrival in New York. The benches about me were
filled with bleary, unshaven men; some asleep, others trying hard to
keep awake; each clutching a paper which presently it seemed they might
devour, goat-like, in sheer hunger. The stamp of cruel want convulsed
each hopeless face, and crowsfeet lines of despair lay as a delta
beneath each fishy eye.
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