A dead silence had fallen in the room, and he saw
that every one was staring at him. “What’s
the matter?” he exclaimed again.
And then, up in the garret, he heard sounds of wailing,
in Marija’s voice. He started for the ladder—and
Aniele seized him by the arm. “No, no!”
she exclaimed. “Don’t go up there!”
“What is it?” he shouted.
And the old woman answered him weakly: “It’s
Antanas. He’s dead. He was drowned
out in the street!”
Jurgis took the news in a peculiar way. He turned
deadly pale, but he caught himself, and for half a
minute stood in the middle of the room, clenching
his hands tightly and setting his teeth. Then
he pushed Aniele aside and strode into the next room
and climbed the ladder.
In the corner was a blanket, with a form half showing
beneath it; and beside it lay Elzbieta, whether crying
or in a faint, Jurgis could not tell. Marija
was pacing the room, screaming and wringing her hands.
He clenched his hands tighter yet, and his voice was
hard as he spoke.
“How did it happen?” he asked.
Marija scarcely heard him in her agony. He repeated
the question, louder and yet more harshly. “He
fell off the sidewalk!” she wailed. The
sidewalk in front of the house was a platform made
of half-rotten boards, about five feet above the level
of the sunken street.
“How did he come to be there?” he demanded.
“He went—he went out to play,”
Marija sobbed, her voice choking her. “We
couldn’t make him stay in. He must have
got caught in the mud!”
“Are you sure that he is dead?” he demanded.
“Ai! ai!” she wailed. “Yes;
we had the doctor.”
Then Jurgis stood a few seconds, wavering. He
did not shed a tear. He took one glance more
at the blanket with the little form beneath it, and
then turned suddenly to the ladder and climbed down
again. A silence fell once more in the room as
he entered. He went straight to the door, passed
out, and started down the street.
When his wife had died, Jurgis made for the nearest
saloon, but he did not do that now, though he had
his week’s wages in his pocket. He walked
and walked, seeing nothing, splashing through mud and
water. Later on he sat down upon a step and hid
his face in his hands and for half an hour or so he
did not move. Now and then he would whisper to
himself: “Dead! Dead!”
Finally, he got up and walked on again. It was
about sunset, and he went on and on until it was dark,
when he was stopped by a railroad crossing. The
gates were down, and a long train of freight cars was
thundering by. He stood and watched it; and all
at once a wild impulse seized him, a thought that
had been lurking within him, unspoken, unrecognized,
leaped into sudden life. He started down the
track, and when he was past the gate-keeper’s
shanty he sprang forward and swung himself on to one
of the cars.
