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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 445 pages of information about The Jungle.

“Shovel guts?”

“No ’stand.” (More shakes of the head.)

“Zarnos.  Pagaiksztis.  Szluofa!” (Imitative motions.)

“Je.”

“See door.  Durys?” (Pointing.)

“Je.”

“To-morrow, seven o’clock.  Understand?  Rytoj!  Prieszpietys!  Septyni!”

“Dekui, tamistai!” (Thank you, sir.) And that was all.  Jurgis turned away, and then in a sudden rush the full realization of his triumph swept over him, and he gave a yell and a jump, and started off on a run.  He had a job!  He had a job!  And he went all the way home as if upon wings, and burst into the house like a cyclone, to the rage of the numerous lodgers who had just turned in for their daily sleep.

Meantime Jokubas had been to see his friend the policeman, and received encouragement, so it was a happy party.  There being no more to be done that day, the shop was left under the care of Lucija, and her husband sallied forth to show his friends the sights of Packingtown.  Jokubas did this with the air of a country gentleman escorting a party of visitors over his estate; he was an old-time resident, and all these wonders had grown up under his eyes, and he had a personal pride in them.  The packers might own the land, but he claimed the landscape, and there was no one to say nay to this.

They passed down the busy street that led to the yards.  It was still early morning, and everything was at its high tide of activity.  A steady stream of employees was pouring through the gate—­employees of the higher sort, at this hour, clerks and stenographers and such.  For the women there were waiting big two-horse wagons, which set off at a gallop as fast as they were filled.  In the distance there was heard again the lowing of the cattle, a sound as of a far-off ocean calling.  They followed it, this time, as eager as children in sight of a circus menagerie—­which, indeed, the scene a good deal resembled.  They crossed the railroad tracks, and then on each side of the street were the pens full of cattle; they would have stopped to look, but Jokubas hurried them on, to where there was a stairway and a raised gallery, from which everything could be seen.  Here they stood, staring, breathless with wonder.

There is over a square mile of space in the yards, and more than half of it is occupied by cattle pens; north and south as far as the eye can reach there stretches a sea of pens.  And they were all filled—­so many cattle no one had ever dreamed existed in the world.  Red cattle, black, white, and yellow cattle; old cattle and young cattle; great bellowing bulls and little calves not an hour born; meek-eyed milch cows and fierce, long-horned Texas steers.  The sound of them here was as of all the barnyards of the universe; and as for counting them—­it would have taken all day simply to count the pens.  Here and there ran long alleys, blocked at intervals by gates; and Jokubas told them that the number of these gates was twenty-five thousand.  Jokubas

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