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Inwardly raging, I shook the dust of the city
from my feet, and took the most direct route out of it, straight
up Third Avenue. I walked till the stars in the east began to pale,
and then climbed into a wagon that stood at the curb to sleep.
I did not notice that it was a milk-wagon. The sun had not risen
yet when the driver came, unceremoniously dragged me out by the
feet, and dumped me into the gutter. On I went with my gripsack,
straight ahead, until toward noon I reached Fordham College, famished
and footsore. I had eaten nothing since the previous day, and had
vainly tried to make a bath in the Bronx River do for breakfast.
Not yet could I cheat my stomach that way.
The college gates were open, and I strolled wearily in, without
aim or purpose. On a lawn some young men were engaged in athletic
exercises, and I stopped to look and admire the beautiful shade-trees
and the imposing building. So at least it seems to me at this distance.
An old monk in a cowl, whose noble face I sometimes recall in my
dreams, came over and asked kindly if I was not hungry.


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