The Jungle
fifty dollars pinned up somewhere in her stockings, and Grandfather
Anthony had part of the money he had gotten for his farm. If they all
combined, they would have enough to make the first payment; and if they
had employment, so that they could be sure of the future, it might
really prove the best plan. It was, of course, not a thing even to be
talked of lightly; it was a thing they would have to sift to the
bottom. And yet, on the other hand, if they were going to make the
venture, the sooner they did it the better, for were they not paying
rent all the time, and living in a most horrible way besides? Jurgis
was used to dirt—there was nothing could scare a man who had been with
a railroad gang, where one could gather up the fleas off the floor of
the sleeping room by the handful. But that sort of thing would not do
for Ona. They must have a better place of some sort soon—Jurgis said it
with all the assurance of a man who had just made a dollar and
fifty-seven cents in a single day. Jurgis was at a loss to understand
why, with wages as they were, so many of the people of this district
should live the way they did.
The next day Marija went to see her “forelady,” and was told to report
the first of the week, and learn the business of can-painter. Marija
went home, singing out loud all the way, and was just in time to join
Ona and her stepmother as they were setting out to go and make inquiry
concerning the house. That evening the three made their report to the
men—the thing was altogether as represented in the circular, or at any
rate so the agent had said. The houses lay to the south, about a mile
and a half from the yards; they were wonderful bargains, the gentleman
had assured them—personally, and for their own good. He could do this,
so he explained to them, for the reason that he had himself no interest
in their sale—he was merely the agent for a company that had built
them. These were the last, and the company was going out of business,
so if any one wished to take advantage of this wonderful no-rent plan,
he would have to be very quick. As a matter of fact there was just a
little uncertainty as to whether there was a single house left; for the
agent had taken so many people to see them, and for all he knew the
company might have parted with the last. Seeing Teta Elzbieta’s evident
grief at this news, he added, after some hesitation, that if they
really intended to make a purchase, he would send a telephone message
at his own expense, and have one of the houses kept. So it had finally
been arranged—and they were to go and make an inspection the following
Sunday morning.
That was Thursday; and all the rest of the week the killing gang at
Brown’s worked at full pressure, and Jurgis cleared a dollar
seventy-five every day. That was at the rate of ten and one-half
dollars a week, or forty-five a month. Jurgis was not able to figure,
except it was a very simple sum, but Ona was like lightning at such
things, and she worked out the problem for the family. Marija and Jonas
were each to pay sixteen dollars a month board, and the old man
insisted that he could do the same as soon as he got a place—which
might be any day now. That would make ninety-three dollars. Then Marija
and Jonas were between them to take a third share in the house, which
would leave only eight dollars a month for Jurgis to contribute to the
payment. So they would have eighty-five dollars a month—or, supposing
that Dede Antanas did not get work at once, seventy dollars a
month—which ought surely to be sufficient for the support of a family
of twelve.
An hour before the time on Sunday morning the entire party set out.
They had the address written on a piece of paper, which they showed to
some one now and then. It proved to be a long mile and a half, but they
walked it, and half an hour or so later the agent put in an appearance.
He was a smooth and florid personage, elegantly dressed, and he spoke
their language freely, which gave him a great advantage in dealing with
them. He escorted them to the house, which was one of a long row of the
typical frame dwellings of the neighborhood, where architecture is a
luxury that is dispensed with. Ona’s heart sank, for the house was not
as it was shown in the picture; the color scheme was different, for one
thing, and then it did not seem quite so big. Still, it was freshly
painted, and made a considerable show. It was all brand-new, so the
agent told them, but he talked so incessantly that they were quite
confused, and did not have time to ask many questions. There were all
sorts of things they had made up their minds to inquire about, but when
the time came, they either forgot them or lacked the courage. The other
houses in the row did not seem to be new, and few of them seemed to be
occupied. When they ventured to hint at this, the agent’s reply was
that the purchasers would be moving in shortly. To press the matter
would have seemed to be doubting his word, and never in their lives had
any one of them ever spoken to a person of the class called “gentleman”
except with deference and humility.
The house had a basement, about two feet below the street line, and a
single story, about six feet above it, reached by a flight of steps. In
addition there was an attic, made by the peak of the roof, and having
one small window in each end. The street in front of the house was
unpaved and unlighted, and the view from it consisted of a few exactly
similar houses, scattered here and there upon lots grown up with dingy
brown weeds. The house inside contained four rooms, plastered white;
the basement was but a frame, the walls being unplastered and the floor
not laid. The agent explained that the houses were built that way, as
the purchasers generally preferred to finish the basements to suit
their own taste. The attic was also unfinished—the family had been
figuring that in case of an emergency they could rent this attic, but
they found that there was not even a floor, nothing but joists, and
beneath them the lath and plaster of the ceiling below. All of this,
however, did not chill their ardor as much as might have been expected,
because of the volubility of the agent. There was no end to the
advantages of the house, as he set them forth, and he was not silent
for an instant; he showed them everything, down to the locks on the
doors and the catches on the windows, and how to work them. He showed
them the sink in the kitchen, with running water and a faucet,
something which Teta Elzbieta had never in her wildest dreams hoped to
possess. After a discovery such as that it would have seemed ungrateful
to find any fault, and so they tried to shut their eyes to other
defects.
Still, they were peasant people, and they hung on to their money by
instinct; it was quite in vain that the agent hinted at promptness—they
would see, they would see, they told him, they could not decide until
they had had more time. And so they went home again, and all day and
evening there was figuring and debating. It was an agony to them to
have to make up their minds in a matter such as this. They never could
agree all together; there were so many arguments upon each side, and
one would be obstinate, and no sooner would the rest have convinced him
than it would transpire that his arguments had caused another to waver.
Once, in the evening, when they were all in harmony, and the house was
as good as bought, Szedvilas came in and upset them again. Szedvilas
had no use for property owning. He told them cruel stories of people
who had been done to death in this “buying a home” swindle. They would
be almost sure to get into a tight place and lose all their money; and
there was no end of expense that one could never foresee; and the house
might be good-for-nothing from top to bottom—how was a poor man to
know? Then, too, they would swindle you with the contract—and how was a
poor man to understand anything about a contract? It was all nothing
but robbery, and there was no safety but in keeping out of it. And pay
rent? asked Jurgis. Ah, yes, to be sure, the other answered, that too
was robbery. It was all robbery, for a poor man. After half an hour of
such depressing conversation, they had their minds quite made up that
they had been saved at the brink of a precipice; but then Szedvilas
went away, and Jonas, who was a sharp little man, reminded them that
the delicatessen business was a failure, according to its proprietor,
and that this might account for his pessimistic views. Which, of
course, reopened the subject!
The controlling factor was that they could not stay where they
were—they had to go somewhere. And when they gave up the house plan and
decided to rent, the prospect of paying out nine dollars a month
forever they found just as hard to face. All day and all night for
nearly a whole week they wrestled with the problem, and then in the end
Jurgis took the responsibility. Brother Jonas had gotten his job, and
was pushing a truck in Durham’s; and the killing gang at Brown’s
continued to work early and late, so that Jurgis grew more confident
every hour, more certain of his mastership. It was the kind of thing
the man of the family had to decide and carry through, he told himself.
Others might have failed at it, but he was not the failing kind—he
would show them how to do it. He would work all day, and all night,
too, if need be; he would never rest until the house was paid for and
his people had a home. So he told them, and so in the end the decision
was made.
They had talked about looking at more houses before they made the
purchase; but then they did not know where any more were, and they did
not know any way of finding out. The one they had seen held the sway in
their thoughts; whenever they thought of themselves in a house, it was
this house that they thought of. And so they went and told the agent
that they were ready to make the agreement. They knew, as an abstract
proposition, that in matters of business all men are to be accounted
liars; but they could not but have been influenced by all they had
heard from the eloquent agent, and were quite persuaded that the house
was something they had run a risk of losing by their delay. They drew a
deep breath when he told them that they were still in time.
They were to come on the morrow, and he would have the papers all drawn
up. This matter of papers was one in which Jurgis understood to the
full the need of caution; yet he could not go himself—every one told
him that he could not get a holiday, and that he might lose his job by
asking. So there was nothing to be done but to trust it to the women,
with Szedvilas, who promised to go with them. Jurgis spent a whole
evening impressing upon them the seriousness of the occasion—and then
finally, out of innumerable hiding places about their persons and in
their baggage, came forth the precious wads of money, to be done up
tightly in a little bag and sewed fast in the lining of Teta Elzbieta’s
dress.
Early in the morning they sallied forth. Jurgis had given them so many
instructions and warned them against so many perils, that the women
were quite pale with fright, and even the imperturbable delicatessen
vender, who prided himself upon being a businessman, was ill at ease.
The agent had the deed all ready, and invited them to sit down and read
it; this Szedvilas proceeded to do—a painful and laborious process,
during which the agent drummed upon the desk. Teta Elzbieta was so
embarrassed that the perspiration came out upon her forehead in beads;
for was not this reading as much as to say plainly to the gentleman’s
face that they doubted his honesty? Yet Jokubas Szedvilas read on and
on; and presently there developed that he had good reason for doing so.
For a horrible suspicion had begun dawning in his mind; he knitted his