IV
 

THE LEVEL OF THE SODDEN
 

A"
 

IN'T it fierce to have to hang out in a place
 

like this?"

My companion  expected no  answer to
his question.   The answer was all about us.

We were in Nick's on Bayard Street. To classify
the place, to give it its proper appellation, is no easy
task. Those who know the least about it or its like
would call it a " low drinking place," or " common
resort." A dominie went so far as to describe it as
" one of the present people's clubs, destined to re¬
main in existence until proper clubs shall be estab¬
lished where the poor can partake of light beer and
kindred refreshments amidst cheerful surround¬
ings."

"Nick's Dead-House" and "The Morgue"
were our names for the place—^and we knew it
pretty well.

Smut was everywhere. It was on the floor, the
walls, the ceiling; in the clothes, faces, and speech
of the men, and only the devil knows what sort of
stuff was in our " tubs," parading as beer, befud¬
dling, and even killing, men as fast as the other
•* rot-gut "—^five-cent whisky.

62