When he had sold his motorcycle at Liverpool, Dick found it would be
prudent to take a third-class passage, but regretted this as soon as the
liner left the St. George's channel. The food, though badly served, was
good of its kind, and his berth was comfortable enough for a man who had
lived under canvas, but when the hatches were closed on account of bad
weather the foul air of the steerage sickened him and the habits of his
companions left much to be desired. It was difficult to take refuge in
the open air, because the steerage deck was swept by bitter spray and
often flooded as the big ship lurched across the Atlantic against a
western gale.
A spray-cloud veiled her forward when the bows plunged into a comber's
hollow side, and then as they swung up until her forefoot was clear, foam
and green water poured aft in cataracts. Sometimes much of her hull
before the bridge sank into the crest of a half-mile sea and lower decks
and alleyways looked like rivers. The gale held all the way across, and
Dick felt jaded and gloomy when they steamed into New York, a day late.
He had some trouble with the immigration officers, who asked awkward
questions about his occupation and his reason for giving it up, but he
satisfied them at length and was allowed to land.
The first few days he spent in New York helped him to realize the change
in his fortunes and the difficulties he must face. Until the night he
lost the plans, he had scarcely known a care; life had been made easy,
and his future had looked safe. He had seldom denied himself anything; he
had started well on a career he liked, and all his thoughts were centered
on fitting himself for it. Extravagance was not a failing of his, but he
had always had more money than would satisfy his somewhat simple needs.
Now, however, there was an alarming difference.
To begin with, it was obvious that he could only stay for a very limited
time at the cheap hotel he went to, and his efforts to find employment
brought him sharp rebuffs. Business men who needed assistance asked him
curt questions about his training and experience, and when he could not
answer satisfactorily promptly got rid of him. Then he tried manual labor
and found employment almost as hard to get. The few dollars he earned at
casual jobs did not pay his board at the hotel where he lived in squalid
discomfort, but matters got worse when he was forced to leave it and take
refuge in a big tenement house, overcrowded with unsavory foreigners from
eastern Europe. New York was then sweltering under a heat wave, and he
came home, tired by heavy toil or sickened by disappointment, to pass
nights of torment in a stifling, foul-smelling room.