I was asked no questions. The night sergeant simply said, “Come this way,” and he locked me in a cell which, although it was not of the bull-pen type, was little better than one in its general appearance and condition of uncleanliness. The only places in it where I could lie down were the floor or an iron slab which partly covered the lantine. I could hear the groanings of the unfortunate men and women who, for reasons of their own, were compelled to spend their nights in prison. I could hear other prisoners appealing to the jailers for medical aid, water, or release from their cells. One young fellow in a cell opposite mine, for about two hours hung in one position to the bars of his cell in an endeavor to attract some attention. Every little while I heard the crying of a young girl, one who had “forgotten her mother and her God.”
Never in any prison did I feel such oppression. I came near swooning. The thread of endurance as I lay on the stone floor snapped, and the darkness that came upon me brought forgetfullness.
My sleep was of short duration. Long before daylight I asked to be released. The jailer, who seemed to hold a spark of humanity, said, “I wouldn’t go out if I were you for the police are liable to pick you up.” Shortly after dawn I was released.
Taking my belongings from my lodging house I left for more comfortable quarters. After a refreshing bath and a restful sleep I interviewed the Mayor of Pittsburg and the members of the City Council, and gave an interview to the newspapers.
On the following morning, while passing by a newspaper office, I noticed on the bulletin board a headliner reading:
“Free beds for the homeless poor of Pittsburg.”
CHAPTER XII
Omaha and Her Homeless
“A good mayor is useful; a man should not recoil before the good he may be able to do.”—Hugo.