Streams of people began to flow in at each entrance, sedately; four big policemen, representing the majesty of the law, stood, two on either side of each entrance. The majesty was of locust wood, held in the air, ready to descend on the cranium of the lawless and even of the ill-mannered.
As the starving entered the door they found themselves in a passageway with sides of heavy plank that narrowed until they were walking in single file, just as they do in abattoirs and sheep-dipping pens.
One by one they thus came. There was a small inclosure on one side of the passage. There stood H. R. and his reporters. Beside them was a small table. A heap of shining silver quarters was on the table in plain sight of all.
H. R. asked the first man, "Are you hungry?"
"Yes. I haven't had a bite in—"
H. R. held up a hand to check the autobiography. He inquired, sternly:
"Got any money?"
"Nope."
"Sure?"
"Yep."