In the main room dance and song reeled on in uproarious hilarity.
In the basement below, foul and fetid, men stood packed close,
drinking while they could. It was for the foreigner an hour of rare
opportunity. The beer kegs stood open and there were plenty of tin
mugs about. In the dim light of a smoky lantern, the swaying crowd,
here singing in maudlin chorus, there fighting savagely to pay off
old scores or to avenge new insults, presented a nauseating spectacle.

In the farthest corner of the room, unmoved by all this din, about
a table consisting of a plank laid across two beer kegs, one empty,
the other for the convenience of the players half full, sat four
men deep in a game of cards. Rosenblatt with a big Dalmatian sailor
as partner, against a little Polak and a dark-bearded man. This man
was apparently very drunk, as was evident by his reckless playing
and his jibing, jeering manner. He was losing money, but with
perfect good cheer. Not so his partner, the Polak. Every loss made
him more savage and quarrelsome. With great difficulty Rosenblatt
was able to keep the game going and preserve peace. The singing,
swaying, yelling, cursing crowd beside them also gave him concern,
and over and again he would shout, "Keep quiet, you fools. The
police will be on us, and that will be the end of your beer, for
they will put you in prison!"

"Yes," jeered the black-bearded man, who seemed to be set on making
a row, "all fools, Russian fools, Polak fools, Galician fools,
Slovak fools, all fools together."

Angry voices replied from all sides, and the noise rose higher.

"Keep quiet!" cried Rosenblatt, rising to his feet, "the police