They
pulled us so roughly and their general appearance and manner
were so uninviting that we struggled and protested until they let us
go--not without some parting curses. Then I led the way across
Battery Park and under the Elevated railway to State Street.
A train hurtling and panting along overhead produced a
bewildering, a daunting effect on me. The active life of the great
strange city made me feel like one abandoned in the midst of a
jungle. Where were we to go? What were we to do? But the
presence of Gitelson continued to act as a spur on me. I mustered
courage to approach a policeman, something I should never have
been bold enough to do at home. As a matter of fact, I scarcely had
an idea what his function was. To me he looked like some
uniformed nobleman--an impression that in itself was enough to
intimidate me. With his coat of blue cloth, starched linen collar,
and white gloves, he reminded me of anything but the policemen
of my town. I addressed him in Yiddish, making it as near an
approach to German as I knew how, but my efforts were lost on
him.
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