It had become mid-winter, and the winter was a cold one.

Gaunt men followed the coal wagons or visited the places where charity is bunglingly dispensed by the sort of people who drift into smug officials at such agencies as naturally as some birds fly to worm-besprinkled furrows for their gleanings.
Harlson saw much of this, and knew his fate was not the worst among so many, and it aided him in his philosophy, but he had a mighty appetite.
He was a great creature, of much bone and brawn, and being hungry was something he could not endure.

He thought--how far back it seemed--of the farmers' dinners, and the turkey and ruffed grouse and woodcock.
Woodcock! Why, his whole two dollars and fifty cents would not feed him for a single time upon that glorious bird! He looked through the fine restaurant windows, and it amused him.

His own meals were taken in restaurants of a poorer class.

With thirty-five cents and a fraction to live upon for a day, one does not care for game.
Harlson's dress became of the shabby genteel order.