Description

---

A hard town for "scoffings," was what the hoboes called it at that time. I know that I missedmany a meal, in spite of the fact that I could "throw my feet" with the next one when itcame to "slamming a gate" for a "poke-out" or a "set-down," or hitting for a "light piece" onthe street. Why, I was so hard put in that town, one day, that I gave the porter the slip andinvaded the private car of some itinerant millionnaire. The train started as I made theplatform, and I headed for the aforesaid millionnaire with the porter one jump behind andreaching for me. It was a dead heat, for I reached the millionnaire at the same instant thatthe porter reached me. I had no time for formalities. "Gimme a quarter to eat on," I blurtedout. And as I live, that millionnaire dipped into his pocket and gave me ... just ... precisely ...a quarter. It is my conviction that he was so flabbergasted that he obeyed automatically, and it has been a matter of keen regret ever since, on my part, that I didn't ask him for adollar. I know that I'd have got it. I swung off the platform of that private car with theporter manoeuvring to kick me in the face. He missed me. One is at a terrible disadvantagewhen trying to swing off the lowest step of a car and not break his neck on the right of way, with, at the same time, an irate Ethiopian on the platform above trying to land him in theface with a number eleven. But I got the quarter I got it.