t, through freight. Because of
lack of practice I boarded it clumsily, and almost went to my death
under its grinding, roaring wheels, there in the Laurel freight-yards. I
sat, trembling with the shock to my nerves, on the bumpers.

I hopped off at Argentine, just outside of Kansas City.

I found a camp of tramps and joined with them. We drank coffee
together....

But, somehow, the scales had fallen from my eyes. My old idealisation of
the life of the tramp, somehow or other, was entirely gone--an
idealisation that had, anyhow, been mainly literary, induced by the
writings of Jack London, Josiah Flynt and Maxim Gorky.

Now, as I listened to their filthy talk ... their continual
"Jesus-Christ'-ing" over everything they said, I grew sick of them. I
got up and walked away stiffly--never again to be a tramp.

The reporter of the _Star_, who covered the stockyards, took me to a
little sturdy cattle merchant, who agreed to ship me to New York, in
care of five carloads of calves ... for a fee of ten dollars. I
persuaded him that I would mail him that ten on arrival at my point of
destination ... I have never done so ... when I had it, I needed it more
for myself ... and, anyhow, I earned that ten.

* * * * *

My duties with the calves were not many ... merely to walk along the
sides of the five cars in my keeping, and see that the calves kept on
their legs and did not sprawl over each other ... sometimes one of them
would get crushed against the side of the car, and his leg would
protrude through the slats. And I would push his leg back, to keep it
from being broken ... I made my rounds every time the freight came to a
halt.

There were other cars, filled with steers, sheep, and pigs.

Each kind of animal behaved according to its nature, during the trip.
The steers soon accepted their cramped, moving life rather stolidly. The
calves acted as if dumbfounded, in stupefied, wide-eyed innocence ...
the sheep huddled as sheep do ... but the big fat porkers were the most
intelligent ... like intelligent cowards that fully know their fate,
they piled in heaping, screaming, frenzied masses ... in scrambling
heaps in the centre of their cars ... suffocating, stinking, struggling
closer and closer together and leaving great, bare areas unoccupied on
either end....

"A pig has no sense in a car ... or anywhere."

"Seems to me they have ... they act as if they know what they're in for,
at the o