biggest gambling-joint in town. (Spokane was wide open in those
days, and "some town.")

It was the society friends who seem to have saved his life, for nine
dollars did not go far, even then. I have heard his hostesses tell of
the meal he could consume. "But I'd been saving for it all day, with
just ten cents in my pocket." I met a pal of those days who used to save
Carl considerable of his nine dollars by "smooching" his wash into his
own home laundry.

About then Carl's older brother, Boyd, who was somewhat fastidious, ran
into him in Spokane. He tells how Carl insisted he should spend the
night at his room instead of going to a hotel.

"Is it far from here?"

"Oh, no!"

So they started out with Boyd's suitcase, and walked and walked through
the "darndest part of town you ever saw." Finally, after crossing untold
railroad tracks and ducking around sheds and through alleys, they came
to a rooming-house that was "a holy fright." "It's all right inside,"
Carl explained.

When they reached his room, there was one not over-broad bed in the
corner, and a red head showing, snoring contentedly.

"Who's that?" the brother asked.

"Oh, a fellow I picked up somewhere."

"Where am I to sleep?"

"Right in here--the bed's plenty big enough for three!"

And Boyd says, though it was 2 A.M. and miles from anywhere, he lit out
of there as fast as he could move; and he adds, "I don't believe he even
knew that red-headed boy's name!"

The reporting went rather lamely it seemed, however. The editor said
that it read amateurish, and he felt he would have to make a change.
Carl made for some files where all the daily papers were kept, and read
and re-read the yellowest of the yellow. As luck would have it, that
very night a big fire broke out in a crowded apartment house. It was not
in Carl's "beat," but he decided to cover it anyhow. Along with the
firemen, he managed to get upon the roof; he jumped here, he flew there,
demolishing the only suit of clothes he owned. But what an account he
handed in! The editor discarded entirely the story of the reporter sent
to cover the fire, ran in Carl's, word for word, and raised him to
twelve dollars a week.

But just as the crown of reportorial success was lighting on his brow,
his mother made it plain to him that she preferred to have him return to
college. He bought a ticket to Vacaville,--it was just about Christmas
time,--purchased a loaf of bread and a can of sardines, and wi