ation.

"The spectacle of an avowed Socialist," said the New Haven
_Register_, "one of the most conspicious in the country, standing upon
the platform of Woolsey Hall and boldly advocating the doctrines of
revolution was a sight for gods and men."

Jack London talked for over two hours to that packed hall and received
a most unusual attention. After the lecture he was taken to a
students' dormitory where he answered questions till midnight. Then he
was escorted by a smaller group to Mory's for supper and at one
o'clock we held a reception at the big house which was known as "the
Socialist Parsonage."

For over twenty years I have been a contributor to newspapers and
religious periodicals, but not until I met Jack London did it ever
occur to me that I could earn a living by my pen. London made me
promise to write. My first story I mailed to California for his
criticism and suggestion, but before it returned I had entered the
field.

CHAPTER XX

MY EXPERIENCE AS A LABOURER IN THE MUSCLE MARKET OF THE SOUTH

_Appleton's Magazine_ published my first serious attempt at fiction.
It was a short story entitled, "Two Social Pariahs."

The cry of peonage was in the air and I arranged with _Appleton's
Magazine_ for a series of articles on the subject. Dressed as a
labourer I went to the muscle market of New York and got hired. To do
this I had to assume a foreign accent and look as slovenly as
possible. With a picturesque contingent of Hungarians, Finns, Swedes
and Greeks, I was drafted for the iron mines of the Tennessee Coal and
Iron Company. The mines are near Bessemer, Ala. At every turn of the
road south we were herded and handled like cattle.

It was a big, black porter who led us into the car at Portsmouth, Va.
I was the leader of the contingent, and the porter addressed us for
the most part by signs, and when he spoke at all he called me
"Johnny." When inside, he arranged us in our seats, putting his hands
on some of our shoulders to press us down into them. I did not realize
that I was in a Southern state until I saw a big yellow card in this
car marked "Coloured." Then I knew instantly that we were in a Jim
Crow car. A coloured woman sat next to the window in my seat and by
her look and little toss of the head and a quick nervous movement she
seemed to say, "What are you doing here?"

When the train pulled out of the depot, I stepped up to the porter and
said:

"Haven't you a law in Virginia on the