If the reader has never been in a strange city without money or friends, it is useless to try to describe what my feelings were; he could not understand.  If he has been, it is equally useless, for he understands more than words could convey.  When I reached my lodgings, I found in the room one of the porters who had slept there the night before.  When he heard what misfortune had befallen me, he offered many words of sympathy and advice.  He asked me how much money I had left.  I told him that I had ten or twelve dollars in my pocket.  He said:  “That won’t last you very long here, and you will hardly be able to find anything to do in Atlanta.  I’ll tell you what you do, go down to Jacksonville and you won’t have any trouble to get a job in one of the big hotels there, or in St. Augustine.”  I thanked him, but intimated my doubts of being able to get to Jacksonville on the money I had.  He reassured me by saying:  “Oh, that’s all right.  You express your trunk on through, and I’ll take you down in my closet.”  I thanked him again, not knowing then what it was to travel in a Pullman porter’s closet.  He put me under a deeper debt of gratitude by lending me fifteen dollars, which he said I could pay back after I had secured work.  His generosity brought tears to my eyes, and I concluded that, after all, there were some kind hearts in the world.

I now forgot my troubles in the hurry and excitement of getting my trunk off in time to catch the train, which went out at seven o’clock.  I even forgot that I hadn’t eaten anything since morning.  We got a wagon—­the porter went with me—­and took my trunk to the express office.  My new friend then told me to come to the station at about a quarter of seven and walk straight to the car where I should see him standing, and not to lose my nerve.  I found my role not so difficult to play as I thought it would be, because the train did not leave from the central station, but from a smaller one, where there were no gates and guards to pass.  I followed directions, and the porter took me on his car and locked me in his closet.  In a few minutes the train pulled out for Jacksonville.

I may live to be a hundred years old, but I shall never forget the agonies I suffered that night.  I spent twelve hours doubled up in the porter’s basket for soiled linen, not being able to straighten up on account of the shelves for clean linen just over my head.  The air was hot and suffocating and the smell of damp towels and used linen was sickening.  At each lurch of the car over the none-too-smooth track I was bumped and bruised against the narrow walls of my narrow compartment.  I became acutely conscious of the fact that I had not eaten for hours.  Then nausea took possession of me, and at one time I had grave doubts about reaching my destination alive.  If I had the trip to make again, I should prefer to walk.

V