“Tuesday, May 29th.  Arrived in Chicago at 7 A.M....”

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And years afterward, in China, I had the grief of learning that the device we employed to navigate the rapids of the Des Moines—­the one-two-one-two, head-boat-tail-boat proposition—­was not originated by us.  I learned that the Chinese river-boatmen had for thousands of years used a similar device to negotiate “bad water.”  It is a good stunt all right, even if we don’t get the credit.  It answers Dr. Jordan’s test of truth:  “Will it work?  Will you trust your life to it?”

BULLS

If the tramp were suddenly to pass away from the United States, widespread misery for many families would follow.  The tramp enables thousands of men to earn honest livings, educate their children, and bring them up God-fearing and industrious.  I know.  At one time my father was a constable and hunted tramps for a living.  The community paid him so much per head for all the tramps he could catch, and also, I believe, he got mileage fees.  Ways and means was always a pressing problem in our household, and the amount of meat on the table, the new pair of shoes, the day’s outing, or the text-book for school, were dependent upon my father’s luck in the chase.  Well I remember the suppressed eagerness and the suspense with which I waited to learn each morning what the results of his past night’s toil had been—­how many tramps he had gathered in and what the chances were for convicting them.  And so it was, when later, as a tramp, I succeeded in eluding some predatory constable, I could not but feel sorry for the little boys and girls at home in that constable’s house; it seemed to me in a way that I was defrauding those little boys and girls of some of the good things of life.

But it’s all in the game.  The hobo defies society, and society’s watch-dogs make a living out of him.  Some hoboes like to be caught by the watch-dogs—­especially in winter-time.  Of course, such hoboes select communities where the jails are “good,” wherein no work is performed and the food is substantial.  Also, there have been, and most probably still are, constables who divide their fees with the hoboes they arrest.  Such a constable does not have to hunt.  He whistles, and the game comes right up to his hand.  It is surprising, the money that is made out of stone-broke tramps.  All through the South—­at least when I was hoboing—­are convict camps and plantations, where the time of convicted hoboes is bought by the farmers, and where the hoboes simply have to work.  Then there are places like the quarries at Rutland, Vermont, where the hobo is exploited, the unearned energy in his body, which he has accumulated by “battering on the drag” or “slamming gates,” being extracted for the benefit of that particular community.