Above me towered the colossal edifice of society, and to my mind the only way out was up.  Into this edifice I early resolved to climb.  Up above, men wore black clothes and boiled shirts, and women dressed in beautiful gowns.  Also, there were good things to eat, and there was plenty to eat.  This much for the flesh.  Then there were the things of the spirit.  Up above me, I knew, were unselfishnesses of the spirit, clean and noble thinking, keen intellectual living.  I knew all this because I read “Seaside Library” novels, in which, with the exception of the villains and adventuresses, all men and women thought beautiful thoughts, spoke a beautiful tongue, and performed glorious deeds.  In short, as I accepted the rising of the sun, I accepted that up above me was all that was fine and noble and gracious, all that gave decency and dignity to life, all that made life worth living and that remunerated one for his travail and misery.

But it is not particularly easy for one to climb up out of the working-class—­especially if he is handicapped by the possession of ideals and illusions.  I lived on a ranch in California, and was hard put to find the ladder whereby to climb.  I early inquired the rate of interest on invested money, and worried my child’s brain into an understanding of the virtues and excellences of that remarkable invention of man, compound interest.  Further, I ascertained the current rates of wages for workers of all ages, and the cost of living.  From all this data I concluded that if I began immediately and worked and saved until I was fifty years of age, I could then stop working and enter into participation in a fair portion of the delights and goodnesses that would then be open to me higher up in society.  Of course, I resolutely determined not to marry, while I quite forgot to consider at all that great rock of disaster in the working-class world—­sickness.

But the life that was in me demanded more than a meagre existence of scraping and scrimping.  Also, at ten years of age, I became a newsboy on the streets of a city, and found myself with a changed uplook.  All about me were still the same sordidness and wretchedness, and up above me was still the same paradise waiting to be gained; but the ladder whereby to climb was a different one.  It was now the ladder of business.  Why save my earnings and invest in government bonds, when, by buying two newspapers for five cents, with a turn of the wrist I could sell them for ten cents and double my capital?  The business ladder was the ladder for me, and I had a vision of myself becoming a bald-headed and successful merchant prince.

Alas for visions!  When I was sixteen I had already earned the title of “prince.”  But this title was given me by a gang of cut-throats and thieves, by whom I was called “The Prince of the Oyster Pirates.”  And at that time I had climbed the first rung of the business ladder.  I was a capitalist.  I owned a boat and a complete oyster-pirating outfit.  I had begun to exploit my fellow-creatures.  I had a crew of one man.  As captain and owner I took two-thirds of the spoils, and gave the crew one-third, though the crew worked just as hard as I did and risked just as much his life and liberty.