Книга - The Road. Аудирование на 50000+ английских слов с текстовым сопровождением
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* .
THEROAD
ByJack London
1907
(New York: Macmillan)
TO
JOSIAH FLYNT
The Real Thing, Blowed inthe Glass
Confession
There is awoman inthe state ofNevada towhom Ionce lied continuously, consistently, and shamelessly, for the matter ofacouple ofhours. Idont want toapologize toher. Far be it from me. But Ido want toexplain. Unfortunately, Ido not know her name, much less her present address. If her eyes should chance upon these lines, Ihope she will write tome.
It was inReno, Nevada, inthe summer of1892. Also, it was fair-time, and the town was filled with petty crooks and tin-horns, tosay nothing ofavast and hungry horde ofhoboes. It was the hungry hoboes that made the town ahungry town. They battered the back doors ofthe homes ofthe citizens until the back doors became unresponsive.
Ahard town for scoffings, was what the hoboes called it at that time. Iknow that Imissed many ameal, inspite ofthe fact that Icould throw my feet with the next one when it came toslamming agate for apoke-out or aset-down, or hitting for alight piece on the street. Why, Iwas so hard put inthat town, one day, that Igave the porter the slip and invaded the private car ofsome itinerant millionnaire.
The train started as Imade the platform, and Iheaded for the aforesaid millionnaire with the porter one jump behind and reaching for me. It was adead heat, for Ireached the millionnaire at the same instant that the porter reached me. Ihad no time for formalities.
Gimme aquarter toeat on, Iblurtedout.
And as Ilive, that millionnaire dipped into his pocket and gave me just precisely aquarter. It is my conviction that he was so flabbergasted that he obeyed automatically, and it has been amatter ofkeen regret ever since, on my part, that Ididnt ask him for adollar. Iknow that Id have got it. Iswung off the platform ofthat private car with the porter manoeuvring tokick me inthe face.
He missed me. One is at aterrible disadvantage when trying toswing off the lowest step ofacar and not break his neck on the right ofway, with, at the same time, an irate Ethiopian on the platform above trying toland him inthe face with anumber eleven. But Igot the quarter! Igotit!
But toreturn tothe woman towhom Iso shamelessly lied. It was inthe evening ofmy last day inReno. Ihad been out tothe race-track watching the ponies run, and had missed my dinner (i.e. the mid-day meal). Iwas hungry, and, furthermore, acommittee ofpublic safety had just been organized torid the town ofjust such hungry mortals asI.
Already alot ofmy brother hoboes had been gathered inbyJohn Law, and Icould hear the sunny valleys ofCalifornia calling tome over the cold crests ofthe Sierras. Two acts remained for me toperform before Ishook the dust ofReno from my feet. One was tocatch the blind baggage on the westbound overland that night.
The other was first toget something toeat. Even youth will hesitate at an all-night ride, on an empty stomach, outside atrain that is tearing the atmosphere through the snow-sheds, tunnels, and eternal snows ofheaven-aspiring mountains.
But that something toeat was ahard proposition. Iwas turned down at adozen houses. Sometimes Ireceived insulting remarks and was informed ofthe barred domicile that should be mine if Ihad my just deserts. The worst ofit was that such assertions were only too true. That was why Iwas pulling west that night. John Law was abroad inthe town, seeking eagerly for the hungry and homeless, for bysuch was his barred domicile tenanted.
At other houses the doors were slammed inmy face, cutting short my politely and humbly couched request for something toeat. At one house they did not open the door. Istood on the porch and knocked, and they looked out at me through the window. They even held one sturdy little boy aloft so that he could see over the shoulders ofhis elders the tramp who wasnt going toget anything toeat at their house.
It began tolook as if Ishould be compelled togo tothe very poor for my food. The very poor constitute the last sure recourse ofthe hungry tramp. The very poor can always be depended upon. They never turn away the hungry. Time and again, all over the United States, have Ibeen refused food bythe big house on the hill; and always have Ireceived food from the little shack down bythe creek or marsh, with its broken windows stuffed with rags and its tired-faced mother broken with labor.
Oh, you charity-mongers! Go tothe poor and learn, for the poor alone are the charitable. They neither give nor withhold from their excess. They have no excess. They give, and they withhold never, from what they need for themselves, and very often from what they cruelly need for themselves. Abone tothe dog is not charity. Charity is the bone shared with the dog when you are just as hungry as thedog.
There was one house inparticular where Iwas turned down that evening. The porch windows opened on the dining room, and through them Isaw aman eating pie abig meat-pie. Istood inthe open door, and while he talked with me, he went on eating. He was prosperous, and out ofhis prosperity had been bred resentment against his less fortunate brothers.
He cut short my request for something toeat, snapping out, Idont believe you want towork.
Now this was irrelevant. Ihadnt said anything about work. The topic ofconversation Ihad introduced was food. Infact, Ididnt want towork. Iwanted totake the westbound overland that night.
You wouldnt work if you had achance, he bullied.
Iglanced at his meek-faced wife, and knew that but for the presence ofthis Cerberus Id have awhack at that meat-pie myself. But Cerberus sopped himself inthe pie, and Isaw that Imust placate him if Iwere toget ashare ofit. So Isighed tomyself and accepted his work-morality.
Ofcourse Iwant work, Ibluffed.
Dont believe it, he snorted.
Try me, Ianswered, warming tothe bluff.
All right, he said. Come tothe corner ofblank and blank streets (Ihave forgotten the address) to-morrow morning. You know where that burned building is, and Ill put you towork tossing bricks.
All right, sir; Ill be there.
He grunted and went on eating. Iwaited. After acouple ofminutes he looked up with an I-thought-you-were-gone expression on his face, and demanded:
Well?
I Iam waiting for something toeat, Isaid gently.
Iknew you wouldnt work! he roared.
He was right, ofcourse; but his conclusion must have been reached bymind-reading, for his logic wouldnt bear it out. But the beggar at the door must be humble, so Iaccepted his logic as Ihad accepted his morality.
You see, Iam now hungry, Isaid still gently. To-morrow morning Ishall be hungrier. Think how hungry Ishall be when Ihave tossed bricks all day without anything toeat. Now if you will give me something toeat, Ill be ingreat shape for those bricks.
He gravely considered my plea, at the same time going on eating, while his wife nearly trembled into propitiatory speech, but refrained.
Ill tell you what Ill do, he said between mouthfuls. You come towork to-morrow, and inthe middle ofthe day Ill advance you enough for your dinner. That will show whether you are inearnest or not.
Inthe meantime Ibegan; but he interrupted.
If Igave you something toeat now, Id never see you again. Oh, Iknow your kind. Look at me. Iowe no man. Ihave never descended so low as toask any one for food. Ihave always earned my food. The trouble with you is that you are idle and dissolute. Ican see it inyour face. Ihave worked and been honest. Ihave made myself what Iam. And you can do the same, if you work and are honest.
Like you? Iqueried.
Alas, no ray ofhumor had ever penetrated the sombre work-sodden soul ofthatman.
Yes, like me, he answered.
All ofus? Iqueried.
Yes, all ofyou, he answered, conviction vibrating inhis voice.
But if we all became like you, Isaid, allow me topoint out that thered be nobody totoss bricks for you.
Iswear there was aflicker ofasmile inhis wifes eye. As for him, he was aghast but whether at the awful possibility ofareformed humanity that would not enable him toget anybody totoss bricks for him, or at my impudence, Ishall never know.
Ill not waste words on you, he roared. Get out ofhere, you ungrateful whelp!
Iscraped my feet toadvertise my intention ofgoing, and queried:
And Idont get anything toeat?
He arose suddenly tohis feet. He was alarge man. Iwas astranger inastrange land, and John Law was looking for me. Iwent away hurriedly.
But why ungrateful? Iasked myself as Islammed his gate. What inthe dickens did he give me tobe ungrateful about?
Ilooked back. Icould still see him through the window. He had returned tohispie.
Bythis time Ihad lost heart. Ipassed many houses bywithout venturing up tothem. All houses looked alike, and none looked good. After walking half adozen blocks Ishook off my despondency and gathered my nerve. This begging for food was all agame, and if Ididnt like the cards, Icould always call for anew deal. Imade up my mind totackle the next house. Iapproached it inthe deepening twilight, going around tothe kitchen door.
Iknocked softly, and when Isaw the kind face ofthe middle-aged woman who answered, as byinspiration came tome the story Iwas totell. For know that upon his ability totell agood story depends the success ofthe beggar. First ofall, and on the instant, the beggar must size up his victim. After that, he must tell astory that will appeal tothe peculiar personality and temperament ofthat particular victim. And right here arises the great difficulty: inthe instant that he is sizing up the victim he must begin his story. Not aminute is allowed for preparation. As inalightning flash he must divine the nature ofthe victim and conceive atale that will hit home.
The successful hobo must be an artist. He must create spontaneously and instantaneously and not upon atheme selected from the plenitude ofhis own imagination, but upon the theme he reads inthe face ofthe person who opens the door, be it man, woman, or child, sweet or crabbed, generous or miserly, good-natured or cantankerous, Jew or Gentile, black or white, race-prejudiced or brotherly, provincial or universal, or whatever else it maybe.
Ihave often thought that tothis training ofmy tramp days is due much ofmy success as astory-writer. Inorder toget the food whereby Ilived, Iwas compelled totell tales that rang true. At the back door, out ofinexorable necessity, is developed the convincingness and sincerity laid down byall authorities on the art ofthe short-story. Also, Iquite believe it was my tramp-apprenticeship that made arealist out ofme. Realism constitutes the only goods one can exchange at the kitchen door for grub.
After all, art is only consummate artfulness, and artfulness saves many astory. Iremember lying inapolice station at Winnipeg, Manitoba. Iwas bound west over the Canadian Pacific. Ofcourse, the police wanted my story, and Igave it tothem on the spur ofthe moment. They were landlubbers, inthe heart ofthe continent, and what better story for them than asea story? They could never trip me up on that. And so Itold atearful tale ofmy life on the hell-ship Glenmore. (Ihad once seen the Glenmore lying at anchor inSan Francisco Bay.)
Iwas an English apprentice, Isaid. And they said that Ididnt talk like an English boy. It was up tome tocreate on the instant. Ihad been born and reared inthe United States. On the death ofmy parents, Ihad been sent toEngland tomy grandparents. It was they who had apprenticed me on the Glenmore. Ihope the captain ofthe Glenmore will forgive me, for Igave him acharacter that night inthe Winnipeg police station. Such cruelty! Such brutality! Such diabolical ingenuity oftorture! It explained why Ihad deserted the Glenmore at Montreal.
But why was Iinthe middle ofCanada going west, when my grandparents lived inEngland? Promptly Icreated amarried sister who lived inCalifornia. She would take care ofme. Ideveloped at length her loving nature. But they were not done with me, those hard-hearted policemen. Ihad joined the Glenmore inEngland; inthe two years that had elapsed before my desertion at Montreal, what had the Glenmore done and where had she been?
And thereat Itook those landlubbers around the world with me. Buffeted bypounding seas and stung with flying spray, they fought atyphoon with me off the coast ofJapan. They loaded and unloaded cargo with me inall the ports ofthe Seven Seas. Itook them toIndia, and Rangoon, and China, and had them hammer ice with me around the Horn and at last come tomoorings at Montreal.
And then they said towait amoment, and one policeman went forth into the night while Iwarmed myself at the stove, all the while racking my brains for the trap they were going tospring onme.
Igroaned tomyself when Isaw him come inthe door at the heels ofthe policeman. No gypsy prank had thrust those tiny hoops ofgold through the ears; no prairie winds had beaten that skin into wrinkled leather; nor had snow-drift and mountain-slope put inhis walk that reminiscent roll. And inthose eyes, when they looked at me, Isaw the unmistakable sun-wash ofthe sea. Here was atheme, alas! with half adozen policemen towatch me read Iwho had never sailed the China seas, nor been around the Horn, nor looked with my eyes upon India and Rangoon.
Iwas desperate. Disaster stalked before me incarnate inthe form ofthat gold-ear-ringed, weather-beaten son ofthe sea. Who was he? What was he? Imust solve him ere he solved me. Imust take anew orientation, or else those wicked policemen would orientate me toacell, apolice court, and more cells. If he questioned me first, before Iknew how much he knew, Iwas lost.
But did Ibetray my desperate plight tothose lynx-eyed guardians ofthe public welfare ofWinnipeg? Not I. Imet that aged sailorman glad-eyed and beaming, with all the simulated relief at deliverance that adrowning man would display on finding alife-preserver inhis last despairing clutch.
Here was aman who understood and who would verify my true story tothe faces ofthose sleuth-hounds who did not understand, or, at least, such was what Iendeavored toplay-act. Iseized upon him; Ivolleyed him with questions about himself. Before my judges Iwould prove the character ofmy savior before he savedme.
He was akindly sailorman an easy mark. The policemen grew impatient while Iquestioned him. At last one ofthem told me toshut up. Ishut up; but while Iremained shut up, Iwas busy creating, busy sketching the scenario ofthe next act. Ihad learned enough togo on with. He was aFrenchman. He had sailed always on French merchant vessels, with the one exception ofavoyage on alime-juicer. And last ofall blessed fact! he had not been on the sea for twenty years.
The policeman urged him on toexamineme.
You called inat Rangoon? he queried.
Inodded. We put our third mate ashore there. Fever.
If he had asked me what kind offever, Ishould have answered, Enteric, though for the life ofme Ididnt know what enteric was. But he didnt ask me. Instead, his next question was:
And how is Rangoon?
All right. It rained awhole lot when we were there.
Did you get shore-leave?
Sure, Ianswered. Three ofus apprentices went ashore together.
Do you remember the temple?
Which temple? Iparried.
The big one, at the top ofthe stairway.
If Iremembered that temple, Iknew Id have todescribe it. The gulf yawned forme.
Ishook my head.
You can see it from all over the harbor, he informed me. You dont need shore-leave tosee that temple.
Inever loathed atemple so inmy life. But Ifixed that particular temple at Rangoon.
You cant see it from the harbor, Icontradicted. You cant see it from the town. You cant see it from the top ofthe stairway. Because Ipaused for the effect. Because there isnt any temple there.
But Isaw it with my own eyes! he cried.
That was in ? Iqueried.
Seventy-one.
It was destroyed inthe great earthquake of1887, Iexplained. It was very old.
There was apause. He was busy reconstructing inhis old eyes the youthful vision ofthat fair temple bythesea.
The stairway is still there, Iaided him. You can see it from all over the harbor. And you remember that little island on the right-hand side coming into the harbor?
Iguess there must have been one there (Iwas prepared toshift it over tothe left-hand side), for he nodded. Gone, Isaid. Seven fathoms ofwater there now.
Ihad gained amoment for breath. While he pondered on times changes, Iprepared the finishing touches ofmy story.
You remember the custom-house at Bombay?
He rememberedit.
Burned tothe ground, Iannounced.
Do you remember Jim Wan? he came back atme.
Dead, Isaid; but who the devil Jim Wan was Ihadnt the slightest idea.
Iwas on thin ice again.
Do you remember Billy Harper, at Shanghai? Iqueried back at him quickly.
That aged sailorman worked hard torecollect, but the Billy Harper ofmy imagination was beyond his faded memory.
Ofcourse you remember Billy Harper, Iinsisted. Everybody knows him. Hes been there forty years. Well, hes still there, thats all.
And then the miracle happened. The sailorman remembered Billy Harper. Perhaps there was aBilly Harper, and perhaps he had been inShanghai for forty years and was still there; but it was news tome.
For fully half an hour longer, the sailorman and Italked on insimilar fashion. Inthe end he told the policemen that Iwas what Irepresented myself tobe, and after anights lodging and abreakfast Iwas released towander on westward tomy married sister inSan Francisco.
But toreturn tothe woman inReno who opened her door tome inthe deepening twilight. At the first glimpse ofher kindly face Itook my cue. Ibecame asweet, innocent, unfortunate lad. Icouldnt speak. Iopened my mouth and closed it again. Never inmy life before had Iasked any one for food. My embarrassment was painful, extreme.
Iwas ashamed. I, who looked upon begging as adelightful whimsicality, thumbed myself over into atrue son ofMrs. Grundy, burdened with all her bourgeois morality. Only the harsh pangs ofthe belly-need could compel me todo so degraded and ignoble athing as beg for food. And into my face Istrove tothrow all the wan wistfulness offamished and ingenuous youth unused tomendicancy.
You are hungry, my poor boy, she said.
Ihad made her speak first.
Inodded my head and gulped.
It is the first time Ihave ever asked, Ifaltered.
Come right in. The door swung open. We have already finished eating, but the fire is burning and Ican get something up for you.
She looked at me closely when she got me into the light.
Iwish my boy were as healthy and strong as you, she said. But he is not strong. He sometimes falls down. He just fell down this afternoon and hurt himself badly, the poor dear.
She mothered him with her voice, with an ineffable tenderness init that Iyearned toappropriate. Iglanced at him. He sat across the table, slender and pale, his head swathed inbandages. He did not move, but his eyes, bright inthe lamplight, were fixed upon me inasteady and wondering stare.
Just like my poor father, Isaid. He had the falling sickness. Some kind ofvertigo. It puzzled the doctors. They never could make out what was the matter with him.
He is dead? she queried gently, setting before me half adozen soft-boiled eggs.
Dead, Igulped. Two weeks ago. Iwas with him when it happened. We were crossing the street together. He fell right down. He was never conscious again. They carried him into adrug-store. He died there.
And thereat Ideveloped the pitiful tale ofmy father how, after my mothers death, he and Ihad gone toSan Francisco from the ranch; how his pension (he was an old soldier), and the little other money he had, was not enough; and how he had tried book-canvassing. Also, Inarrated my own woes during the few days after his death that Ihad spent alone and forlorn on the streets ofSan Francisco.
While that good woman warmed up biscuits, fried bacon, and cooked more eggs, and while Ikept pace with her intaking care ofall that she placed before me, Ienlarged the picture ofthat poor orphan boy and filled inthe details. Ibecame that poor boy. Ibelieved inhim as Ibelieved inthe beautiful eggs Iwas devouring. Icould have wept for myself. Iknow the tears did get into my voice at times. It was very effective.
Infact, with every touch Iadded tothe picture, that kind soul gave me something also. She made up alunch for me tocarry away. She put inmany boiled eggs, pepper and salt, and other things, and abig apple. She provided me with three pairs ofthick red woollen socks. She gave me clean handkerchiefs and other things which Ihave since forgotten.
And all the time she cooked more and more and Iate more and more. Igorged like asavage; but then it was afar cry across the Sierras on ablind baggage, and Iknew not when nor where Ishould find my next meal. And all the while, like adeaths-head at the feast, silent and motionless, her own unfortunate boy sat and stared at me across the table.
Isuppose Irepresented tohim mystery, and romance, and adventure all that was denied the feeble flicker oflife that was inhim. And yet Icould not forbear, once or twice, from wondering if he saw through me down tothe bottom ofmy mendacious heart.
But where are you going to? she askedme.
Salt Lake City, said I. Ihave asister there amarried sister. (Idebated if Ishould make aMormon out ofher, and decided against it.) Her husband is aplumber acontracting plumber.
Now Iknew that contracting plumbers were usually credited with making lots ofmoney. But Ihad spoken. It was up tome toqualify.
They would have sent me the money for my fare if Ihad asked for it, Iexplained, but they have had sickness and business troubles. His partner cheated him. And so Iwouldnt write for the money. Iknew Icould make my way there somehow. Ilet them think Ihad enough toget me toSalt Lake City. She is lovely, and so kind. She was always kind tome. Iguess Ill go into the shop and learn the trade. She has two daughters. They are younger than I. One is only ababy.
Ofall my married sisters that Ihave distributed among the cities ofthe United States, that Salt Lake sister is my favorite. She is quite real, too. When Itell about her, Ican see her, and her two little girls, and her plumber husband. She is alarge, motherly woman, just verging on beneficent stoutness the kind, you know, that always cooks nice things and that never gets angry.
She is abrunette. Her husband is aquiet, easy-going fellow. Sometimes Ialmost know him quite well. And who knows but some day Imay meet him? If that aged sailorman could remember Billy Harper, Isee no reason why Ishould not some day meet the husband ofmy sister who lives inSalt Lake City.
On the other hand, Ihave afeeling ofcertitude within me that Ishall never meet inthe flesh my many parents and grandparents you see, Iinvariably killed them off. Heart disease was my favorite way ofgetting rid ofmy mother, though on occasion
Idid away with her bymeans ofconsumption, pneumonia, and typhoid fever. It is true, as the Winnipeg policemen will attest, that Ihave grandparents living inEngland; but that was along time ago and it is afair assumption that they are dead bynow. At any rate, they have never written tome.
Ihope that woman inReno will read these lines and forgive me my gracelessness and unveracity. Ido not apologize, for Iam unashamed. It was youth, delight inlife, zest for experience, that brought me toher door. It did me good. It taught me the intrinsic kindliness ofhuman nature. Ihope it did her good. Anyway, she may get agood laugh out ofit now that she learns the real inwardness ofthe situation.
Toher my story was true. She believed inme and all my family, and she was filled with solicitude for the dangerous journey Imust make ere Iwon toSalt Lake City. This solicitude nearly brought me togrief. Just as Iwas leaving, my arms full oflunch and my pockets bulging with fat woollen socks, she bethought herself ofanephew, or uncle, or relative ofsome sort, who was inthe railway mail service, and who, moreover, would come through that night on the very train on which Iwas going tosteal my ride.
The very thing! She would take me down tothe depot, tell him my story, and get him tohide me inthe mail car. Thus, without danger or hardship, Iwould be carried straight through toOgden. Salt Lake City was only afew miles farther on. My heart sank. She grew excited as she developed the plan and with my sinking heart Ihad tofeign unbounded gladness and enthusiasm at this solution ofmy difficulties.
Solution! Why Iwas bound west that night, and here was Ibeing trapped into going east. It was atrap, and Ihadnt the heart totell her that it was all amiserable lie. And while Imade believe that Iwas delighted, Iwas busy cudgelling my brains for some way toescape. But there was no way. She would see me into the mail-car she said so herself and then that mail-clerk relative ofhers would carry me toOgden. And then Iwould have tobeat my way back over all those hundreds ofmiles ofdesert.
But luck was with me that night. Just about the time she was getting ready toput on her bonnet and accompany me, she discovered that she had made amistake. Her mail-clerk relative was not scheduled tocome through that night.
His run had been changed. He would not come through until two nights afterward. Iwas saved, for ofcourse my boundless youth would never permit me towait those two days. Ioptimistically assured her that Id get toSalt Lake City quicker if Istarted immediately, and Ideparted with her blessings and best wishes ringing inmy ears.
But those woollen socks were great. Iknow. Iwore apair ofthem that night on the blind baggage ofthe overland, and that overland went west.
Holding HerDown
Barring accidents, agood hobo, with youth and agility, can hold atrain down despite all the efforts ofthe train-crew toditch him given, ofcourse, night-time as an essential condition. When such ahobo, under such conditions, makes up his mind that he is going tohold her down, either he does hold her down, or chance trips himup.
There is no legitimate way, short ofmurder, whereby the train-crew can ditch him. That train-crews have not stopped short ofmurder is acurrent belief inthe tramp world. Not having had that particular experience inmy tramp days Icannot vouch for it personally.
But this Ihave heard ofthe bad roads. When atramp has gone underneath, on the rods, and the train is inmotion, there is apparently no way ofdislodging him until the train stops. The tramp, snugly ensconced inside the truck, with the four wheels and all the framework around him, has the cinch on the crew or so he thinks, until some day he rides the rods on abad road.
Abad road is usually one on which ashort time previously one or several trainmen have been killed bytramps. Heaven pity the tramp who is caught underneath on such aroad for caught he is, though the train be going sixty miles an hour.
The shack (brakeman) takes acoupling-pin and alength ofbell-cord tothe platform infront ofthe truck inwhich the tramp is riding. The shack fastens the coupling-pin tothe bell-cord, drops the former down between the platforms, and pays out the latter. The coupling-pin strikes the ties between the rails, rebounds against the bottom ofthe car, and again strikes the ties.
The shack plays it back and forth, now tothis side, now tothe other, lets it out abit and hauls it inabit, giving his weapon opportunity for every variety ofimpact and rebound. Every blow ofthat flying coupling-pin is freighted with death, and at sixty miles an hour it beats averitable tattoo ofdeath.
The next day the remains ofthat tramp are gathered up along the right ofway, and aline inthe local paper mentions the unknown man, undoubtedly atramp, assumably drunk, who had probably fallen asleep on the track.
As acharacteristic illustration ofhow acapable hobo can hold her down, Iam minded togive the following experience. Iwas inOttawa, bound west over the Canadian Pacific. Three thousand miles ofthat road stretched before me; it was the fall ofthe year, and Ihad tocross Manitoba and the Rocky Mountains. Icould expect crimpy weather, and every moment ofdelay increased the frigid hardships ofthe journey. Furthermore, Iwas disgusted.
The distance between Montreal and Ottawa is one hundred and twenty miles. Iought toknow, for Ihad just come over it and it had taken me six days. Bymistake Ihad missed the main line and come over asmall jerk with only two locals aday on it. And during these six days Ihad lived on dry crusts, and not enough ofthem, begged from the French peasants.
Furthermore, my disgust had been heightened bythe one day Ihad spent inOttawa trying toget an outfit ofclothing for my long journey. Let me put it on record right here that Ottawa, with one exception, is the hardest town inthe United States and Canada tobeg clothes in; the one exception is Washington, D.C.The latter fair city is the limit. Ispent two weeks there trying tobeg apair ofshoes, and then had togo on toJersey City before Igot them.
But toreturn toOttawa. At eight sharp inthe morning Istarted out after clothes. Iworked energetically all day. Iswear Iwalked forty miles. Iinterviewed the housewives ofathousand homes. Idid not even knock off work for dinner. And at six inthe afternoon, after ten hours ofunremitting and depressing toil, Iwas still shy one shirt, while the pair oftrousers Ihad managed toacquire was tight and, moreover, was showing all the signs ofan early disintegration.
At six Iquit work and headed for the railroad yards, expecting topick up something toeat on the way. But my hard luck was still with me. Iwas refused food at house after house. Then Igot ahand-out. My spirits soared, for it was the largest hand-out Ihad ever seen inalong and varied experience. It was aparcel wrapped innewspapers and as big as amature suit-case.
Ihurried toavacant lot and opened it. First, Isaw cake, then more cake, all kinds and makes ofcake, and then some. It was all cake. No bread and butter with thick firm slices ofmeat between nothing but cake; and Iwho ofall things abhorred cake most! Inanother age and clime they sat down bythe waters ofBabylon and wept. And inavacant lot inCanadas proud capital, I, too, sat down and wept over amountain ofcake.
As one looks upon the face ofhis dead son, so looked Iupon that multitudinous pastry. Isuppose Iwas an ungrateful tramp, for Irefused topartake ofthe bounteousness ofthe house that had had aparty the night before. Evidently the guests hadnt liked cake either.
That cake marked the crisis inmy fortunes. Than it nothing could be worse; therefore things must begin tomend. And they did. At the very next house Iwas given aset-down. Now aset-down is the height ofbliss. One is taken inside, very often is given achance towash, and is then set-down at atable. Tramps love tothrow their legs under atable.
The house was large and comfortable, inthe midst ofspacious grounds and fine trees, and sat well back from the street. They had just finished eating, and Iwas taken right into the dining room initself amost unusual happening, for the tramp who is lucky enough towin aset-down usually receives it inthe kitchen. Agrizzled and gracious Englishman, his matronly wife, and abeautiful young Frenchwoman talked with me while Iate.
Iwonder if that beautiful young Frenchwoman would remember, at this late day, the laugh Igave her when Iuttered the barbaric phrase, two-bits. You see, Iwas trying delicately tohit them for alight piece. That was how the sum ofmoney came tobe mentioned. What? she said. Two-bits, said I. Her mouth was twitching as she again said, What? Two-bits, saidI.
Whereat she burst into laughter. Wont you repeat it? she said, when she had regained control ofherself. Two-bits, said I. And once more she rippled into uncontrollable silvery laughter. Ibeg your pardon, said she; but what what was it you said? Two-bits, said I; is there anything wrong about it? Not that Iknow of, she gurgled between gasps; but what does it mean? Iexplained, but Ido not remember now whether or not Igot that two-bits out ofher; but Ihave often wondered since as towhich ofus was the provincial.
When Iarrived at the depot, Ifound, much tomy disgust, abunch ofat least twenty tramps that were waiting toride out the blind baggages ofthe overland. Now two or three tramps on the blind baggage are all right. They are inconspicuous. But ascore! That meant trouble. No train-crew would ever let all ofus ride.
Imay as well explain here what ablind baggage is. Some mail-cars are built without doors inthe ends; hence, such acar is blind. The mail-cars that possess end doors, have those doors always locked. Suppose, after the train has started, that atramp gets on tothe platform ofone ofthese blind cars.
There is no door, or the door is locked. No conductor or brakeman can get tohim tocollect fare or throw him off. It is clear that the tramp is safe until the next time the train stops. Then he must get off, run ahead inthe darkness, and when the train pulls by, jump on tothe blind again. But there are ways and ways, as you shallsee.
When the train pulled out, those twenty tramps swarmed upon the three blinds. Some climbed on before the train had run acar-length. They were awkward dubs, and Isaw their speedy finish. Ofcourse, the train-crew was on, and at the first stop the trouble began. Ijumped off and ran forward along the track. Inoticed that Iwas accompanied byanumber ofthe tramps.
They evidently knew their business. When one is beating an overland, he must always keep well ahead ofthe train at the stops. Iran ahead, and as Iran, one byone those that accompanied me dropped out. This dropping out was the measure oftheir skill and nerve inboarding atrain.
For this is the way it works. When the train starts, the shack rides out the blind. There is no way for him toget back into the train proper except byjumping off the blind and catching aplatform where the car-ends are not blind. When the train is going as fast as the shack cares torisk, he therefore jumps off the blind, lets several cars go by, and gets on tothe train. So it is up tothe tramp torun so far ahead that before the blind is opposite him the shack will have already vacatedit.
Idropped the last tramp byabout fifty feet, and waited. The train started. Isaw the lantern ofthe shack on the first blind. He was riding her out. And Isaw the dubs stand forlornly bythe track as the blind went by. They made no attempt toget on. They were beaten bytheir own inefficiency at the very start. After them, inthe line-up, came the tramps that knew alittle something about the game. They let the first blind, occupied bythe shack, go by, and jumped on the second and third blinds.
Ofcourse, the shack jumped off the first and on tothe second as it went by, and scrambled around there, throwing off the men who had boarded it. But the point is that Iwas so far ahead that when the first blind came opposite me, the shack had already left it and was tangled up with the tramps on the second blind. Ahalf dozen ofthe more skilful tramps, who had run far enough ahead, made the first blind,too.
At the next stop, as we ran forward along the track, Icounted but fifteen ofus. Five had been ditched. The weeding-out process had begun nobly, and it continued station bystation. Now we were fourteen, now twelve, now eleven, now nine, now eight. It reminded me ofthe ten little niggers ofthe nursery rhyme. Iwas resolved that Ishould be the last little nigger ofall. And whynot?
Was Inot blessed with strength, agility, and youth? (Iwas eighteen, and inperfect condition.) And didnt Ihave my nerve with me? And furthermore, was Inot atramp-royal? Were not these other tramps mere dubs and gay-cats and amateurs alongside ofme? If Iwerent the last little nigger, Imight as well quit the game and get ajob on an alfalfa farm somewhere.
Bythe time our number had been reduced tofour, the whole train-crew had become interested. From then on it was acontest ofskill and wits, with the odds infavor ofthe crew. One byone the three other survivors turned up missing, until Ialone remained. My, but Iwas proud ofmyself! No Croesus was ever prouder ofhis first million. Iwas holding her down inspite oftwo brakemen, aconductor, afireman, and an engineer.
And here are afew samples ofthe way Iheld her down. Out ahead, inthe darkness, so far ahead that the shack riding out the blind must perforce get off before it reaches me, Iget on. Very well. Iam good for another station. When that station is reached, Idart ahead again torepeat the manoeuvre. The train pulls out. Iwatch her coming. There is no light ofalantern on the blind. Has the crew abandoned the fight? Ido not know.
One never knows, and one must be prepared every moment for anything. As the first blind comes opposite me, and Irun toleap aboard, Istrain my eyes tosee if the shack is on the platform. For all Iknow he may be there, with his lantern doused, and even as Ispring upon the steps that lantern may smash down upon my head. Iought toknow. Ihave been hit bylanterns two or three times.
But no, the first blind is empty. The train is gathering speed. Iam safe for another station. But am I? Ifeel the train slacken speed. On the instant Iam alert. Amanoeuvre is being executed against me, and Ido not know what it is. Itry towatch on both sides at once, not forgetting tokeep track ofthe tender infront ofme. From any one, or all, ofthese three directions, Imay be assailed.
Ah, there it comes. The shack has ridden out the engine. My first warning is when his feet strike the steps ofthe right-hand side ofthe blind. Like aflash Iam off the blind tothe left and running ahead past the engine. Ilose myself inthe darkness. The situation is where it has been ever since the train left Ottawa. Iam ahead, and the train must come past me if it is toproceed on its journey. Ihave as good achance as ever for boardingher.
Iwatch carefully. Isee alantern come forward tothe engine, and Ido not see it go back from the engine. It must therefore be still on the engine, and it is afair assumption that attached tothe handle ofthat lantern is ashack. That shack was lazy, or else he would have put out his lantern instead oftrying toshield it as he came forward. The train pulls out. The first blind is empty, and Igain it. As before the train slackens, the shack from the engine boards the blind from one side, and Igo off the other side and run forward.
As Iwait inthe darkness Iam conscious ofabig thrill ofpride. The overland has stopped twice for me for me, apoor hobo on the bum. Ialone have twice stopped the overland with its many passengers and coaches, its government mail, and its two thousand steam horses straining inthe engine. And Iweigh only one hundred and sixty pounds, and Ihavent afive-cent piece inmy pocket!
Again Isee the lantern come forward tothe engine. But this time it comes conspicuously. Abit too conspicuously tosuit me, and Iwonder what is up. At any rate Ihave something else tobe afraid ofthan the shack on the engine. The train pulls by. Just intime, before Imake my spring, Isee the dark form ofashack, without alantern, on the first blind. Ilet it go by, and prepare toboard the second blind. But the shack on the first blind has jumped off and is at my heels.
Also, Ihave afleeting glimpse ofthe lantern ofthe shack who rode out the engine. He has jumped off, and now both shacks are on the ground on the same side with me. The next moment the second blind comes byand Iam aboard it. But Ido not linger. Ihave figured out my countermove. As Idash across the platform Ihear the impact ofthe shacks feet against the steps as he boards. Ijump off the other side and run forward with the train. My plan is torun forward and get on the first blind. It is nip and tuck, for the train is gathering speed. Also, the shack is behind me and running afterme.
Iguess Iam the better sprinter, for Imake the first blind. Istand on the steps and watch my pursuer. He is only about ten feet back and running hard; but now the train has approximated his own speed, and, relative tome, he is standing still. Iencourage him, hold out my hand tohim; but he explodes inamighty oath, gives up and makes the train several cars back.
The train is speeding along, and Iam still chuckling tomyself, when, without warning, aspray ofwater strikes me. The fireman is playing the hose on me from the engine. Istep forward from the car-platform tothe rear ofthe tender, where Iam sheltered under the overhang. The water flies harmlessly over my head. My fingers itch toclimb up on the tender and lam that fireman with achunk ofcoal; but Iknow if Ido that, Ill be massacred byhim and the engineer, and Irefrain.
At the next stop Iam off and ahead inthe darkness. This time, when the train pulls out, both shacks are on the first blind. Idivine their game. They have blocked the repetition ofmy previous play. Icannot again take the second blind, cross over, and run forward tothe first.
As soon as the first blind passes and Ido not get on, they swing off, one on each side ofthe train. Iboard the second blind, and as Ido so Iknow that amoment later, simultaneously, those two shacks will arrive on both sides ofme. It is like atrap. Both ways are blocked. Yet there is another way out, and that way isup.
So Ido not wait for my pursuers toarrive. Iclimb upon the upright ironwork ofthe platform and stand upon the wheel ofthe hand-brake. This has taken up the moment ofgrace and Ihear the shacks strike the steps on either side. Idont stop tolook. Iraise my arms overhead until my hands rest against the down-curving ends ofthe roofs ofthe two cars. One hand, ofcourse, is on the curved roof ofone car, the other hand on the curved roof ofthe othercar.
Bythis time both shacks are coming up the steps. Iknow it, though Iam too busy tosee them. All this is happening inthe space ofonly several seconds. Imake aspring with my legs and muscle myself up with my arms. As Idraw up my legs, both shacks reach for me and clutch empty air. Iknow this, for Ilook down and see them. Also Ihear them swear.
Iam now inaprecarious position, riding the ends ofthe down-curving roofs oftwo cars at the same time. With aquick, tense movement, Itransfer both legs tothe curve ofone roof and both hands tothe curve ofthe other roof. Then, gripping the edge ofthat curving roof, Iclimb over the curve tothe level roof above, where Isit down tocatch my breath, holding on the while toaventilator that projects above the surface.
Iam on top ofthe train on the decks, as the tramps call it, and this process Ihave described is bythem called decking her. And let me say right here that only ayoung and vigorous tramp is able todeck apassenger train, and also, that the young and vigorous tramp must have his nerve with him as well.
The train goes on gathering speed, and Iknow Iam safe until the next stop but only until the next stop. If Iremain on the roof after the train stops, Iknow those shacks will fusillade me with rocks. Ahealthy shack can dewdrop apretty heavy chunk ofstone on top ofacar say anywhere from five totwenty pounds. On the other hand, the chances are large that at the next stop the shacks will be waiting for me todescend at the place Iclimbed up. It is up tome toclimb down at some other platform.
Registering afervent hope that there are no tunnels inthe next half mile, Irise tomy feet and walk down the train half adozen cars. And let me say that one must leave timidity behind him on such apassear. The roofs ofpassenger coaches are not made for midnight promenades.
And if any one thinks they are, let me advise him totry it. Just let him walk along the roof ofajolting, lurching car, with nothing tohold on tobut the black and empty air, and when he comes tothe down-curving end ofthe roof, all wet and slippery with dew, let him accelerate his speed so as tostep across tothe next roof, down-curving and wet and slippery. Believe me, he will learn whether his heart is weak or his head is giddy.
As the train slows down for astop, half adozen platforms from where Ihad decked her Icome down. No one is on the platform. When the train comes toastandstill, Islip off tothe ground. Ahead, and between me and the engine, are two moving lanterns.
The shacks are looking for me on the roofs ofthe cars. Inote that the car beside which Iam standing is afour-wheeler bywhich is meant that it has only four wheels toeach truck. (When you go underneath on the rods, be sure toavoid the six-wheelers, they lead todisasters.)
Iduck under the train and make for the rods, and Ican tell you Iam mighty glad that the train is standing still. It is the first time Ihave ever gone underneath on the Canadian Pacific, and the internal arrangements are new tome. Itry tocrawl over the top ofthe truck, between the truck and the bottom ofthe car. But the space is not large enough for me tosqueeze through.
This is new tome. Down inthe United States Iam accustomed togoing underneath on rapidly moving trains, seizing agunnel and swinging my feet under tothe brake-beam, and from there crawling over the top ofthe truck and down inside the truck toaseat on the cross-rod.
Feeling with my hands inthe darkness, Ilearn that there is room between the brake-beam and the ground. It is atight squeeze. Ihave tolie flat and worm my way through. Once inside the truck, Itake my seat on the rod and wonder what the shacks are thinking has become ofme. The train gets under way. They have given me up at last.
But have they? At the very next stop, Isee alantern thrust under the next truck tomine at the other end ofthe car. They are searching the rods for me. Imust make my get-away pretty lively. Icrawl on my stomach under the brake-beam.
They see me and run for me, but Icrawl on hands and knees across the rail on the opposite side and gain my feet. Then away Igo for the head ofthe train. Irun past the engine and hide inthe sheltering darkness. It is the same old situation. Iam ahead ofthe train, and the train must go pastme.
The train pulls out. There is alantern on the first blind. Ilie low, and see the peering shack go by. But there is also alantern on the second blind. That shack spots me and calls tothe shack who has gone past on the first blind. Both jump off. Never mind, Ill take the third blind and deck her. But heavens, there is alantern on the third blind, too. It is the conductor. Ilet it go by. At any rate Ihave now the full train-crew infront ofme.
Iturn and run back inthe opposite direction towhat the train is going. Ilook over my shoulder. All three lanterns are on the ground and wobbling along inpursuit. Isprint. Half the train has gone by, and it is going quite fast, when Ispring aboard. Iknow that the two shacks and the conductor will arrive like ravening wolves inabout two seconds.
Ispring upon the wheel ofthe hand-brake, get my hands on the curved ends ofthe roofs, and muscle myself up tothe decks; while my disappointed pursuers, clustering on the platform beneath like dogs that have treed acat, howl curses up at me and say unsocial things about my ancestors.
But what does that matter? It is five toone, including the engineer and fireman, and the majesty ofthe law and the might ofagreat corporation are behind them, and Iam beating them out. Iam too far down the train, and Irun ahead over the roofs ofthe coaches until Iam over the fifth or sixth platform from the engine. Ipeer down cautiously. Ashack is on that platform.
That he has caught sight ofme, Iknow from the way he makes aswift sneak inside the car; and Iknow, also, that he is waiting inside the door, all ready topounce out on me when Iclimb down. But Imake believe that Idont know, and Iremain there toencourage him inhis error. Ido not see him, yet Iknow that he opens the door once and peeps up toassure himself that Iam still there.
The train slows down for astation. Idangle my legs down inatentative way. The train stops. My legs are still dangling. Ihear the door unlatch softly. He is all ready for me. Suddenly Ispring up and run forward over the roof. This is right over his head, where he lurks inside the door. The train is standing still; the night is quiet, and Itake care tomake plenty ofnoise on the metal roof with my feet. Idont know, but my assumption is that he is now running forward tocatch me as Idescend at the next platform.
But Idont descend there. Halfway along the roof ofthe coach, Iturn, retrace my way softly and quickly tothe platform both the shack and Ihave just abandoned. The coast is clear. Idescend tothe ground on the off-side ofthe train and hide inthe darkness. Not asoul has seenme.
Igo over tothe fence, at the edge ofthe right ofway, and watch. Ah, ha! Whats that? Isee alantern on top ofthe train, moving along from front torear. They think Ihavent come down, and they are searching the roofs for me. And better than that on the ground on each side ofthe train, moving abreast with the lantern on top, are two other lanterns. It is arabbit-drive, and Iam the rabbit. When the shack on top flushes me, the ones on each side will nabme.
Iroll acigarette and watch the procession go by. Once past me, Iam safe toproceed tothe front ofthe train. She pulls out, and Imake the front blind without opposition. But before she is fully under way and just as Iam lighting my cigarette, Iam aware that the fireman has climbed over the coal tothe back ofthe tender and is looking down at me. Iam filled with apprehension. From his position he can mash me toajelly with lumps ofcoal. Instead ofwhich he addresses me, and Inote with relief the admiration inhis voice.
You son-of-a-gun, is what he says.
It is ahigh compliment, and Ithrill as aschoolboy thrills on receiving areward ofmerit.
Say, Icall up tohim, dont you play the hose on me any more.
All right, he answers, and goes back tohis work.
Ihave made friends with the engine, but the shacks are still looking for me. At the next stop, the shacks ride out all three blinds, and as before, Ilet them go byand deck inthe middle ofthe train. The crew is on its mettle bynow, and the train stops. The shacks are going toditch me or know the reasonwhy.
Three times the mighty overland stops for me at that station, and each time Ielude the shacks and make the decks. But it is hopeless, for they have finally come toan understanding ofthe situation. Ihave taught them that they cannot guard the train from me. They must do something else.
And they do it. When the train stops that last time, they take after me hot-footed. Ah, Isee their game. They are trying torun me down. At first they herd me back toward the rear ofthe train. Iknow my peril. Once tothe rear ofthe train, it will pull out with me left behind. Idouble, and twist, and turn, dodge through my pursuers, and gain the front ofthe train. One shack still hangs on afterme.
All right, Ill give him the run ofhis life, for my wind is good. Irun straight ahead along the track. It doesnt matter. If he chases me ten miles, hell nevertheless have tocatch the train, and Ican board her at any speed that hecan.
So Irun on, keeping just comfortably ahead ofhim and straining my eyes inthe gloom for cattle-guards and switches that may bring me togrief. Alas! Istrain my eyes too far ahead, and trip over something just under my feet, Iknow not what, some little thing, and go down toearth inalong, stumbling fall.
The next moment Iam on my feet, but the shack has me bythe collar. Ido not struggle. Iam busy with breathing deeply and with sizing him up. He is narrow-shouldered, and Ihave at least thirty pounds the better ofhim inweight. Besides, he is just as tired as Iam, and if he tries toslug me, Ill teach him afew things.
But he doesnt try toslug me, and that problem is settled. Instead, he starts tolead me back toward the train, and another possible problem arises. Isee the lanterns ofthe conductor and the other shack. We are approaching them. Not for nothing have Imade the acquaintance ofthe New York police. Not for nothing, inbox-cars, bywater-tanks, and inprison-cells,have
Ilistened tobloody tales ofman-handling. What if these three men are about toman-handle me? Heaven knows Ihave given them provocation enough. Ithink quickly. We are drawing nearer and nearer tothe other two trainmen. Iline up the stomach and the jaw ofmy captor, and plan the right and left Ill give him at the first sign oftrouble.
Pshaw! Iknow another trick Id like towork on him, and Ialmost regret that Idid not do it at the moment Iwas captured. Icould make him sick, what ofhis clutch on my collar. His fingers, tight-gripping, are buried inside my collar. My coat is tightly buttoned. Did you ever see atourniquet? Well, this is one. All Ihave todo is toduck my head under his arm and begin totwist. Imust twist rapidly very rapidly. Iknow how todo it; twisting inaviolent, jerky way, ducking my head under his arm with each revolution.
Before he knows it, those detaining fingers ofhis will be detained. He will be unable towithdraw them. It is apowerful leverage. Twenty seconds after Ihave started revolving, the blood will be bursting out ofhis finger-ends, the delicate tendons will be rupturing, and all the muscles and nerves will be mashing and crushing together inashrieking mass.
Try it sometime when somebody has you bythe collar. But be quick quick as lightning. Also, be sure tohug yourself while you are revolving hug your face with your left arm and your abdomen with your right. You see, the other fellow might try tostop you with apunch from his free arm. It would be agood idea, too, torevolve away from that free arm rather than toward it. Apunch going is never so bad as apunch coming.
That shack will never know how near he was tobeing made very, very sick. All that saves him is that it is not intheir plan toman-handle me. When we draw near enough, he calls out that he has me, and they signal the train tocome on. The engine passes us, and the three blinds. After that, the conductor and the other shack swing aboard. But still my captor holds on tome. Isee the plan. He is going tohold me until the rear ofthe train goes by. Then he will hop on, and Ishall be left behind ditched.
But the train has pulled out fast, the engineer trying tomake up for lost time. Also, it is along train. It is going very lively, and Iknow the shack is measuring its speed with apprehension.
Think you can make it? Iquery innocently.
He releases my collar, makes aquick run, and swings aboard. Anumber ofcoaches are yet topass by. He knows it, and remains on the steps, his head poked out and watching me. Inthat moment my next move comes tome. Ill make the last platform. Iknow shes going fast and faster, but Ill only get aroll inthe dirt if Ifail, and the optimism ofyouth is mine.
Ido not give myself away. Istand with adejected droop ofshoulder, advertising that Ihave abandoned hope. But at the same time Iam feeling with my feet the good gravel. It is perfect footing. Also Iam watching the poked-out head ofthe shack. Isee it withdrawn. He is confident that the train is going too fast for me ever tomakeit.
And the train is going fast faster than any train Ihave ever tackled. As the last coach comes byIsprint inthe same direction with it. It is aswift, short sprint. Icannot hope toequal the speed ofthe train, but Ican reduce the difference ofour speed tothe minimum, and, hence, reduce the shock ofimpact, when Ileap on board.
Inthe fleeting instant ofdarkness Ido not see the iron hand-rail ofthe last platform; nor is there time for me tolocate it. Ireach for where Ithink it ought tobe, and at the same instant my feet leave the ground. It is all inthe toss. The next moment Imay be rolling inthe gravel with broken ribs, or arms, or head. But my fingers grip the hand-hold, there is ajerk on my arms that slightly pivots my body, and my feet land on the steps with sharp violence.
Isit down, feeling very proud ofmyself. Inall my hoboing it is the best bit oftrain-jumping Ihave done. Iknow that late at night one is always good for several stations on the last platform, but Ido not care totrust myself at the rear ofthe train. At the first stop Irun forward on the off-side ofthe train, pass the Pullmans, and duck under and take arod under aday-coach. At the next stop Irun forward again and take anotherrod.
Iam now comparatively safe. The shacks think Iam ditched. But the long day and the strenuous night are beginning totell on me. Also, it is not so windy nor cold underneath, and Ibegin todoze. This will never do. Sleep on the rods spells death, so Icrawl out at astation and go forward tothe second blind.
Here Ican lie down and sleep; and here Ido sleep how long Ido not know for Iam awakened byalantern thrust into my face. The two shacks are staring at me. Iscramble up on the defensive, wondering as towhich one is going tomake the first pass at me. But slugging is far from their minds.
Ithought you was ditched, says the shack who had held me bythe collar.
If you hadnt let go ofme when you did, youd have been ditched along with me, Ianswer.
Hows that? he asks.
Id have gone into aclinch with you, thats all, is my reply.
They hold aconsultation, and their verdict is summed upin:
Well, Iguess you can ride, Bo. Theres no use trying tokeep you off.
And they go away and leave me inpeace tothe end oftheir division.
Ihave given the foregoing as asample ofwhat holding her down means. Ofcourse, Ihave selected afortunate night out ofmy experiences, and said nothing ofthe nights and many ofthem when Iwas tripped up byaccident and ditched.
Inconclusion, Iwant totell ofwhat happened when Ireached the end ofthe division. On single-track, transcontinental lines, the freight trains wait at the divisions and follow out after the passenger trains. When the division was reached, Ileft my train, and looked for the freight that would pull out behind it. Ifound the freight, made up on aside-track and waiting. Iclimbed into abox-car half full ofcoal and lay down. Inno time Iwas asleep.
Iwas awakened bythe sliding open ofthe door. Day was just dawning, cold and gray, and the freight had not yet started. Acon (conductor) was poking his head inside the door.
Get out ofthat, you blankety-blank-blank! he roared atme.
Igot, and outside Iwatched him go down the line inspecting every car inthe train. When he got out ofsight Ithought tomyself that he would never think Id have the nerve toclimb back into the very car out ofwhich he had fired me. So back Iclimbed and lay down again.
Now that cons mental processes must have been paralleling mine, for he reasoned that it was the very thing Iwould do. For back he came and fired meout.
Now, surely, Ireasoned, he will never dream that Id do it athird time. Back Iwent, into the very same car. But Idecided tomake sure. Only one side-door could be opened. The other side-door was nailed up. Beginning at the top ofthe coal, Idug ahole alongside ofthat door and lay down init. Iheard the other door open.
The con climbed up and looked inover the top ofthe coal. He couldnt see me. He called tome toget out. Itried tofool him byremaining quiet. But when he began tossing chunks ofcoal into the hole on top ofme, Igave up and for the third time was fired out. Also, he informed me inwarm terms ofwhat would happen tome if he caught me inthere again.
Ichanged my tactics. When aman is paralleling your mental processes, ditch him. Abruptly break off your line ofreasoning, and go off on anew line. This Idid. Ihid between some cars on an adjacent side-track, and watched. Sure enough, that con came back again tothe car. He opened the door, he climbed up, he called, he threw coal into the hole Ihad made. He even crawled over the coal and looked into the hole. That satisfied him. Five minutes later the freight was pulling out, and he was not insight. Iran alongside the car, pulled the door open, and climbedin.
He never looked for me again, and Irode that coal-car precisely one thousand and twenty-two miles, sleeping most ofthe time and getting out at divisions (where the freights always stop for an hour or so) tobeg my food. And at the end ofthe thousand and twenty-two miles Ilost that car through ahappy incident. Igot aset-down, and the tramp doesnt live who wont miss atrain for aset-down any time.
Pictures
What do it matter where or ow we die, So long as weve our ealth towatch it all?
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- Жанр: без жанра
- Язык: Книги на русском языке
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
Как скачать книгу - "The Road. Аудирование на 50000+ английских слов с текстовым сопровождением" в fb2, ePub, txt и других форматах?
- Нажмите на кнопку "полная версия" справа от обложки книги на версии сайта для ПК или под обложкой на мобюильной версии сайта
Полная версия книги
- Купите книгу на литресе по кнопке со скриншота
Если книга "The Road. Аудирование на 50000+ английских слов с текстовым сопровождением" доступна в бесплатно то будет вот такая кнопка
- Выполните вход в личный кабинет на сайте ЛитРес с вашим логином и паролем.
- В правом верхнем углу сайта нажмите «Мои книги» и перейдите в подраздел «Мои».
- Нажмите на обложку книги -"The Road. Аудирование на 50000+ английских слов с текстовым сопровождением", чтобы скачать книгу для телефона или на ПК.
В разделе «Скачать в виде файла» нажмите на нужный вам формат файла:
Для чтения на телефоне подойдут следующие форматы (при клике на формат вы можете сразу скачать бесплатно фрагмент книги "The Road. Аудирование на 50000+ английских слов с текстовым сопровождением" для ознакомления):
- FB2 - Для телефонов, планшетов на Android, электронных книг (кроме Kindle) и других программ
- EPUB - подходит для устройств на ios (iPhone, iPad, Mac) и большинства приложений для чтения
Для чтения на компьютере подходят форматы:
- TXT - можно открыть на любом компьютере в текстовом редакторе
- RTF - также можно открыть на любом ПК
- A4 PDF - открывается в программе Adobe Reader
Другие форматы:
- Сохраните файл на свой компьютер или телефоне.
