A big Torch was Burning, and there I Stood on Top of the Box all Decked out in my Rentals."A big Torch was Burning, and there I Stood on Top of the Box all Decked out in my Rentals."(Wanderlust.)
"A big Torch was Burning, and there I Stood on Top of the Box all Decked out in my Rentals."(Wanderlust.)
Anderson, who was standing in the middle of the crowd, elbowed his way to the front, planked fifty cents down on the box and at the same time remarking, "Give me a bottle of that; it is the only kind that ever done me any good." It is wonderful howthe sophisticated inhabitants of large cities can be fooled. This started them, and it wasn't long before our supply was exhausted. I returned the clothes to my friend Ikey, and the next day we were on our way to the real West, our tickets reading Yankton, South Dakota.
The morning we arrived in Yankton it was raining, so instead of going out to look for a job, we hung around one of the general mercantile establishments all the forenoon. We had only about twenty cents between us and we spent it for sardines and soda crackers. That afternoon we were successful in landing a job out on Brown's ranch, a distance of fifty miles from Yankton.
We learned that Brown had been wanting a couple of men for some time, and he had notified the manager of the store to the effect that if any stray ones came around his place of business to advise him and he would send in after them. The storekeeper put the proposition up to us and we accepted on the spot. We had to spend the night in Yankton, and he advanced us money with which to pay our lodging. The next morning, by break of day, we were on our way to the great ranch lands and those two little western horses attached to that light wagon were only about six hours in conveying us to "Brown's X," as it was generally known throughout the country of South Dakota.
Six long lonely months were enough on that ranch. There was only one incident of any importance during our stay at Brown's place in the heart of the range country of Dakota. A part of a letter received from my good friend Anderson not manymonths ago will acquaint the reader with this little episode of mine. In recalling some of our past experiences, he writes: "Say, but didn't we make the eatables do the disappearing act, though, when we would come in after inhaling great draughts of Dakota ozone? And those cow-punchers were all good fellows—that is, all except Baker. I am at a loss to understand why he had it in for you, unless it was your unconscious 'hit' with that Parker girl, and I think he had designs on her himself. I believe that when he dared you to ride that 'bronco' without saddle, bridle, or stirrups, or anything else except a girth, that he hoped you would either be killed or permanently injured, for he seemed disappointed when you came out unscratched. Straddling the bare back of an 'outlaw' with a mean disposition is a darn tough proposition, especially as you have nothing to hold on to except the mane. I'll never forget the day Baker told the Bunch that after he had finished dinner he was going to show that 'college kid' a few things about the manly art, and when you came to, you would probably know something.
Straddling the Bare Back of an Outlaw is a Tough Proposition."Straddling the Bare Back of an Outlaw is a Tough Proposition."(Wanderlust.)
"Straddling the Bare Back of an Outlaw is a Tough Proposition."(Wanderlust.)
"When you came in the bunk house I had a hunch that there was going to be something doing of a disagreeable nature, and I was a trifle uneasy, as Baker was really an excellent specimen of physical manhood—but then so was Reynolds an excellent specimen of physical manhood, and, incidentally, the latter knew a few things about that 'manly art.'
"Truly, I gloated inwardly when, after he 'cussed you out,' and you proceeded to give him a littlepractical demonstration of 'fist against face and face against floor,' and repeated the same until he had had enough.
"'He was going to hit you.' Yes, the horrid, mean, cruel, brutal man. He hit your fist so hard with his jaw that the sheer force of it knocked him down. But he at least was man enough to apologize, and I noticed a marked change in him from that day on, a change in both countenance and manner."
Six months in the bad lands of Dakota had tanned me till I could hardly be told from an Indian. It did not affect Anderson so much for he was naturally dark skinned and the change was not so perceptible. I put on about twenty pounds while he added over ten. Six full months there had broadened, thickened and toughened us.
On our way back East we stopped over in St. Paul for several days, and there we blew in the little sums which represented six hard months' work at thirty dollars per. As the old fellow would say, "we did it brown," and had we not purchased through tickets to Chicago from Yankton, we never would have landed there seven days after leaving the ranch lands.
At any rate we landed in Chicago safe and sound, and not a sou between the two of us. On leaving St. Paul we had forty-two cents; forty cents we spent on the train for oranges, bananas and a couple of magazines, while the two cents was spent for a postage stamp. This stamp was used in mailing Anderson's letter, which he had written about a month before while we were doing the cowboy stunt.
When we alighted from the train we were trulytwo wild looking men, for neither of us had sufficient or proper clothing. We had intended purchasing some garments in St. Paul during our stay there, but by the time we were ready to make our purchases we found that we were minus the cash capital required. Both of us wore sombreros, overalls and flannel shirts. Back in the Windy City and broke again! But this thought did not haunt us for we had grown accustomed to being in that condition, no longer embarrassing.
We proceeded to an Employment Agency, where we had a few months previously secured positions, and again we made application for jobs. "Just anything," for we were down and out and needed the money. We told the manager that we had had some experience as housemen and such a job would suit us well enough. He informed us that he had a call for a couple of men out on East End Avenue in the Hyde Park section, and that we might go out there and make application for the places.
We didn't have a darn cent to deposit with him for securing the places for us, so he decided to wait for his money till we had drawn our first week's wages. He said we looked pretty honest and that he would trust us for the four dollars. He further added that we looked more like bronco busters or prize fighters than we did like housemen. He 'phoned to the house on East End Avenue where they wanted the men and told them that we were coming out. From this particular Employment Agency to the house where we were to go it was a distance of eight miles so we had to hoof it out there, for neither of us had carfare.
Well, in short, we arrived there about dusk and were successful in securing the places as housemen for this millionaire. We were to begin work next morning, so we hit toward a restaurant where we got supper for carrying in about a ton of coal from the street to the third story of a cheap tenement house. That night we slept on the benches in Lincoln Park and at six the next morning were at our posts.
That Night we Slept on the Benches in Lincoln Park."That Night we Slept on the Benches in Lincoln Park."(Wanderlust.)
"That Night we Slept on the Benches in Lincoln Park."(Wanderlust.)
The work pleased us all right, for it was light and simply meant beating carpets, scrubbing floors, washing windows, mowing the lawns, polishing the brass on the doors, in fact merely carrying out the duties of an every day houseman.
We were working for the Coleridges. The old gentleman was a wealthy glass manufacturer, and for our services at this particular residence we received ten dollars per, meals included. Oh, we used to have some lively times.
One day, while busily engaged in the reception hall, scrubbing the marble stairway, I cast my peepers on the card tray, and, my curiosity being aroused, I "copped" a couple of invitations the postman had brought that morning. There were five in all, so I thought that two would be enough for Anderson and myself. When I went down in the basement to get some more clean rags from the laundry girl, Anderson was there engaged in sweeping. I gave him the wink and a nod, and when he came out we went back to the furnace room and examined the invitations to a dance which was to be given by Mrs. Ostrand at her residence on Cornell Avenue. We then and there decided to accept.
The time for this affair soon came around and we held our nerve for we were determined to do the Soldier of Fortune act once in our lives. The afternoon before the dance we stopped work about four o'clock and went to our room where there was some tall scrubbing, and much time spent on our rusty hides. This preliminary part of the toilet completed, we took a car downtown and there I made arrangements to rent a pair of pumps, silk hat, white kid gloves, full dress suit, top coat and the other necessary apparel. While I was getting fitted up in this establishment, Anderson busied himself in purchasing a few toilet articles.
We set out, I in my rented clothes, and he in his full dress uniform, which he had no right to wear. On turning the corner we hailed a cab and had the driver head toward Mr. Ostrand's. We drove swiftly up the driveway, alighted, and presented our cards of admission. Ten minutes later found us in the reception hall looking casually about, smiling and talking pleasantly to one another. I remarked that it was very strange that our friends were not there to receive us after our having received such a cordial invitation. Anderson ventured, "Well, indeed, it is embarrassing for us that our friends have neglected us so shamefully."
We saw that we were not making any progress standing there so we entered the big ball room, which was one lovely sight. The floral decorations were beautiful and the music rendered by the orchestra was perfect. The ball room was filled with beautiful women, who wore handsome gowns and precious jewels. We rubbed shoulders with the best of themand my chance was not long in coming. We were rather to the side of the big folding doors leading to the reception hall. A couple of young ladies nearby were apparently engaged in some interesting topic of conversation. They had only been there a few moments when a young fellow walked up to them and addressing the brunette, said "Why, how do you do, Miss Miles, how are you?" She greeted him cordially and he began to inquire about her people back in Iowa; how long she was going to be in Chicago, and a number of other questions. I overheard the whole conversation so I whispered to Anderson, "Well, old man, this is my chance, lie low and watch your Uncle Dudley."
I left his side and an instant later I was standing face to face with the young lady whose name was Miles. Approaching her, I extended my hand in a most familiar manner, and at the same time said, "Why, Miss Miles, how are you, how are your folks in Iowa? What a delightful time we had at the last dance."
She looked at me in a doubtful sort of way and replied, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe I remember you."
"Condon," I volunteered, and then she smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, yes, certainly I remember you, Mr. Condon, how stupid of me to have forgotten."
I pretended I had met her out in Iowa at a dance and she never knew the difference or even suspected me in the least. She introduced me to the blonde with whom she had been conversing and shortly afterward I motioned Anderson over to where we werestanding and presented him as my young friend who had recently graduated from the U. S. Naval Academy and was spending only a few days in Chicago awaiting his assignment to a ship.
Well, we met these two girls and they in turn introduced us to others, and before we departed we had sipped and chatted and danced with many. We avoided the hostess of the evening very cleverly, and as luck would have it none of our new acquaintances were so rude as to inquire who invited us.
There was one little incident of the evening which was the biggest piece of nerve I have ever seen displayed on any occasion. It was after the fifth dance that we spied the two Coleridge girls sitting over beneath some palms in the rear of the ball room. Anderson walked over to where they were, and introducing himself, he struck up a conversation with these fair ones of our own household. They certainly did stare at that young cadet and when he signaled me over, and in a most diplomatic manner, "May I present Mr. Condon?" the girls appeared as though they knew not what to say.
Two days later Mrs. Coleridge overheard a conversation between her daughter Aileen and Anderson. He was lovemaking, and she said, "O, Will, I knew all the time that you would fulfill my dream."
During the three weeks we had been there this devil Anderson had been making eyes at "Miss Aileen," as the servants spoke of her, and it ended as most stories do; they saw, he loved, and she conquered. On hearing this astounding conversation, Mrs. Coleridge promptly dismissed us from service.
Out of a job again! Well, what did we care? Wehad been in that identical fix a score of times before.
Two weeks later found us in Ohio as representatives for a publishing company, that sounds so much better than "just book agents," where came the "doing" of Fostoria, Tiffin, and last but not least, Fremont.
I can still remember those samples of front door eloquence, which we used to reel off to all the mothers. I shall never forget one instance in particular when I was telling a mother these books were worth their bulk in diamonds, their weight in gold, or some words to that effect, when I happened to look across at Anderson and beheld his countenance, usually stoical on such occasions, distorted in a good-natured grin. I exploded in laughter, tried unsuccessfully to apologize, then, not wishing to make myself any more ridiculous than I could help, bolted for the screen door, slammed it after me, and left one William B. Anderson of Brooklyn, to make the best of the situation, while I lowered the record for a hundred yard dash down the street. But the best part of it was that he was more than equal to the occasion, and sold her a set of books.
We were representatives of the Students' Reference Work, an encyclopedia in a nut shell, so to speak, condensed for the use of school children. During ten days as representatives of this publishing house we found two purchasers.
We would stroll up to a house, rap, and on being confronted by the lady of the house we would promptly ask her if she had children in the public schools. As soon as we asked about her children, she would become interested,thinking we were school authorities, and then invite us inside. Once seated in the house we would approach the subject of the child's advancement by degrees, and then when the time came I would bring to view a prospectus of the book, which I carried concealed under my coat. We had to practice deceit to gain admittance to the houses, for if ever any of them saw a book agent approaching they would let you stand there till doom's day without answering the bell.
Next came Toledo, Ohio, where we thought we'd try a Thespian career, so we shanghaied into that unknown aggregation of "hamfatters." Looking ahead we could see ourselves in the limelight, actors, "stars," if you please, at a salary of $1,000 the week, and all that sort of thing; the rude awakening came later. The cynical manager, rejoicing in the name of Hoppstein, still owes yours truly a certain little sum for services rendered in a thinking part, notwithstanding the fact that I have jogged his memory several times with a few please remits.
It was in Toledo that we separated, Anderson beating it towards the West, while I struck out for home. Before leaving Toledo, Anderson served a week as "barker" for a refreshment stand and side-show of the "Feast and Furies" company. I was in Toledo for his first day's performance, and as I looked at that noisy, brazen barker, I hazily remembered that a few months before I had seen this same individual in Cadet navy blue, jauntily marching on dress parade.
We had been together nine months, sharing each others joys and sorrows. Each found a good companionin the other, and it was hard to separate. However, before departing, we signed a pledge to meet again on the Pacific Coast. This pledge was to the effect that we would meet in the Post Office of Palo Alto, California, on January 5th, between the hours of twelve and one. If it so happened that it was impossible for either of us to get there, we were to inform the other by wire or letter, stating the cause of delay and also advising date of arrival. With this pledge signed and sealed, we parted in the month of August.
The four months during which I was separated from my dear old pal soon passed. My time at home that fall was taken up in literary and athletic circles.
Christmas came and the day was drawing near for my departure to the Pacific Coast where I was pledged to meet my friend.
I left on the day following Christmas and arrived in San Francisco January 4th, the day before the cherished reunion. En route I spent pleasant short stops in St. Louis, Kansas City, the Grand Canyon of Arizona, and the petrified forest.
The morning of January 4th, I crawled out of my bed in a Frisco hotel feeling that within a few hours there was to be a happy reunion. On inquiry I learned that Palo Alto was only an hour's ride from 'Frisco, a distance of forty-four miles. The train was scheduled to depart at eleven o'clock so a short while before eleven I boarded the car in front of my hotel for the Townsend Street Station. As ill luck would have it, I arrived at the Station just five minutes after the train for Palo Alto had departed. I learned that the next train would not leave till three o'clock, so I promptly despatched a message, which read:
Mr. William Anderson,Palo Alto, California:Missed train; meet you same place four o'clock.Jack.
Mr. William Anderson,
Palo Alto, California:
Missed train; meet you same place four o'clock.
Jack.
I waited around the station till three o'clock that afternoon. We arrived in Palo Alto on time, four o'clock. When the train had come to a standstill, I hastily left the car and proceeded by direction to the Post Office. Palo Alto is but a small University town of some three thousand inhabitants, and as a consequence, I had little trouble in locating the said office.
As I entered the door my heart sank within me, for Anderson was not there. This disappointment quite upset me and I hardly knew just what to do. I walked over to the General Delivery window and inquired for my mail. Not a line!
I then hurried to the telegraph office and asked if a message had been received there about four hours previous from San Francisco addressed to one William Anderson, and whether or not the message had been called for by the person to whom it had been addressed. The operator replied in the negative, so then I inquired whether or not there was a message there for Jack Rand. No, was the reply again. I truly had never felt so badly in my life, for after looking forward to this meeting for so long a time, I had to be disappointed. I really did not know what to do, for I had ridden all the way across the continent to meet my old friend, and he had apparently gone back on me. I thought at least he would have kept his pledge and written me of his delay, but, alas! not even that.
Anderson and I had planned to take a course in law at Leland Stanford University which is located half a mile from Palo Alto, but after this bitter disappointment, I did not care to stay, and especiallyafter I learned from the registrar of the University that I could only take up two courses in law at that particular time of the semester.
I remained in Palo Alto some days, thinking perhaps that by some miracle he might turn up later. But no such good fortune.
Later I returned to 'Frisco where I spent a month in trying to obtain suitable employment. I did not have an over supply of cash capital, and consequently, after a few fastidious parties, I found my cash on hand sheet getting very short.
One morning I sat down on the side of my bed to count my little over, and found that I was the possessor of five one dollar bills and a five dollar note. Gee! but this looked pretty bad for me, and I began to wonder what I was going to do when the money ran out. After finishing my breakfast that morning I glanced over the "Help Wanted" columns and my eye stopped on "Sailors wanted. Ships sailing for Australia, India, China and the Orient. Apply Humboldt House." I felt that I would not experience any trouble in securing a place on any one of the steamers as I had with me an able-bodied seaman's certificate, which I had earned plying up and down the South African coast.
In the afternoon I strolled down to the Humboldt House, situated in the heart of the sailor quarter, and on making application to the booking clerk of the office, I was not long in signing up for a voyage to Sidney, Australia, and back by way of Hong Kong, China. The thought of a trip through the East pleased me highly, so I walked down to where the "Britisher" was docked and went aboard. Ispent half an hour on her and when leaving told the "bowswain" that I would be back the next morning with my outfit.
The "Britisher" sailed the following afternoon, but it sailed without one Jack Rand, for I actually would not have made the trip on that old shell had they made me captain of her. Every hand on the boat was a Chinaman with the exception of the Captain, First Officer, Engineer and the "Bowswain." Those ugly looking Chinamen with their long pigtails hanging down their bony backs, and keen edged knives stuck securely in their belts did not look any too good to me.
The night I remember as well as if it was only yesterday. I left my hotel shortly after supper and headed toward Golden Gate Avenue. It was a damp night and I wanted to mingle with the people, hear the music of the dance halls, and maybe trip the fantastic myself, for I was homesick and lonely. My little pocket account was still decreasing, and I really did not feel the toughness of the position I was playing till that evening when I found my earthly belongings in the coin line amounted to four dollars and fifty-five cents.
Three thousand miles away from home with a bad cold, four dollars and fifty-five cents, hotel bill due, not a single friend or acquaintance to turn for assistance. I strolled down Golden Gate Avenue with hands dug deep in my pockets, coat collar turned up and hat pulled down over my eyes, for it had just begun to drizzle rain and the breeze from the sea was biting and penetrating. As I strolled along I saw on almost every side big life-size placards, and picturesof Jimmie Boyles, the Amateur Champion of the Pacific Coast, who was booked to fight that night at the Dreamland Skating Rink.
Well, as I had gone through with almost all my money in the past week, I thought I might as well spend the balance, so I planked down a dollar and gained a general admission to the Dreamland where the fights were to be pulled off that night. There were six round contests on the programme and the big fight between Jimmie Boyles and whoever wished to try him out would be the last one fought.
In 'Frisco at that time they only allowed them to go six rounds, and that night there were some hot six rounders in the Dreamland. It was the first time I had ever witnessed any of the fights in the West, and I enjoyed seeing them pound each other, emphasis on the "pound each other." When the first six fights had been completed the ring manager stood on the platform and announced through a big megaphone that any one who would come up and fight Jimmie Boyles, the amateur champion of the Pacific coast, and stay in the ring with him the six rounds, that a purse of one hundred dollars would be awarded. Jimmie stood proudly leaning against the ropes, at the same time bowing to his admirers, as the yeller made the announcement from all sides of the platform.
Several volunteered, but were ruled out on account of being classed as professionals. For a while it looked as though they were not going to be able to get Jimmie a fighting companion. As I stood there, I thought, "Well, I am a darn long way from home and this chance looks good to me, although I'm notmuch of a bruiser." Suddenly I raised my hand above my head and yelled to the man on the platform that I would fight his Jimmie Boyles. Those standing close to me turned and looked, while the eyes of the whole audience fell my way. I pushed through the excited mob of spectators and ascended to the platform, where I introduced myself, "Jack Condon from Richmond, Va." I was not long in establishing my amateurship, and after being introduced to the huge assemblage, I repaired to the dressing room.
I was then weighing one hundred and seventy pounds stripped, and when I walked out on that platform in regular fighting costume I felt like a turkey nearing the axe. I appeared wrapped in a brown blanket and took my seat in one corner, while Jimmie sat opposite me. A trainer sat on either side, one rubbing my arms with alcohol, while the other was saying, "Now, kid, don't git skeered, but hit the devil hard. You're goin' to win, for I feel it in the dust. Ah, git out, what are all these pretty muscles for if you can't lick that Jimmie over there with only one hundred and thirty-five to hit yer with?"
The gong rang. I threw aside my robe and walked to the center of the ring. I was so scared I could hardly breathe; there was a great big lump in my throat and my knees were a bit shaky. Those knees of mine did not get very weak till I got right up to that Jimmie and saw his face. He had freckles, and I have always been afraid of a freckled face man. They say they are mean and will fight like the devil; now I know they are mean and also know that they will fight like hell.
We shook hands, and as I prepared to take my position and make a grand stand show, he piled me one right square in the right eye. This stunned me for a moment and I could see only stars. When I regained self-control I was the maddest I have ever been in all my life. I gritted my teeth and went at that one hundred and thirty-five pounder as a buzz saw goes after a knotty log. He was apparently knotty and I intended to cut some of them out. The gong sounded—end of the first round. By this time my eye had swollen so badly I couldn't see from it at all. Five more rounds!
During the second bout I hit that fellow a few good ones and I knocked him down more than once with those big long railers, as they term them back in North Carolina. Along about the fourth round I saw that he was going to get the better of me and put me out of commission if I didn't protect myself. Then I decided to keep away from him as much as possible, and in the sixth round he was chasing me around the ring like one rooster does another in the pit. Whenever he cornered me I would clinch with him, and as a consequence the official would necessarily consume some time in breaking us. I cared not how long it took to separate us, for my game was a time killing one. I only wanted to last the six rounds so I would be able to get my purse, for such was my only salvation.
The very last of the sixth round he forced me to the ropes, and just as the gong rang he drove me a straight from the right shoulder which landed squarely on my eye. This blow sent me over the ropes of the platform and I fell to the floor, twelvefeet below. I remember distinctly that terrific punch, but I do not remember having hit the floor. The next morning I was barely able to see, for both eyes were swollen dreadfully and my poor head was paining terribly. Two swollen eyes and a big knot on the head was enough. On awakening my first question was, "Did I win?"
"You sure did," replied one of the fellows in the training quarters, for it was there I had spent the night. I secured my hundred, and two days later I was on a Southern Pacific sleeper bound for my home back in dear old North Carolina.
For several weeks after my return I waited and wondered what had become of Anderson. He had failed to turn up at the appointed place, at the appointed time, and he had even neglected to write me. I had just about given him up for dead when one day I received a letter from him informing me why he had not shown up on January 5th in Palo Alto, and also explaining why he had not written or wired me as agreed. It thoroughly vindicated him. There seemed to be some "hoodoo" about his existence for having unusual things happen to him, and as a consequence he was always doing the unexpected.
His letter read:
Pueblo, Colo.My Dear Jack:As I commence this letter, old man, I feel very much like a prisoner with an excellent case of circumstantial evidence against him, striving to vindicate himself, and at the same time knowing the task to be an extremely difficult one.Now, you have doubtless wondered why I didn't live up to the mutual agreement, didn't let you know immediatelyof anything which turned up to prevent me from doing so, and, strangest of all, why I haven't written you long before this.Now, Jack, I am going to try to explain, although it is a mighty hard thing to do on paper, but before I begin, I want to remind you that while you and I have peddled a goodly portion of the warm oxygen together, that I have always been "on the square" with you, as I trust you have with me: so don't think that I've taken this from one of last century's novels, for every word of it is gospel truth, so help me God!I will begin with the minor things leading up to the climax and grand finale, so that you can more fully comprehend it. You see, old man, I went back to Dakota with the purpose of earning money and saving it. I surely earned it with the sweat of my brow, as the "Good Book" says, but it was the old, old story. It slipped through my fingers. Well, I went from Arlington to Huron. Work then was beginning to get rather scarce, but I went to a boarding place, and by a straightforward story secured board in advance. Then, for a time, I managed to get just about enough work to liquidate my weekly board bills. Finally the thing petered out about altogether, but I was given credit for a week. During that week of hanging around I waxed loquacious, and revealed a little of my past history. That made it good for another week. Then I told them that I expected money from home, which I did. I then wrote for twenty-five dollars, which I received in company with a lengthy sermon, and paid fifteen dollars out for board, leaving me with a miserable little ten dollar bill.Now, in the good old halcyon days at the Academy we used to convert our language phonographs into roulette wheels, and in recreation hours—and not infrequently in study hours—gamble for requisitions. We agreed that all the fellows who should be "ousted" from the Academy should be paid cash, if winner, as the "reqs" would be useless to them.Our room was raided by upper class men one day, and the thing found out, but as the midshipman in charge was certain of "bilging" himself, he didn't report us, but simply gave us unofficial hell instead. Well, when the game was broken up, a certain Rogers of Cincinnati, Ohio, was in debt to yours truly to the extent of twenty-five dollars. I made a hurried departure from Annapolis, and furthermoreI didn't care to mention such a then trifling thing to Rogers, as I had between five and six hundred dollars.Well, you know how we arranged it—went to Pittsburg, then to Chicago, and due principally to your good management, we never got to the stage where I had to ask for it. Every letter Hardin wrote me how he really believed Rogers meant to pay, and all that sort of thing. To make a long story brief, Rogers never was man enough to offer to close the little "debt of honor," and I was too proud to ask him. When leaving Huron, though, I wrote him a letter asking him to send it, in part or in full, to Omaha, Nebraska; I depended on his honor and started out. Went to Sioux City, Iowa, on a cattle pass and left most of my capital there. When I took an account of my coin, found that I possessed less than three dollars, and the fare to Omaha was three dollars and fifteen cents. I went to the Bureau of Information, and found that I could go to Blair, Neb., for amount on hand. Accordingly, I paid passage to Blair, trusting to luck to catch a freight train out of Blair, and I figured that even if this failed I could walk it, the distance being only twenty-four miles.Arriving at Blair, broke, I slept in the depot over-night—Christmas Eve—think of it! Woke up Christmas Day without a cent, and feeling like the wrath of God. Oh, yes, it was a merry, merry Christmas. Finding that no freight trains were running on account of holiday. I soliloquized, "Well, William B. Anderson, ex-midshipman, United States Navy, it's up to you to make the best of your way via 'the hoof' to Omaha, so get thee busy at once."I knew, or thought I knew, I would find a money order for twenty-five dollars there. Arrived in Omaha about dusk, footsore and weary, and went at once to the P. O., only to find to my intense anger and chagrin that it was "Closed on Account of Holiday."I marched on the double quick to a Western Union Telegraph office, and scribbled a lengthy telegram for funds. I was told that it would have to be "O. K.'d" by the manager before it could be sent Collect—so I waited three hours or thereabouts before that personage finally materialized. The long wait didn't tend to calm my general feelings of irascibility. I handed the form to him, and after half scrutinizing it, he told me that he couldn't pass on it and have the risk of its not making good at the other end, but if I would cut out about three-fourths of it, hewould. Now, I knew that every single little word was absolutely necessary, and tried to reason with him, but to no end. Then all the bad, irascible, ruffled feelings that had accumulated within me for the last couple of days surged forth, and I read the riot act to him as it had never been read before. I never thought I was capable of such a supply of invective. It did no good, of course, and ended in my being shown the door by the uniformed attendant.I went to the Postal Telegraph with almost the identical result, so broke, but not in spirit, I walked the streets till morning, and then sat in a saloon till business opened up and I could get my bearings. I went to the Post Office as soon as it opened, asked for my mail, but received a brief "Nothing." I went to an employment agency and asked for a job in a restaurant, having had nothing to appease my hunger for more than a day. Told him I'd make good when I got paid. He wouldn't do business on those grounds, but said he had received a 'phone call for a man to beat carpets just for the day, and that if I wanted that, he wouldn't charge me anything. I wanted it all right. I reasoned, "Well, within two weeks I'll be attending college, but Jack and I did it once when we were up against it, so it's good enough for me now and nobody need ever know."I went to the address handed me, a private family of the middle class, and applied. A good looking young woman brought me a line and a couple of carpet beaters, and I smiled as I thought of the time you and I used to utilize them. At noon she showed me where to wash, invited me to lunch, and really treated me elegantly. She asked me my name, and a whole lot more, and then told me that she and her mother rather liked my looks, and wished I'd stay and sleep in the vacant house to which they intended moving, and help the men transfer the different articles from one house to another. I had intended staying the one day only, thus getting sufficient to send home for outfit and fare to Palo Alto, but she didn't understand my case, of course. She thought she was doing me a favor, and as she "looked awfully good to me," I stayed, and that's really the beginning of the story proper, the former part being merely prelude.At night the young woman's husband came home. He's head broker for one of the largest packing houses, and she told him about it. He was a little insignificant runtwith a glass eye, and the tip of his olfactory organ betokened more than a speaking acquaintance with beverages of an alcoholic nature. He was pleasant at first, but he by no means approved of his wife's interest in me. She probably regarded me as a mere child, but I liked to think otherwise. He stayed at home the next day "to help move" of course. He made several significant remarks, such as, "Your hands don't look like those of a laboring man," "You say you're from Richmond, Va., but you haven't much Southern accent." "It's funny one with your control of languages, and apparent education should be beating carpets." I knew he wasn't saying this to peddle my good qualities to his pretty little spouse, the shrimp, so I at once suspected that he possessed a streak for amateur detective work.Well, I helped him move, and he watched me as a cat does a mouse, but I didn't blame him, as he had several articles of value among his stuff. We had most of the articles moved by night, but as things were strewn around in topsy-turvy fashion in the new house, he concluded to remain in the old apartments that night.He sent me after two keys, for the front and back doors of the new house, and said he would pay me and dismiss me when I returned. I went to the locksmith's and got the two keys, but—well, you know how careless and absent minded I am, and when I returned I'll be damned if I could find but one of them—I had lost the other. Then he as much as told me that I had hidden the key or given it to an accomplice, so that I could go over and unlock the door of the new house and help myself, and that it strengthened his convictions all along that I didn't work for a living. That sure made me hot under the collar, and I got eloquent and told him that his theories were preposterous in the extreme, and that I was well aware of the fact that I was no Hercules, but if it were not for the kind treatment of his wife, I'd thrash him right there. I got warm and excited and reached in my pocket for my handkerchief to wipe away the perspiration. That little fool must have misunderstood my purpose, for then, old man, honest Injun, cross my heart, he ran over to the dresser, took a loaded revolver from the drawer, and fired. The bullet went through the glass back of me with a racket capable of waking the dead. His wife fainted, I rushed him, and hit him a left hook that would have broken any punching machine manufactured.This sounds rather boastful, considering my slight build, but I was in a heat, and it meant a whole lot to me how hard I hit him. That cowardly whelp then let out a blood curdling yell, and went down, and I realized what a fix I was in. The shot and yell must have attracted the attention of passing pedestrians, for they all gathered in front of the house. Not wishing my name to be given so much publicity in an affair of that calibre, I took the bunch of letters in my inside pocket, went over to the range and threw them in, just as a cop appeared on the scene. Seeing the state of things, the cop hit me over the head with his nightstick, and after viewing at close range planets, heavenly satellites and other decorations of the firmament, I must have collapsed; when I revived, I had on a pair of handcuffs, and the little measly runt was concluding his one-sided story.Well, then, for the first time in my life, but not the last, as you will see later, I was arrested. Went up before the judge next A.M., and, to condense my story, the kernel of the judge's remarks to me was that I looked young and unlike a criminal, but as I had burned my letters, thereby admitting carrying a fictitious name, and was also in a strange town with no visible means of support, he would have to convict me of vagrancy, and concluded his remarks by saying that he hoped it would teach me a lesson. Thirty days! My God! don't attempt to imagine my feelings.Well, there's a whole lot more I could tell you, but that's the principal part, and improbable as it all sounds, that's the true story of the successive links of evidence which resolved themselves into the complete chain of circumstantial evidence which kept me away from Palo Alto. I had a crumpled postal in my pocket, and penciled on it "Don't condemn me, Jack, until you hear my story." and begged a negro to mail to you for me. I addressed it to you at Palo Alto, California, but I doubt if you ever received it, as when I got out a couple of weeks later, your letter awaited me at the Post Office, forwarded from Huron, and you didn't say anything about having received the postal card.Well, the judge visited me during my confinement, and drew out of me my real name and address, but none of my past history or future plans, and he at once surmised that I was some kid who had rambled from home and mother, so he wrote my father a lengthy letter, the tenorof which was that a boy claiming to be his son was confined in that city on a charge of vagrancy, and that while the boy was bright and intelligent, he was most assuredly on the wrong path of life. He believed that a kindly interest by my parents, manifested at this time, would work wonders in transforming me into a future good and useful citizen. He further added that his advice would be to send either my railroad ticket home, or sufficient capital to start me out on some new project, as he really believed the young man meant well. Pending an answer to his letter he would keep me apart from the toughs and general habitués of the bull pen.Now he read this note to me, and while it appealed to my sense of humor, I couldn't imagine what would happen if he sent it, so I fairly begged him not to do so, telling him that my folks thought I was doing well, and I promised more things than I can think of, so he didn't mail the letter, but instead let me out a couple of weeks after my arrest.When I received your letter I was much disheartened to see the Asheville post mark, as it told me that you had taken the trip across the continent for nothing at all—and also, old man, while your letter was more polite and courteous than could be expected under such circumstances, I could see between the lines all that you left unsaid and what you thought of me, and that the letter was lacking in the old time enthusiasm, but God, old man, I couldn't help it, and can never express in words the sorrow I feel in having disappointed you.When I left the Academy, and left Reordan behind, I thought that I could never again find a friend who understood me so well, or who was understood so well by me, but a few weeks later I was pleasantly surprised, and I know up to last January you possessed a kindred feeling and had faith in me. Probably you may have some idea of the way I feel at having deadened the feeling of one whom I considered my warmest friend, yourself, when you recollect that the chief thing I have done or tried to do thus far in life is making friends, and keeping their good regards. Had I enjoyed less, I'd be at Annapolis to-day.Every acquaintance of mine from Chicago to Pueblo, by way of Huron, has heard of you through me, but I can't say enough by letter to make me feel right, so I'll knock off, but if you'll answer at once telling me that it is allright, and mean it, you'll make me feel a whole lot better. I am fully aware of the trouble, expense and annoyance I caused you. God knows any one would have had their faith shaken, and most people would have sent me a letter that would have fairly scorched the paper. To think that after looking forward to the time for months, with the greatest of pleasure, that something unforeseen should turn up that couldn't have disappointed you more had I plotted the whole thing out in advance! And, take it from me, that I was never more disappointed. But this talk doesn't relieve my feelings.Well, I sent home for fifty dollars, which came in due time, as I didn't wire, but wrote explaining full particulars, but, needless to say, I didn't tell them of the arrest, as I'd never had the nerve to face them again if I had. With this money I purchased a ticket to Denver, Colorado, and from Denver here. I am working as assistant timekeeper in the Open Hearth Division of the Colorado Fuel and Iron Works, but I got my foot slightly burned, and intend to quit and go to El Paso, and from there to Mexico. Almost had my ticket bought when I made the acquaintance of a man named Straight, who has a son at the Academy, and he is one of the grand high Moguls in this town, with boundless influence, both political and otherwise. He has promised me something good, so I've changed my mind, but I may change it again before long and travel.Well, old man, I have been dreading and deferring it, but now the explanation is over with, thank God, and I await with anxiety the verdict.Goodby, old man, tell me all about yourself and your plans when you write, and let that be soon, then I'll answer at once.With best regards, I remain,Your old pard,William B. Anderson.
Pueblo, Colo.
My Dear Jack:
As I commence this letter, old man, I feel very much like a prisoner with an excellent case of circumstantial evidence against him, striving to vindicate himself, and at the same time knowing the task to be an extremely difficult one.
Now, you have doubtless wondered why I didn't live up to the mutual agreement, didn't let you know immediatelyof anything which turned up to prevent me from doing so, and, strangest of all, why I haven't written you long before this.
Now, Jack, I am going to try to explain, although it is a mighty hard thing to do on paper, but before I begin, I want to remind you that while you and I have peddled a goodly portion of the warm oxygen together, that I have always been "on the square" with you, as I trust you have with me: so don't think that I've taken this from one of last century's novels, for every word of it is gospel truth, so help me God!
I will begin with the minor things leading up to the climax and grand finale, so that you can more fully comprehend it. You see, old man, I went back to Dakota with the purpose of earning money and saving it. I surely earned it with the sweat of my brow, as the "Good Book" says, but it was the old, old story. It slipped through my fingers. Well, I went from Arlington to Huron. Work then was beginning to get rather scarce, but I went to a boarding place, and by a straightforward story secured board in advance. Then, for a time, I managed to get just about enough work to liquidate my weekly board bills. Finally the thing petered out about altogether, but I was given credit for a week. During that week of hanging around I waxed loquacious, and revealed a little of my past history. That made it good for another week. Then I told them that I expected money from home, which I did. I then wrote for twenty-five dollars, which I received in company with a lengthy sermon, and paid fifteen dollars out for board, leaving me with a miserable little ten dollar bill.
Now, in the good old halcyon days at the Academy we used to convert our language phonographs into roulette wheels, and in recreation hours—and not infrequently in study hours—gamble for requisitions. We agreed that all the fellows who should be "ousted" from the Academy should be paid cash, if winner, as the "reqs" would be useless to them.
Our room was raided by upper class men one day, and the thing found out, but as the midshipman in charge was certain of "bilging" himself, he didn't report us, but simply gave us unofficial hell instead. Well, when the game was broken up, a certain Rogers of Cincinnati, Ohio, was in debt to yours truly to the extent of twenty-five dollars. I made a hurried departure from Annapolis, and furthermoreI didn't care to mention such a then trifling thing to Rogers, as I had between five and six hundred dollars.
Well, you know how we arranged it—went to Pittsburg, then to Chicago, and due principally to your good management, we never got to the stage where I had to ask for it. Every letter Hardin wrote me how he really believed Rogers meant to pay, and all that sort of thing. To make a long story brief, Rogers never was man enough to offer to close the little "debt of honor," and I was too proud to ask him. When leaving Huron, though, I wrote him a letter asking him to send it, in part or in full, to Omaha, Nebraska; I depended on his honor and started out. Went to Sioux City, Iowa, on a cattle pass and left most of my capital there. When I took an account of my coin, found that I possessed less than three dollars, and the fare to Omaha was three dollars and fifteen cents. I went to the Bureau of Information, and found that I could go to Blair, Neb., for amount on hand. Accordingly, I paid passage to Blair, trusting to luck to catch a freight train out of Blair, and I figured that even if this failed I could walk it, the distance being only twenty-four miles.
Arriving at Blair, broke, I slept in the depot over-night—Christmas Eve—think of it! Woke up Christmas Day without a cent, and feeling like the wrath of God. Oh, yes, it was a merry, merry Christmas. Finding that no freight trains were running on account of holiday. I soliloquized, "Well, William B. Anderson, ex-midshipman, United States Navy, it's up to you to make the best of your way via 'the hoof' to Omaha, so get thee busy at once."
I knew, or thought I knew, I would find a money order for twenty-five dollars there. Arrived in Omaha about dusk, footsore and weary, and went at once to the P. O., only to find to my intense anger and chagrin that it was "Closed on Account of Holiday."
I marched on the double quick to a Western Union Telegraph office, and scribbled a lengthy telegram for funds. I was told that it would have to be "O. K.'d" by the manager before it could be sent Collect—so I waited three hours or thereabouts before that personage finally materialized. The long wait didn't tend to calm my general feelings of irascibility. I handed the form to him, and after half scrutinizing it, he told me that he couldn't pass on it and have the risk of its not making good at the other end, but if I would cut out about three-fourths of it, hewould. Now, I knew that every single little word was absolutely necessary, and tried to reason with him, but to no end. Then all the bad, irascible, ruffled feelings that had accumulated within me for the last couple of days surged forth, and I read the riot act to him as it had never been read before. I never thought I was capable of such a supply of invective. It did no good, of course, and ended in my being shown the door by the uniformed attendant.
I went to the Postal Telegraph with almost the identical result, so broke, but not in spirit, I walked the streets till morning, and then sat in a saloon till business opened up and I could get my bearings. I went to the Post Office as soon as it opened, asked for my mail, but received a brief "Nothing." I went to an employment agency and asked for a job in a restaurant, having had nothing to appease my hunger for more than a day. Told him I'd make good when I got paid. He wouldn't do business on those grounds, but said he had received a 'phone call for a man to beat carpets just for the day, and that if I wanted that, he wouldn't charge me anything. I wanted it all right. I reasoned, "Well, within two weeks I'll be attending college, but Jack and I did it once when we were up against it, so it's good enough for me now and nobody need ever know."
I went to the address handed me, a private family of the middle class, and applied. A good looking young woman brought me a line and a couple of carpet beaters, and I smiled as I thought of the time you and I used to utilize them. At noon she showed me where to wash, invited me to lunch, and really treated me elegantly. She asked me my name, and a whole lot more, and then told me that she and her mother rather liked my looks, and wished I'd stay and sleep in the vacant house to which they intended moving, and help the men transfer the different articles from one house to another. I had intended staying the one day only, thus getting sufficient to send home for outfit and fare to Palo Alto, but she didn't understand my case, of course. She thought she was doing me a favor, and as she "looked awfully good to me," I stayed, and that's really the beginning of the story proper, the former part being merely prelude.
At night the young woman's husband came home. He's head broker for one of the largest packing houses, and she told him about it. He was a little insignificant runtwith a glass eye, and the tip of his olfactory organ betokened more than a speaking acquaintance with beverages of an alcoholic nature. He was pleasant at first, but he by no means approved of his wife's interest in me. She probably regarded me as a mere child, but I liked to think otherwise. He stayed at home the next day "to help move" of course. He made several significant remarks, such as, "Your hands don't look like those of a laboring man," "You say you're from Richmond, Va., but you haven't much Southern accent." "It's funny one with your control of languages, and apparent education should be beating carpets." I knew he wasn't saying this to peddle my good qualities to his pretty little spouse, the shrimp, so I at once suspected that he possessed a streak for amateur detective work.
Well, I helped him move, and he watched me as a cat does a mouse, but I didn't blame him, as he had several articles of value among his stuff. We had most of the articles moved by night, but as things were strewn around in topsy-turvy fashion in the new house, he concluded to remain in the old apartments that night.
He sent me after two keys, for the front and back doors of the new house, and said he would pay me and dismiss me when I returned. I went to the locksmith's and got the two keys, but—well, you know how careless and absent minded I am, and when I returned I'll be damned if I could find but one of them—I had lost the other. Then he as much as told me that I had hidden the key or given it to an accomplice, so that I could go over and unlock the door of the new house and help myself, and that it strengthened his convictions all along that I didn't work for a living. That sure made me hot under the collar, and I got eloquent and told him that his theories were preposterous in the extreme, and that I was well aware of the fact that I was no Hercules, but if it were not for the kind treatment of his wife, I'd thrash him right there. I got warm and excited and reached in my pocket for my handkerchief to wipe away the perspiration. That little fool must have misunderstood my purpose, for then, old man, honest Injun, cross my heart, he ran over to the dresser, took a loaded revolver from the drawer, and fired. The bullet went through the glass back of me with a racket capable of waking the dead. His wife fainted, I rushed him, and hit him a left hook that would have broken any punching machine manufactured.
This sounds rather boastful, considering my slight build, but I was in a heat, and it meant a whole lot to me how hard I hit him. That cowardly whelp then let out a blood curdling yell, and went down, and I realized what a fix I was in. The shot and yell must have attracted the attention of passing pedestrians, for they all gathered in front of the house. Not wishing my name to be given so much publicity in an affair of that calibre, I took the bunch of letters in my inside pocket, went over to the range and threw them in, just as a cop appeared on the scene. Seeing the state of things, the cop hit me over the head with his nightstick, and after viewing at close range planets, heavenly satellites and other decorations of the firmament, I must have collapsed; when I revived, I had on a pair of handcuffs, and the little measly runt was concluding his one-sided story.
Well, then, for the first time in my life, but not the last, as you will see later, I was arrested. Went up before the judge next A.M., and, to condense my story, the kernel of the judge's remarks to me was that I looked young and unlike a criminal, but as I had burned my letters, thereby admitting carrying a fictitious name, and was also in a strange town with no visible means of support, he would have to convict me of vagrancy, and concluded his remarks by saying that he hoped it would teach me a lesson. Thirty days! My God! don't attempt to imagine my feelings.
Well, there's a whole lot more I could tell you, but that's the principal part, and improbable as it all sounds, that's the true story of the successive links of evidence which resolved themselves into the complete chain of circumstantial evidence which kept me away from Palo Alto. I had a crumpled postal in my pocket, and penciled on it "Don't condemn me, Jack, until you hear my story." and begged a negro to mail to you for me. I addressed it to you at Palo Alto, California, but I doubt if you ever received it, as when I got out a couple of weeks later, your letter awaited me at the Post Office, forwarded from Huron, and you didn't say anything about having received the postal card.
Well, the judge visited me during my confinement, and drew out of me my real name and address, but none of my past history or future plans, and he at once surmised that I was some kid who had rambled from home and mother, so he wrote my father a lengthy letter, the tenorof which was that a boy claiming to be his son was confined in that city on a charge of vagrancy, and that while the boy was bright and intelligent, he was most assuredly on the wrong path of life. He believed that a kindly interest by my parents, manifested at this time, would work wonders in transforming me into a future good and useful citizen. He further added that his advice would be to send either my railroad ticket home, or sufficient capital to start me out on some new project, as he really believed the young man meant well. Pending an answer to his letter he would keep me apart from the toughs and general habitués of the bull pen.
Now he read this note to me, and while it appealed to my sense of humor, I couldn't imagine what would happen if he sent it, so I fairly begged him not to do so, telling him that my folks thought I was doing well, and I promised more things than I can think of, so he didn't mail the letter, but instead let me out a couple of weeks after my arrest.
When I received your letter I was much disheartened to see the Asheville post mark, as it told me that you had taken the trip across the continent for nothing at all—and also, old man, while your letter was more polite and courteous than could be expected under such circumstances, I could see between the lines all that you left unsaid and what you thought of me, and that the letter was lacking in the old time enthusiasm, but God, old man, I couldn't help it, and can never express in words the sorrow I feel in having disappointed you.
When I left the Academy, and left Reordan behind, I thought that I could never again find a friend who understood me so well, or who was understood so well by me, but a few weeks later I was pleasantly surprised, and I know up to last January you possessed a kindred feeling and had faith in me. Probably you may have some idea of the way I feel at having deadened the feeling of one whom I considered my warmest friend, yourself, when you recollect that the chief thing I have done or tried to do thus far in life is making friends, and keeping their good regards. Had I enjoyed less, I'd be at Annapolis to-day.
Every acquaintance of mine from Chicago to Pueblo, by way of Huron, has heard of you through me, but I can't say enough by letter to make me feel right, so I'll knock off, but if you'll answer at once telling me that it is allright, and mean it, you'll make me feel a whole lot better. I am fully aware of the trouble, expense and annoyance I caused you. God knows any one would have had their faith shaken, and most people would have sent me a letter that would have fairly scorched the paper. To think that after looking forward to the time for months, with the greatest of pleasure, that something unforeseen should turn up that couldn't have disappointed you more had I plotted the whole thing out in advance! And, take it from me, that I was never more disappointed. But this talk doesn't relieve my feelings.
Well, I sent home for fifty dollars, which came in due time, as I didn't wire, but wrote explaining full particulars, but, needless to say, I didn't tell them of the arrest, as I'd never had the nerve to face them again if I had. With this money I purchased a ticket to Denver, Colorado, and from Denver here. I am working as assistant timekeeper in the Open Hearth Division of the Colorado Fuel and Iron Works, but I got my foot slightly burned, and intend to quit and go to El Paso, and from there to Mexico. Almost had my ticket bought when I made the acquaintance of a man named Straight, who has a son at the Academy, and he is one of the grand high Moguls in this town, with boundless influence, both political and otherwise. He has promised me something good, so I've changed my mind, but I may change it again before long and travel.
Well, old man, I have been dreading and deferring it, but now the explanation is over with, thank God, and I await with anxiety the verdict.
Goodby, old man, tell me all about yourself and your plans when you write, and let that be soon, then I'll answer at once.
With best regards, I remain,Your old pard,
William B. Anderson.
Needless to say, I forthwith informed Anderson it was "all right," and our careers since then have proved that our mutual disappointment was for the best.
Transcriber's NoteMinor punctuation errors have been corrected silently.Page7: "Barbersville" may be typographical error for present day "Barberville."Page9: Removed duplicate "they."(Orig: Boys are always hungry, and justly so when they they haven't)Pages16,17: Standardized "Kissimme" to "Kissimmee."Page52: Possible typographical error "rois" for "reis."(Orig: three hundred rois, thirty cents in Uncle Sam's coin)Page54: Possible typographical error "metal" for "mettle."(Orig: test to the utmost the metal of your companion)Page54: Changed "vilage" to "village."(Orig: safely settled in the little vilage of Blanto)Page56: Changed "whch" to "which."(Orig: Three days later we received a letter, whch read,)Page60: Changed "attenton" to "attention."(Orig: turned their attenton toward me.)Page61: Removed duplicate "in."(Orig: without a blooming sou in in our pockets)Page69: Changed "that" to "than."(Orig: while I made a better showing that he,)Page73: Changed "leared" to "learned."(Orig: We leared that Brown had been wanting a couple of men)Page82: Changed "approachng" to "approaching."(Orig: if ever any of them saw a book agent approachng)Page92: Changed "halycon" to "halcyon."(Orig: Now, in the good old halycon days at the Academy)Page93: Changed "acount" to "account."(Orig: When I took an acount of my coin)Page96: Changed "firmanent" to "firmament."(Orig: heavenly satellites and other decorations of the firmanent)Page96: Changed "condem" to "condemn."(Orig: "Don't condem me, Jack, until you hear my story.")Page98: Changed "unforseen" to "unforeseen."(Orig: that something unforseen should turn up)