was no telling. Maybe the Port Costa constable would
telephone to the Benicia constable. Nickey and I held a council of
war. We lay on deck in the warm sun, the fresh breeze on our cheeks,
the flood-tide rippling and swirling past. It was impossible to start
back to Oakland till afternoon, when the ebb would begin to run. But
we figured that the constable would have an eye out on the Carquinez
Straits when the ebb started, and that nothing remained for us but to
wait for the following ebb, at two o'clock next morning, when we
could slip by Cerberus in the darkness.

So we lay on deck, smoked cigarettes, and were glad that we were
alive. I spat over the side and gauged the speed of the current.

"With this wind, we could run this flood clear to Rio Vista," I said.

"And it's fruit-time on the river," said Nickey.

"And low water on the river," said I. "It's the best time of the year
to make Sacramento."

We sat up and looked at each other. The glorious west wind was pouring
over us like wine. We both spat over the side and gauged the current.
Now I contend that it was all the fault of that flood-tide and fair
wind. They appealed to our sailor instinct. If it had not been for
them, the whole chain of events that was to put me upon The Road would
have broken down.

We said no word, but cast off our moorings and hoisted sail. Our
adventures up the Sacramento River are no part of this narrative. We
subsequently made the city of Sacramento and tied up at a wharf. The
water was fine, and we spent most of our time in swimming. On the
sand-bar above the railroad bridge we fell in with a bunch of boys
likewise in swimming. Between swims we lay on the bank and talked.
They talked differently from the fellows I had been used to herding
with. It was a new vernacular. They were road-kids, and with every
word they uttered the lure of The Road laid hold of me more
imperiously.

"When I was down in Alabama," one kid would begin; or, another,
"Coming up on the C. & A. from K.C."; whereat, a third kid, "On the C.
& A. there ain't no steps to the 'blinds.'" And I would lie silently
in the sand and listen. "It was at a little town in Ohio on the Lake
Shore and Michigan Southern," a kid would start; and another, "Ever
ride the Cannonball on the Wabash?"; and yet another, "Nope, but I've
been on the White Mail out of Chicago." "Talk about railroadin'--wait
till you hit the Pennsylvania, four tracks, no water tanks, take water
on the