I
went hustling lumber and worked two days, leaving because it took the
skin off my hands. Finally I could not pay the rent, was dispossessed,
and then went to live in "Hell's Kitchen," in Thirty-ninth Street, where
my son was born. Our friends thought the baby would bring Mary and me
closer together, as it sometimes does. But what did I care for a baby!

I got work on Jake Sharp's Twenty-third Street cars, and Mary would
bring me my dinner and do everything she could for me. But when drink is
the idol--and it was mine--what does one care for love? Nothing. I
certainly led Mary a hard life. At last I came home one night and she
and the kid were gone. The baby was then two months old, and I never saw
him again until he was a boy of nine. I was not sorry at their going. I
wasn't any good in those days. I imagined I was "done dirty," as they
say, but I knew the girl couldn't do anything else for herself and baby.
I sold out the little furniture the rooms contained, got a few dollars,
and jumped the town.

WANDERINGS

I started out with every one's hand against me and mine against every
one's. I struck Marathon, N. Y., and had quite a time there. I worked in
Dumphy's tannery, got a few weeks' pay and a few other articles, and
jumped out for fear of being arrested. I reached Syracuse and struck a
job in McChesney's lumberyard, at $1.35 per day.

I stayed in Syracuse quite a while and learned a little of the lumber
business. I had quite a few adventures while there. I had struck up an
acquaintance with a New York boy, and one evening after work we were
sitting on the grass in front of one of the hotels, and seeing the
patrol wagon passing, I made the remark, "Some poor bum is going to get
a ride," when it pulled up in front of us and we were told to get in. I
tried to argue the point with the captain, but it was of no use. We were
taken to the station, and the others were sent below while I was kept up
for examination. They put me through a light "third degree," measuring
me and noting the color of hair and eyes, size of feet, etc.

Finally they stopped measuring and asking questions, and I waited. I saw
my friend come up and go out of the door; he did not take time to bid me
good-by. I asked the captain if he was through with me, and he did not
know what to say. He apologized, and explained that I had been arrested
because I looked like a man that had escaped from Auburn.

I felt rather sorry for the captain, not bec