n fine, but I always felt I wasn't
getting money enough. I tried in my leisure time for another job, but in
all the places I was asked the same question: "Where did you work last?"
I could not tell them, "In prison and on the road," and that queered me.
So I stuck to the furnace, was always on time, and was pretty well liked
by the people. I had been there about two weeks, and seen the cook every
day and smelled the steak, etc., about noontime and at supper, but the
cook never asked me if I had a mouth on me. She was a good-natured
outspoken Irish woman with a good big heart, and I thought about this
time that I'd jolly her a little and get my dinner. One day I came up
from the cellar carrying a hod of coal in each hand, and going into the
kitchen I tried in every way to attract her attention, but she was busy
broiling a steak and never looked around. Finally I got tired and said,
"Cook, where will I put this coal?" Well, well, I'll never forget that
moment in years! She turned and looked at me and began, "I want you to
understand my name is Mrs. Cunningham. I'm none of your cooks, and if
you dare call me cook again while you're in this house I'll have you
sacked--discharged!" I thought I had been hit with a steam car. I did
not answer her back, and she kept right on: "I'm a lady, and I'll be
treated as such or I'll know why!" I never saw a person so mad in all my
life, and I couldn't understand why. There she was cooking, and yet she
was no cook! I thought to myself, "I guess she doesn't like her job." I
didn't blame her, because I didn't like mine either.

My heart went down into my boots. Here I had made a play for a dinner
and got left. About a week after this I was doing a little job in the
laundry when I ran across the cook, and she said, "Young man, would you
like a little bite to eat?" I answered quickly, "Yes, thank you, Mrs.
Cunningham," just as sweet as anything. No more "cook" for mine. I'll
never call people by their occupation again as long as I live. I'd had
my lesson; but I had won out on my dinner too. A short time after she
asked me if I could read, and would I read the news to her while she was
peeling potatoes. I answered very sweetly, "Yes, Mrs. Cunningham," and I
got my supper.

I would see Irvine once in a while, and I was always ready to give up my
job, but he would say, "Stay six months, get a recommend, and then you
can get something better. Just let God take care of you, and you'll come
out a