, and I learned that the dignity of manual
labour wasn't what I had been told it was by the teachers, preachers, and
politicians. The men without trades were helpless cattle. If one
learned a trade, he was compelled to belong to a union in order to work
at his trade. And his union was compelled to bully and slug the
employers' unions in order to hold up wages or hold down hours. The
employers' unions like-wise bullied and slugged. I couldn't see any
dignity at all. And when a workman got old, or had an accident, he was
thrown into the scrap-heap like any worn-out machine. I saw too many of
this sort who were making anything but dignified ends of life.

So my new concept was that manual labour was undignified, and that it
didn't pay. No trade for me, was my decision, and no superintendent's
daughters. And no criminality, I also decided. That would be almost as
disastrous as to be a labourer. Brains paid, not brawn, and I resolved
never again to offer my muscles for sale in the brawn market. Brain, and
brain only, would I sell.

I returned to California with the firm intention of developing my brain.
This meant school education. I had gone through the grammar school long
ago, so I entered the Oakland High School. To pay my way I worked as a
janitor. My sister helped me, too; and I was not above mowing anybody's
lawn or taking up and beating carpets when I had half a day to spare. I
was working to get away from work, and I buckled down to it with a grim
realisation of the paradox.

Boy and girl love was left behind, and, along with it, Haydee and Louis
Shattuck, and the early evening strolls. I hadn't the time. I joined
the Henry Clay Debating Society. I was received into the homes of some
of the members, where I met nice girls whose skirts reached the ground.
I dallied with little home clubs wherein we discussed poetry and art and
the nuances of grammar. I joined the socialist local where we studied
and orated political economy, philosophy, and politics. I kept half a
dozen membership cards working in the free library and did an immense
amount of collateral reading.

And for a year and a half on end I never took a drink, nor thought of
taking a drink. I hadn't the time, and I certainly did not have the
inclination. Between my janitor-work, my studies, and innocent
amusements such as chess, I hadn't a moment to spare. I was discovering
a new world, and such was the passion of my exploration that