"--think I can't make it, eh?... well, you watch ... there's an art in
this kind of thing just like there is in anything."
Inch by inch he squeezed himself in. Then he stood up inside and called
to me to try ... and he would pull me the rest of the way, if I stuck.
He was plump and I was skinny. It ought to be easy for me. Nevertheless,
it was the hardest task I ever set myself ... I stuck half-way. My pal
pulled my shirt into rags, helping me through,--I had handed my coat in,
previously, or he would have ripped that to pieces, too. It seemed that
all the skin went off my hips, as I shot inside with a bang. And none
too soon. A "shack" (brakeman) passed over the tops of the cars at
almost that very moment. We lay still. He would have handed me a
merciless drubbing if he had caught me, with my nether end hanging
helplessly on the outside.
* * * * *
We squatted on the floor of the refrigerator box. When we reached Yuma
my pal rose to his feet.
"Ain't yer goin' ta throw yer feet fer a hand-out?" he asked me.
"No, I'm going to stick in here till I reach El Paso, if I can."
"What's the fun bein' a bum, if you're goin' ter punish yerself like
that!"
"I want to find a country where there's growing green things, as soon as
I can."
"So long, then."
"So long.. don't you think you'd better stick till we reach Tuscon? Some
of the boys told me the 'bulls' (officers) here have been 'horstile'
(had it in for the tramp fraternity) .
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