"...
* * * * *
Again rolling miles of arid country. But this time, like a soldier on a
long march, I was prepared: I had begged, from door to door, enough
"hand-outs" to last a week ... throwing away most of the bread ...
keeping the cold meats and the pie and cake. I sat in my open box-car,
on a box that I had flung in with me, reading my Bible and eating my
"hand-outs" and a millionaire had nothing on me for enjoyment.
I was half-way to San Antonio when I fell in with as jolly a bunch of
bums as I ever hope to see in this world ... just outside a little town,
in the "jungles."
These tramps were gathered together on a definite plan, and I was
invited to join them in it: the plan was, to go, _en masse_, from town
to town, and systematically exploit it; one day one man would go to the
butcher shops, the next, another man would take them, and the first
would, let's say, beg at the baker's ... and each day a different man
would take a different section among the houses. Then all the food so
procured would be put together and shared in common.
As usual, there was among them an individual who held them together--the
originator of the idea. He was a fat, ruddy-faced alcoholic ex-cook, who
had never held a job for long because he loved whiskey so much.
Besides being the presiding genius of the gang, he also did all the
cooking.
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