I tell you, it was cold,
nights, sleeping out without blankets, and I was always glad when morning
came. But worse than that was the way everybody looked on me. They were
all suspicious, and not a bit afraid to show it, and sometimes they 'd
set their dogs on me and tell me to get along. Seemed as though there
was n't any place for me on the land. Then my money gave out, and just
about the time I was good and hungry I got captured."
"Captured! What for?"
"Nothing. Living, I suppose. I crawled into a haystack to sleep one night,
because it was warmer, and along comes a village constable and arrests me
for being a tramp. At first they thought I was a runaway, and telegraphed
my description all over. I told them I did n't have any people, but they
would n't believe me for a long while. And then, when nobody claimed me,
the judge sent me to a boys' 'refuge' in San Francisco."
He stopped and peered intently in the direction of the shore. The darkness
and the silence in which the men had been swallowed up was profound.
Nothing was stirring save the rising wind.
"I thought I 'd die in that 'refuge.' It was just like being in jail. We
were locked up and guarded like prisoners. Even then, if I could have
liked the other boys it might have been all right. But they were mostly
street-boys of the worst kind--lying, and sneaking, and cowardly, without
one spark of manhood or one idea of square dealing and fair play.
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