Well, little book, my entries are almost finished, for the business of building a new niche in the world with nothing but our bare hands will leave scant time for keeping a diary.
Dan had several days’ work in Ogden. Then we took a passenger to the first stop west as usual and there boarded a freight. We had not gone far when a trainman thrust his head into the car in which we were riding, and failing to see me huddled in a corner, accosted Dan.
“Hello, Jack. What are you riding on?”
“A union card,” replied Dan, following the accepted formula, and pulling the card from his pocket for inspection.
“And what else?” queried the brakeman.
“A dollar,” said Dan.
“Not enough, Jacko. It’s two dollars or nothing on this division. Cough up.”
So Dan gave him the two dollars and the train moved out.
On the edge of the Great Salt Lake the freight stopped again and another brakeman leaped into the car. He gaped in amazement at sight of me, then turned to Dan, “You’ll have to come through, old sport. This kind of baggage is worth a five spot. Come across now, or you’ll have to swim the lake.”
“Here, Dan,” I broke in sharply, as he hesitated. “Don’t you give those petty grafters another penny. Let’s get out.”