"Trampdom," said 'Windy,' "is a most exclusive circle. For example, you never saw a Jew hobo, did you?"
"No," Hamilton said. "Never."
"And you're never likely to," 'Hatchet Ben' interjected, "there's no money in it, not unless it is organized and run on a percentage basis. There are a few French Canadians, but no real Frenchmen on the road, and the Dagoes never take to it."
"I wonder why?" Hamilton queried.
"I purpose writing a monograph upon the subject of the nationality of the Hobo Empire," the 'Windy Duke' broke in, "and therein I shall enlarge upon my theory that the life of a tramp requires more independence and more address than any profession I know. I find that usually those who adopt this unromantic gypsy career are the men who will not drop to the level of the horde below them and who consequently take to the life of the road in protest against the usage of an ill-arranged social state. That, for example, is the condition of my two friends here."
"Would you mind my asking what made you take to the road?" said Hamilton, turning to the first speaker.
"Not at all," 'Hatchet Ben' replied. "It's a very usual story. I'm a steel worker by trade, an' when I was workin' I was reckoned among the best in the plant."
"What did you quit it for?" asked Hamilton.
"Slovaks," the man answered. "Every year or two the Pittsburg operators would get together an' pretty soon gangs of foreigners would start comin' to the West. They seemed to know where to come, an' started work the mornin' after they got there, without even seein' the boss."
"But that could hardly be, I should think," said Hamilton; "that would be importing contract labor and they would be stopped at Ellis Island."