"Search the prisoner," commanded the pompous looking individual presiding in this office.
The cop searched my pockets and all my things were put in a large envelope, sealed and locked in a large iron safe.
I now found my tongue and began using it pretty loud. The disgrace of spending a night in jail seemed more than I could bear.
"Turn me loose, I don't want lodging. Please let me go," I cried.
But it was no go.
"Dry up there!" came the command. "If the Chief hears you, you may get thrown in a year for vagrancy."
I could have 'phoned to Jennings & White, and no doubt they could have gotten me out of the scrape, but I was ashamed for them to know of my predicament, and kept quiet.
A large book was thrust at me.
"Sign your name!" came the command.
Anyone looking over the Los Angeles records for 1906 will find the name "Robert Smith," signed for a night's lodging.