"There's but one way I could help you, young fellow. If you desire, I'll get you on a boat, as a cook's assistant, that will take you to New York City, from which point you might be able to work your way to San Francisco on an ocean liner."
"I thank you, but will risk working my way overland," I replied, and left the wharf.
Sometime during the afternoon I smeared nearly a whole bottle of vaseline upon my face and neck, which had begun to burn like fire, as a result of my exposure to the sun while peddling the hand-car.
At 9 p. m. that night I made my way to the Union Depot. Some five or six passenger trains were under the shed. A man in the crowd pointed out to me the train he thought was bound for New Orleans.
Five minutes later I was in the express car.
A pleasant looking young man, I should say about twenty-two years of age, was checking off the express, assisted by an older gentleman.
"Does this train go to New Orleans?" I asked, lowering my voice to a whisper.
"No, it goes to Montgomery," replied the young man, eyeing me closely for a moment, and then turning to his work.
"May I go with you to Montgomery?" I whispered.
The young man again glanced at me, but vouchsafed no reply.