Chipley is a fine little town of about 1,200 inhabitants, and a more sociable lot of people I've never met.
It was soon mouthed about the streets how I reached the town, and for a time I was the cynosure of all eyes, though no one offered to arrest me.
There are some five or six saw-mills around Chipley. About two miles from the town is a large saw-mill and brick kiln owned by J. D. Hall.
A young merchant of the town informed me that Mr. Hall was badly in need of labor and was paying good prices.
Even to hobo the roads, a man needs money, and I decided to stake up a bit before continuing my way.
Sometime before noon I arrived at the mill.
Mr. Hall looked me over quite critically.
"Did you ever do any hard labor?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," I untruthfully replied, for, to be candid, I had never done a day's hard work in my life.