Baggage did not encumber us. I had thought of taking my good old pal, my Bill, along with us, but did not wish to expose him to the dangers, which, no doubt, were lurking for us.
At the ferry, Casey flew his flag and read us the last orders. To save our small capital, we were to walk or "jump" freight trains. Also, for reasons of economy and sagacity, we were not to indulge in one solitary drop of anything intoxicating.
The first hitch occurred in Hoboken. To get a freight train was impossible. Dempsey and I never knew why we were unable to make connections, as Casey's plausibility drove the question from our minds and made us follow him blindly.
We walked from Hoboken to Newark. It was a scorching afternoon, the sand was hot and heavy under foot, and our mouths became parched at an uncomfortable rate. A few wells and pumps were passed by us, but Casey would not permit us to slake our thirst, as "Newark is only a step or so further on, and it's dangerous to monkey with them country people. They got dogs and are kind of suspicious of fellows like us, who come from New York."
Ah, really and truly, it would have been the most confiding and unsophisticating nature that would not have been suspicious of us, no matter where we hailed from. Three tough specimens of humanity, indeed, we were!
No stop was made until we reached the railroad station at Newark. Quite a crowd was assembled to wait for either an incoming or outgoing train, but we, without paying the slightest attention to the many mistrustful glances given in our direction, raced for the ice-water tank, prepared to gorge ourselves with the cooling drink.
Casey was the last to have his turn at the chained tin cup. He started off splendidly, but paused after, his first gulp and smacked his lips in a most critical manner.
"Taste anything funny in that water?"
We replied in the negative.
"There's something wrong with it, just the same," Casey persisted. "And do you know, the worst thing a man can do this time o' the year is to drink bad water."