"Killing a man."
"Too bad. I'm afraid—"
"He had stolen my horse and I was trying to get it back. I had no intention of hitting him when I fired."
"I'd take you in a minute so far as I'm concerned personally, but our board of directors—afraid they wouldn't like it. That's one trouble in working for a corporation."
Sanders turned away. The superintendent hesitated, then called after him.
"If you're up against it and need a dollar—"
"Thanks. I don't. I'm looking for work, not charity," the applicant said stiffly.
Wherever he went it was the same. As soon as he mentioned the prison, doors of opportunity closed to him. Nobody wanted to employ a man tarred with that pitch. It did not matter why he had gone, under what provocation he had erred. The thing that damned him was that he had been there. It was a taint, a corrosion.
He could have picked up a job easily enough if he had been willing to lie about his past. But he had made up his mind to tell the truth. In the long run he could not conceal it. Better start with the slate clean.
When he got a job it was to unload cars of fruit for a commission house.
A man was wanted in a hurry and the employer did not ask any questions.
At the end of an hour he was satisfied.