“You remember all of us went out on the strike. I guess most of the boys was in debt, but they all struck just the same. The papers abused us and said we hadn’t any right to strike; that we hadn’t any grievance, and it was worse for us to strike on that account. Now it seemed to me that it was better to strike for the Pullman people than for ourselves—it didn’t seem so selfish; but the papers and the judges didn’t look at it that way. Of course the strike was pretty hard on all of us. I got into the lock-up before it was over, though I never meant to do nothin’. I guess I did hit a scab over the head, but he was comin’ to take our job. It’s queer how everybody looks at things a different way. Now I never thought it was so awful bad to hit a scab who was takin’ another man’s job. Of course I know some of ‘em are poor and have families, but so have the strikers got families and we was strikin’ to help all the poor people. If you read the newspapers and hear what the judges say you would think hittin’ scabs was worse’n murder. I don’t s’pose it’s just right, but I don’t hardly see what else is to be done. You remember that scab, don’t you, that worked with us on the road, and you remember when he got his leg cut off, and how all the boys helped him, and the railroad fought his case and beat him, and yet they always seemed to think more of him than any of the rest of us. Now it seems to me there’s lots of things worse’n hittin’ scabs. If I was one of them packers I know I’d give a lot of meat to poor people instead of fixin’ every way I could to make ‘em pay so much, but the rich people don’t seem to think there’s anything wrong about that, but it’s awful to hit a scab or to strike. “Well, you know after the strike was over none of us could get a job anywhere, but finally I changed my name and managed to get in again. I believe the yard master knew who I was and felt kind of sorry for me. Anyhow I got the job. Then you know the time Jimmy Carroll got run over by that limited train. I sort of lost my nerve. I wouldn’t have thought about it if all the cars hadn’t run over him; but when we had to pick up his head and his legs and his arms and his body all in different places, I somehow got scared and couldn’t switch any more. So I quit the yards. But I’ve been runnin’ along so over things that really don’t have anything to do with the case that I’ve almost forgot the things I wanted to tell you about. But just wait a minute; I hear someone comin’ down the corridor and I want to see who it is. No, it’s only one of the guards. I didn’t know but possibly my lawyer might have sent—but I guess it’s no use.