There was no other way, I was helpless. So I replied, "All right, take it." He gave me the dollar and a pawn certificate demanding for the redemption of my ring a dollar and twenty-five cents if redeemed inside of thirty days. If redeemed within an hour, it made no difference. I had already tested the institutions, religious and otherwise, which existed in Cleveland supposedly to shelter the destitute, and had been either locked out or turned back into the street. How big that dollar felt in my hand! I fancied it was a twenty-dollar gold piece. I did not dare let go of it. With my old "senator" friend in mind, I saw a sign which read, "Dinner twenty-five cents." I could not get into the place quickly enough. I left greatly refreshed, but only half satisfied. I found the old "senator," with whom I shared my fortune. He had been unsuccessful in finding a job. He did as I did, spent twenty-five cents for a meal and saved the other quarter for a bed. We were fixed for that night, at least. The next morning I saw a prosperous looking young man, standing on a street corner. I don't know what prompted me to do so, but I stepped up to him and inquired, "Do you know where a fellow can get a job?" "Yes," he replied. "Do what I am doing. I am taking subscriptions for a magazine and I am making two and three dollars a day, and it's dead easy." He handed me a card on which was the address of the office. The agent told me he thought he had canvassers enough, but said, "You're an intelligent looking cuss, I think I will try you." He made the following proposition: "We offer five of our leading periodicals for twenty-five cents, providing the person will subscribe for four of them. These will come to him through the mail at twenty cents a month for one year. A collector comes every month for the twenty cents." The twenty-five cents paid down for the five magazines was to be my commission. That night I had just two dollars, and I think I was the happiest man in Cleveland. I had landed a job, and I fully realized that I could have done twice as much if I had not been weakened by lack of nourishment and exposure while seeking work. After drawing my salary as "senator" and working like a Trojan through the day, the next Sunday found me at the Big Four Station with just six dollars in my pocket. Five dollars and twenty-five cents I paid for a ticket to Cincinnati. Spending the balance for food while on the road, I landed in that city at midnight, _broke_. I had no money, but I possessed a wealth of knowledge in regard to the city of high standards on the shore of the Erie inland sea. CHAPTER XXV CINCINNATI--NECESSITY'S BRUTAL CHAINS "_There is no contending with necessity, and we should be very tender how we censure those who submit to it. It is one thing to be at liberty to do what we will and another thing to be tied up to do what we must._"