"He'll get you a place to sleep to-night," said the man, giving me the street and number of the Chief's office. I lost sight of the fact that I was again dressed for hoboing the railroad, and that the chief might be unfavorably impressed with my appearance. I reached his office, which was located in a large stone building, just after nightfall. He listened to my story a moment or so, but instead of furnishing me with an address and the wherewithal to obtain a night's sleep at some lodging house, he tapped a bell on the desk. The next moment a blue coat entered the office. I now began to grow suspicious, but it was too late. "Take that man around for a night's lodging," said the Chief, and before I could gather my wits I was whisked from the Chief's presence into another department. "Search the prisoner," commanded the pompous looking individual presiding in this office. The cop searched my pockets and all my things were put in a large envelope, sealed and locked in a large iron safe. I now found my tongue and began using it pretty loud. The disgrace of spending a night in jail seemed more than I could bear. "Turn me loose, I don't want lodging. Please let me go," I cried. But it was no go. "Dry up there!" came the command. "If the Chief hears you, you may get thrown in a year for vagrancy." I could have 'phoned to Jennings & White, and no doubt they could have gotten me out of the scrape, but I was ashamed for them to know of my predicament, and kept quiet. A large book was thrust at me. "Sign your name!" came the command. Anyone looking over the Los Angeles records for 1906 will find the name "Robert Smith," signed for a night's lodging. The city prison was in the back of the building, and a short time later I was locked behind the bars in an iron-bound cell containing twenty or more prisoners. Within ten minutes every man of them had asked me what I had been "run in" for. "You're liable to be kept in here several months for vagrancy," said the prisoners. I'll not dwell upon the horrors of that night. I didn't sleep a wink throughout the long night, and was wideawake next morning at six o'clock when the prison warden approached the cage door and shouted: "Robert Smith"-- [Illustration: "Robert Smith--is Robert Smith in there?" shouted the prison warden.] "Robert Smith in there?" he called to some of the prisoners a moment later. I sprang up. I had forgotten that I had signed Robert Smith on the books. "I'm the man!" I cried, and five minutes later I was a free man, again breathing the pure, fresh air of the outside world. With rapid footsteps I hurried from this unpleasant locality and made my way down town. At the time I write the railroad hadn't yet reached Searchlight. The nearest point of construction was Manvel, Cal., twenty-three miles away. By mere good fortune I learned that morning that the railroad company was shipping men through the Red Cross Employment Bureau to Manvel for construction work.