The stick-up man (hold-up), the burglar, and like, make up the other types, along with the bum, the tramp, and the hobo. I have often seen the bum, the tramp, and the hobo classed as one type of those fellows who love life better than they love work. As a matter of fact, each type is a class distinct in itself. The bum makes his residence, if it can be rightly called residence, exclusively in towns and cities; he never leaves them. He never works, and stands the lowest in the life of the other half. The tramp is a mixture of thief, mendicant, and loafer. He will never work; the genuine tramp excludes from his society those who ever do work. If he is ever required to work in return for a meal, he forfeits the meal rather than to soil his reputation by labor. He steals when opportunity offers, and begs when he gets the chance. He differs from the yegg, in that his life is not entirely devoted to crime. From the ranks of the tramp the society of yeggs is sometimes recruited; from the bum, never. The hobo differs from both in the respect that he works occasionally, and seldom steals. Roaming about the country, working here and there in railroad and lumber camps, and canneries, his traveling is always to a destination. A stake is made and he and his pals go to the city for a spree. The money spent, he is back again on the railroad looking toward a job. In the spring, when the warm sun begins to kiss the green into the grasses, the tramp stretches his frame and listens. He hears the call of the road, and his nature hearkens thereto. Soon the railroads know him, and the farmers feel the weight of his appetite. It’s a care-free life these tramps live. Living in the present, without responsibility, they go their way until death claims them. CHAPTER XII MORALS IN THE UNDERWORLD I left the prison with my moral sense warped and twisted. I do not mean to say that I had lost the faculty of differentiating between right and wrong entirely. No, not that, but association with debased natures and the influence of vicious environment had combined to break down my sense of moral values. Things which I had been taught to abhor as contaminating to health and morals I found myself looking at with complacent eyes. Some few persons have asked me whether before the commission of a crime the man does not think of the right or wrong of it. I have answered them that he does not, that the question of morality never enters into the mind of the crook. Of course, if you could stop a crook immediately before the commission of his act and ask him if he didn’t know the act to be wrong, generally speaking, he would answer, “Yes.” He would answer thus because the morality of the thing would be put square before him. Lacking the reminders, it is safe to say that he never does.