I hadn’t seen him since leaving the Canadian prison, where I got the dark cell for speaking to him. We were comparing notes for a week. It was from him I learned that the Sanctimonious Kid had escaped from Canon City before finishing his fifteen years, and that he had gone to Australia, where he was hanged for killing a police constable. In turn, I told him of Foot-’n’-a-half George’s death, and of Mary’s disappearance into the Far North. Johnnie finished his time first, and went back to the road, where he probably will live out his life and die unwept, unhonored, and unhung. I put in my sentence without any trouble and came out in ten months. That was thirteen years ago. On the boat for San Francisco I saw the bar. At once I felt that I needed a jolt of booze. I got it. Then I saw the lunch counter. I at once felt the need of a cup of real coffee. I got that. After that, I sat down on a bench and thought it over. Here I was, physically fit and serviceably sound, walking up to that bar and buying a drink of whisky I didn’t need just because I happened to see the bar, and then a cup of coffee just because I saw the coffee urn. I decided I would have to beware of the power of suggestion. The bar had suggested whisky and the lunch counter coffee, and I fell for them both. Anyway, I made up my mind that I would close my eyes when I got to the ferry building for fear I might see a sack of registered mail lying around loose. It would suggest days of ease and nights of pleasure, and I might fall for that. I got through the ferry building and walked up Market Street, as they all do. In time I found myself in Mr. Older’s anteroom. There were several men waiting to see him. I looked them over and said to myself, “There’s preachers, politicians, and pickpockets in that bunch. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have to wait an hour.” The young lady took my name and I was the first one in. Mr. Older was there with a suggestion, too; luncheon at the Palace Hotel. I’m not strong for eating in swell places, but I do like quick contrasts. I had my breakfast in San Quentin, so why not lunch at the Palace? We had a good meal. While we were eating, Mr. Older suggested that I come down to his ranch for a few days, till I got my bearings again in the outside world and was ready to begin work. I was glad to do this. It helped get me over the hardest part of the life of the ex-prisoner who intends to go square; the first few weeks out of prison. I went down that night for a week and stayed six months. I would have been content to stay there always. I was able to do enough on the ranch to pay for my board and shelter, and I liked it. But it was necessary after a while for me to come back to San Francisco and go to work. My room was wanted on the ranch by other men who needed it worse than I did.