They put me into the patrol wagon. I was the only one they got. Later they picked up one or two others around in the woods, and took us all down to the jail. I was scared half to death. They put us all in one big room with a lot of other bums they’d picked up. The police had had a general order to clean up the town. In the morning they took us all up to court. It was the first time I had been in court. We were all charged with vagrancy. When my name was called, I protested. I said, “Judge, you can’t call me a vagrant. I have twenty dollars down in the jail office.” He looked at me as coldly and impersonally as if I had been a dish of parsnips. “Fifteen days on the chain gang. Next case.” CHAPTER VII I was taken downstairs and locked in a cell; I saw no more of the “bull pen” where I spent the night. My cellmate was a handsome, smiling young fellow about twenty-two or twenty-three. He looked like a country boy, rugged, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, sandy-haired. He seemed to be well acquainted in the jail. Some one sang out, “Who’s the fresh fish, ‘Smiler’?” “Another vag,” he answered. “Fifteen days.” I told him about my case at once. I felt outraged. “Forget it, kid. Your fifteen days will be in before your name’s dry on the commitment. They won’t put you on the gang. You’ll get a trusty job. I’m just finishing ten days, haven’t been out of this cell, goin’ out this afternoon and out of this man’s town, too,” he smiled. “Let’s eat. You’ve got money in the office. I’ll send for a messenger.” “All right,” I said, “do it.” A trusty took my name and our orders. Smiler ordered tobacco and papers also. A messenger came in an hour with two meals and the “makings” of smokes. I signed my name on the check and he was paid at the office. After we ate, Smiler sang songs, danced, or stood at the door waiting to be released. “I’m going West, kid; hope I see you on the road so I can return that feed,” he said, when the trusty came to release him. I liked “The Smiler” and wished I could be with him. In the morning coffee and stale bread were served in the cells. Fifteen minutes later there was a banging of doors. Some one shouted “Chain gang.” My door was opened. “Outside, kid,” said a trusty. I followed other prisoners down the corridor to a big, open room where they washed up in running water at a sink and dried themselves with handkerchiefs. The trusty came with my hat. “You won’t need your coat, kid. I’ll look out for it.” An officer opened a door to the street and stood inside; another was outside; the chain gang filed out and climbed into an open wagon with seats on each side facing each other. A crowd of curious men and boys stood around the wagon. When my turn came, instead of getting into the wagon I dashed down the street, instinctively, like a wild animal. The guards didn’t chase me for fear the others would escape. The crowd shouted and cheered me on. I was free.