Page:They Knew What They Wanted.pdf/175

Rh make me think. A man ought to think if he can. Oh, not tall talk. Just what he could be doin’ himself. I think how I could get into the scrap. I ought to have been in on the dock strike at San Pedro, but I wasn’t. I don’t want to miss another big fight like that, do I? You fellows don’t understand, but that’s the way it is. An’ maybe you’re right an’ I’m wrong. I can’t help that. Maybe when I get down to Frisco I’ll hear the same old bull from the same old loud-mouths, just like it used to be. Maybe I’ll get disgusted and beat it south for the orange pickin’s, or maybe go back on the railroad, or maybe in the oilfields. But, what the hell! I been hangin’ around here on the point of goin’ for three months now. I might just as well pick up and clear out to-morrow or the day after. I’ll come back some day, Tony. Anyway, there ain’t no use of expectin’ anythin’ out of a guy like me. Don’t get sore. What the hell!

You goin’ in da jail, sure!

I could go worse places. A guy went to jail up in Quincy, in Plumas County, awhile back, for carryin’ a Wobbly card—like this one, see? [He displays the famous bit of red cardboard.] His lawyer pleads with the judge to go easy on the sentence. “Your honour,”