The Road | Page 6

handkerchiefs and other things which I have since forgotten.
And all the time she cooked more and more and I ate more and more. I
gorged like a savage; but then it was a far cry across the Sierras on a
blind baggage, and I knew not when nor where I should find my next
meal. And all the while, like a death's-head at the feast, silent and
motionless, her own unfortunate boy sat and stared at me across the
table. I suppose I represented to him mystery, and romance, and
adventure -- all that was denied the feeble flicker of life that was in him.
And yet I could not forbear, once or twice, from wondering if he saw
through me down to the bottom of my mendacious heart.
"But where are you going to?" she asked me.
"Salt Lake City," said I. "I have a sister there -- a married sister." (I
debated if I should make a Mormon out of her, and decided against it.)
"Her husband is a plumber -- a contracting plumber."
Now I knew that contracting plumbers were usually credited with
making lots of money. But I had spoken. It was up to me to qualify.
"They would have sent me the money for my fare if I had asked for it,"
I explained, "but they have had sickness and business troubles. His
partner cheated him. And so I wouldn't write for the money. I knew I
could make my way there somehow. I let them think I had enough to
get me to Salt Lake City. She is lovely, and so kind. She was always
kind to me. I guess I'll go into the shop and learn the trade. She has two

daughters. They are younger than I. One is only a baby."
Of all my married sisters that I have distributed among the cities of the
United States, that Salt Lake sister is my favorite. She is quite real, too.
When I tell about her, I can see her, and her two little girls, and her
plumber husband. She is a large, motherly woman, just verging on
beneficent stoutness -- the kind, you know, that always cooks nice
things and that never gets angry. She is a brunette. Her husband is a
quiet, easy-going fellow. Sometimes I almost know him quite well.
And who knows but some day I may meet him? If that aged sailorman
could remember Billy Harper, I see no reason why I should not some
day meet the husband of my sister who lives in Salt Lake City.
On the other hand, I have a feeling of certitude within me that I shall
never meet in the flesh my many parents and grandparents -- you see, I
invariably killed them off. Heart disease was my favorite way of
getting rid of my mother, though on occasion I did away with her by
means of consumption, pneumonia, and typhoid fever. It is true, as the
Winnipeg policemen will attest, that I have grandparents living in
England; but that was a long time ago and it is a fair assumption that
they are dead by now. At any rate, they have never written to me.
I hope that woman in Reno will read these lines and forgive me my
gracelessness and unveracity. I do not apologize, for I am unashamed.
It was youth, delight in life, zest for experience, that brought me to her
door. It did me good. It taught me the intrinsic kindliness of human
nature. I hope it did her good. Anyway, she may get a good laugh out
of it now that she learns the real inwardness of the situation.
To her my story was "true." She believed in me and all my family, and
she was filled with solicitude for the dangerous journey I must make
ere I won to Salt Lake City. This solicitude nearly brought me to grief.
just as I was leaving, my arms full of lunch and my pockets bulging
with fat woollen socks, she bethought herself of a nephew, or uncle, or
relative of some sort, who was in the railway mail service, and who,
moreover, would come through that night on the very train on which I
was going to steal my ride. The very thing! She would take me down to
the depot, tell him my story, and get him to hide me in the mail car.

Thus, without danger or hardship, I would be carried straight through to
Ogden. Salt Lake City was only a few miles farther on. My heart sank.
She grew excited as she developed the plan and with my sinking heart I
had to feign unbounded gladness and enthusiasm at this solution of my
difficulties.
Solution! Why I was bound west that night, and here