“Goin’ down in the yards, young feller?”

“Yes, why?”

“Better wait till night if you want to make a train. The railroad bull is hostile. They found a bum dead in a car of lumber this morning, and they had to tear the end of the car off to get his body out. He must have been an awful gay cat to get into the end of a carload of planed lumber. It’s suicide.”

I went back uptown and into a lunch counter. The waiter was idle and talkative.

“Traveling?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Which way?”

“Denver.”

“Beating it?”