The underworld weaves about its citizens a sort of magic spell. I little thought, determined as I was to lead a different life, that I would ever again listen to its call. But I underestimated its influence over me. I had been out some seven or eight weeks when in company with a “stir” (prison) acquaintance I took to the road again. A fast freight took us away from the city back again toward the shadows of the underworld. I stopped just short of its boundaries. We lay the following evening in the “jungles” (outside the city) waiting to continue our journey. The train was late in coming and to while away the time I took some letters from my pocket and began to read them. They were old letters, one from my friend the minister, and another from my pal in[Pg 110] prison. They were letters such as an old and true friend would write to one in trouble. They were so proud of the fight I was making; they knew that I would succeed in my endeavor to make good. They were anxious for the time when I could............