But ! As soon as I went out on the adventure-path I met John Barleycorn again. I moved through a world of strangers, and the act of drinking together made one acquainted with men and opened the way to adventures. It might be in a saloon with townsmen, or with a railroad man well lighted up and armed with pocket , or with a bunch of alki stiffs in a hang-out. Yes; and it might be in a state, such as Iowa was in 1894, when I wandered up the main street of Des Moines and was variously invited by strangers into various blind pigs—I remember drinking in barber-shops, establishments, and furniture stores.  
Always it was John Barleycorn. Even a tramp, in those days, could get most frequently drunk. I remember, inside the prison at , how some of us got magnificently jingled, and how, on the streets of Buffalo after our release, another was financed with pennies begged on the main-drag.
 
I had no call for alcohol, but when I was with those who drank, I drank with them. I insisted on travelling or loafing with the livest, keenest men, and it was just these live, keen ones that did most of the drinking. They were the more comradely men, the more venturous, the more individual. Perhaps it was too much that made them turn from the commonplace and to find relief in the lying and fantastic sureties of John Barleycorn. Be that as it may, the men I liked best, desired most to be with, were invariably to be found in John Barleycorn's company.
 
In the course of my tramping over the United States I achieved a new concept. As a tramp, I was behind the scenes of society—aye, and down in the cellar. I could watch the work. I saw the wheels of the social machine go around, and I learned that the dignity of manual labour wasn't what I had been told it was by the teachers, preachers, and politicians. The men without trades were helpless cattle. If one learned a trade, he was compelled to belong to a union in order to work at his trade. And his union was compelled to and slug the employers' unions in order to hold up wages or hold down hours. The employers' unions like-wise and slugged. I couldn't see any dignity at all. And when a workman got old, or had an accident, he was thrown into the scrap-heap like any worn-out machine. I saw too many of this sort who were making anything but ends of life.
 
So my new concept was that manual labour was undignified, and that it didn't pay. No trade for me, was my decision, and no superintendent's daughters. And no criminality, I also . That would be almost as as to be a labourer. Brains paid, not , and I resolved never again to offer my muscles for sale in the brawn market. Brain, and brain only, would I sell.
 
I returned to California with the firm intention of developing my brain. This meant school education. I had gone through the grammar school long ago, so I entered the Oakland High School. To pay my way I worked as a . My sister helped me, too; and I was not above anybody's lawn or taking up and beating carpets when I had half a day to spare. I was working to get away from work, and I down to it with a grim realisation of the .
 
Boy and girl love was left behind, and, along with it, Haydee and Louis Shattuck, and the early evening strolls. I hadn't the time. I joined the Henry Clay Debating Society. I was received into the homes of some of the members, where I met nice girls whose skirts reached the ground. I with little home clubs wherein we discussed poetry and art and the nuances of grammar. I joined the local where we studied and orated political economy, philosophy, and politics. I kept half a dozen membership cards working in the free library and did an immense amount of reading.
 
And for a year and a half on end I never took a drink, nor thought of taking a drink. I hadn't the time, and I certainly did not have the . Between my janitor-work, my studies, and innocent amusements such as chess, I hadn't a moment to spare. I was discovering a new world, and such was the passion of my exploration that the old world of John Barleycorn............