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When I was twenty-seven years old, I worked in San Francisco for a mining broker, and I was an expert in all the details of buying and selling stock. I was alone in the world, and had nothing to depend upon but my wits and a clean reputation. However, with these two things, I felt that I would soon be rich, and I was happy enough with that.
My time was my own after the market closed. On Saturdays I was in the habit of putting that time into a little sail-boat on the bay. One day I ventured too far, and was carried out to sea. Just at nightfall, when hope was about gone, I was picked up by a small ship which was bound for London. It was a long and stormy voyage, and they made me work as a sailor to pay for my trip. When I stepped ashore in London my clothes were ragged and shabby, and I had only a dollar in my pocket. This money fed and sheltered me twenty-four hours. During the next twenty-four I went without food and shelter.
About ten o'clock on the following morning, I was ragged and hungry. In Portland Place, a child was passing, pulled along by a nurse-maid. He tossed a delicious big pear - minus one bite - into the gutter. I stopped, of course, and stared at that muddy treasure. My mouth watered for it, my stomach craved it, my whole being begged for it. But every time I made a move to get it someone saw what I was doing. Of course I straightened up then, and looked indifferent, and pretended that I hadn't been thinking about the pear at all. This kept happening and happening, and I still couldn't get the pear.
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