They stole everything, even the
anchors; and later on, when I recovered the drifting hulk, I sold it
for twenty dollars. I had slipped back the one rung I had climbed,
and never again did I attempt the business ladder.
From then on I was mercilessly exploited by other capitalists. I had
the muscle, and they made money out of it while I made but a very
indifferent living out of it. I was a sailor before the mast, a
longshoreman, a roustabout; I worked in canneries, and factories, and
laundries; I mowed lawns, and cleaned carpets, and washed windows.
And I never got the full product of my toil. I looked at the
daughter of the cannery owner, in her carriage, and knew that it was
my muscle, in part, that helped drag along that carriage on its
rubber tyres. I looked at the son of the factory owner, going to
college, and knew that it was my muscle that helped, in part, to pay
for the wine and good fellowship he enjoyed.
But I did not resent this. It was all in the game. They were the
strong.
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