And I was assigned to the royal suite of that flop house, which consisted of a cot with a mosquito bar over it.
At this time they were holding "kangaroo" court in the New Orleans jail.

Every vagrant picked up by the police was tried and sentenced and shipped out to a chain-gang camp.

Nearly every man tried was convicted.
And there were plenty of camp bosses ready to "buy" every vagrant the officers could run in.

My bunch down at the flop house was in deadly terror of being "kangarooed" and sent to a peon camp in the rice swamps.
One day when I was renewing the fuel in the room of a Mrs.Hubbard from Pittsburgh, I found no one in the apartment and Mrs.Hubbard's pearls and other jewels lying on the dresser.

Immediately I was terrified with thought of the kangaroo court.