evade.

The receiving overseer, Roger Kendall, though thin and clerical, was
a rather capable man, as prison officials go--shrewd, not particularly
well educated, not over-intelligent naturally, not over-industrious,
but sufficiently energetic to hold his position. He knew something about
convicts--considerable--for he had been dealing with them for nearly
twenty-six years. His attitude toward them was cold, cynical, critical.

He did not permit any of them to come into personal contact with
him, but he saw to it that underlings in his presence carried out the
requirements of the law.

When Cowperwood entered, dressed in his very good clothing--a dark
gray-blue twill suit of pure wool, a light, well-made gray overcoat, a
black derby hat of the latest shape, his shoes new and of good leather,
his tie of the best silk, heavy and conservatively colored, his hair and
mustache showing the attention of an intelligent barber, and his hands
well manicured--the receiving overseer saw at once that he was in the
presence of some one of superior intelligence and force, such a man as
the fortune of his trade rarely brought into his net.

Cowperwood stood in the middle of the room without apparently looking at
any one or anything, though he saw all. "Convict number 3633," Kendall
called to a clerk, handing him at the same time a yellow slip of paper
on which was written Cowperwood's full name and his record number,
counting from the beginning of the penitentiary itself.

The underling, a convict, took it and entered it in a book, reserving
the slip at the same time for the penitentiary "runner" or "trusty," who
would eventually take Cowperwood to the "manners" gallery.

"You will have to take off your clothes and take a bath," said Kendall
to Cowperwood, eyeing him curiously. "I don't suppose you need one, but
it's the rule."

"Thank you," replied Cowperwood, pleased that his personality was
counting for something even here. "Whatever the rules are, I want to
obey."

When he started to take off his coat, however, Kendall put up his hand
delayingly and tapped a bell. There now issued from an adjoining room
an assistant, a prison servitor, a weird-looking specimen of the genus
"trusty." He was a small, dark, lopsided individual, one leg being
slightly shorter, and therefore one shoulder lower, than the other. He
was hollow-chested, squint-eyed, and rather shambling, but spry enough
withal. He was dressed in a thin, poorly made