be wrong somewhere.

This appears to be an afternoon of excitements. Down comes the P. K.
again, for what purpose I do not know. The afternoon is cloudy and it is
getting somewhat dark and gloomy in the shop. After the P. K. has spoken
to the Captain he comes over and tells us fellows that we can quit work if
we want to, as it is too dark to see well. He points to the north windows,
where a car of lumber on the track outside interferes somewhat with the
light in that part of the shop. After he is gone we continue working, as
we can see perfectly well; and Jack is still more scornful than he was
this morning. He expresses the opinion that this proceeding is even more
raw than the former one. "I should like to know how long it is since they
was so careful of our eyes, so awful anxious about our health!" is his
sarcastic comment.

My answering comment is this, "I dare say, Jack, it's all right; but, so
far as I am concerned, they can't come it over me that way."

"Well, I guess not!" is Jack's hearty response.

After we have washed up and just before we separate for the night my
partner comes up to me in his engaging way. "Say, would you mind if I
called you by your first name?"

"Mind! I should like it; and I wish you would." As a matter of fact I had
been intending to ask him to do so.

So now it is "Good night, Tom," "Good night, Jack!" when the time comes to
fall in.

As we turn into the yard, I see a group of men gathered about the entrance
of the main building. I suspect it to be the same party of rubbernecks the
Warden conducted through the shop this afternoon--including my friends.
They are evidently waiting for us to march by. As we draw nearer I find
that my suspicions are confirmed. I conclude that they failed to discover
me in the shop, and so are taking this means of gratifying their
curiosity. They are welcome to do so. I look as unconscious as possible;
go swinging by the group, eyes front; pick up a slice of bread and regain
my cell as usual.

It seems that this time two or three of them, recognizing my walk, spotted
me at last. I should think it was about time.

Soon after I am in the cell my friend Joe, the gallery boy, comes along
with the hot beverage called tea, which is a little later than usual
to-night. He halts at the door.

"Tea, Tommy?"

One of the prisoners has sent me a letter in which he addresses me as "old
pal."

I think there is no doubt that the barriers are down now.