says with much feeling. "I
shall never forget what you and the Chaplain have done for me; and I
assure you you will never regret it, for I intend to go straight and show
you that I mean every word I say."

"I'm sure you do; and I'm sure you will go straight," is my comment. "But
how about your clothes? Have you anything but the prison suit you get on
your discharge?"

"No, nothing."

"Well, but you can't go to work outside in those. People will spot you as
an ex-con at once. Don't you want me to fix it so that you can get a
decent suit?"

"Oh, if you only would!" is his heartfelt exclamation. "And, say, Mr.
Osborne--pardon me--I mean Mr. Brown, if you'll please consider them not
as a gift, if you'll let me have the money as a loan, I shall be greatly
obliged. And I'll pay it back just as soon as I possibly can."

So we make arrangements by which he can be aided in this way, and I sit
down to write a note relative to the matter, but am interrupted by
breakfast.

As we march to breakfast I try my hand, or rather my throat, at motionless
conversation. Wishing to get word to one of the prisoners to procure a
certain definite piece of information about the Wednesday evening
incident, I seize upon a favorable moment to communicate with Roger
Landry, who is marching ahead of me. In the faintest whisper and without
moving my lips, I say: "Cun to ny cell a'ter dreak'ast." The ghost of a
nod shows that he has heard and understood, and so we march in to our
morning meal.

This time it is again hash, with the usual accompaniments--the rather sour
bread and nasty coffee. (Whatever else changes, the bootleg remains the
same.) The hash is better than that which we had for breakfast
on--Wednesday, was it? I place aside only one piece of bone and one of
gristle.

During the meal I look around more closely than I have previously done at
the officers within my range of vision. There is one who wears a flannel
shirt, and is so unshaven that he looks like a tramp. I'm glad I'm not
under that Captain. At first I thought he was some one who had been
drafted temporarily for duty, but I find he is one of the regular
officers.

Here is an interesting psychological fact: that much as a man dislikes
being treated as a slave, yet if he is to be so treated he wants his
master to be the most efficient and best-looking master of the lot. I find
myself comparing our Captain with this untidy-looking person in the
flannel shirt, and having