will still pursue their violent and evil ways; now I shall
get to know what such creatures are like.

And this is what I find.

Farthest away, at the other end of the row of iron cells, is Number Eight.
He is a big, good-natured, husky chap from the enamel-shop; sent down to
this place of supreme punishment because he had talked back to one of the
citizen instructors. For what reason he is placed in Cell Eight, which has
no wooden floor, so that its occupant has to lie on the bare iron plates
covered with rivets, I am unable to state. Formerly none of these cells
had wooden floors, and everyone slept on the rivets, rolling over and over
through the night as each position in turn became unbearable.

Cells Seven and Six are empty.

In Cell Four is my sociable friend, whose name I learn is Joe; and in Cell
Five is the man he referred to as his partner, with whom Joe was having a
friendly little scrap when they were interrupted and sent down here. The
two fellows are, apparently, on perfectly good terms, but Number Five
thought Joe had done something, which Joe hadn't; so he punched Joe, and
Joe punched him back. It was nothing more than a slight breach of
discipline, for which a minimum punishment should have been inflicted--if
anything more than a separation and a word of caution were necessary.

In Cell Three is the fellow with a bad cold. He is being punished for
hitting another inmate over the head with a crowbar. This sounds rather
serious, but the other fellow had called him an ugly name--a name which
any man considers himself justified in resenting; and one effect of
confinement being to make tempers highly inflammable, Number Three had
resented the epithet with the nearest weapon handy.

In such cases there is no proper examination made to see if there are
extenuating circumstances; little or no opportunity is given the prisoner
to state his side of the case; no belief when he is allowed to state it.
The convict is reported by an officer. That is enough; down he comes
immediately.

Called upon in the course of the night by Joe to give an account of
himself, Number Three makes his one remark. "You fellows'll hev to excuze
be; I god such a cold id by 'ead I cad't talk. Besides I shouted so las'
dight that I cudd't talk butch eddy how!"

I find myself wondering how Number Three manages to do without a
handkerchief--having so bad a cold in the head. Blows his nose on his
shirt, I suppose. Quite pleasant and cl