r come. I am in
the midst of an experience I can never have again, and it is what I came
to prison to get. Moreover, if I go now, will there not arise a feeling
among the men that at the last moment I failed to make good, that my
courage gave out just at the end?

The steps reach the inner door. Which shall it be?

The key grates in the lock, I hear the inner door swing open, the electric
light is turned on. Amid complete silence from the other cells my door is
unlocked; and there appears before my astonished eyes no less a person
than the P. K. himself, attended by another officer.

In an instant my mind is made up about one thing--I will not go with the
P. K. anywhere. At the sight of his uniform a fierce anger suddenly blazes
up within me and then I turn cold. All my gorge rises. Not at the man, for
I certainly have no personal grievance against Captain Patterson, but at
the official representative of this hideous, imbecile, soul-destroying
System. I am seized by a mild fit of that lunatic obstinacy which I have
once or twice seen glaring out of the eyes of men interviewed by the
Warden down here; the obstinacy that has often in the course of history
caused men to die of hunger and thirst in their cages of stone or iron,
rather than gain freedom by submission to injustice or tyranny.

It is all very well to talk of breaking a man's spirit. It can be done; it
has been done many times, I fear, in this and similar places of torture.
But after you have thoroughly mastered his manhood by brutality--after you
have violated the inner sanctuary of the divine spirit which abides in
every man, however degraded--what then? What has become of the man? The
poor, crushed and broken wrecks of humanity, shattered by stupid and
brutal methods of punishment, which lie stranded in this and other
prisons, give the answer.

I fear that in consequence of my somewhat disordered feelings I am lacking
in proper respect for lawful authority. Instead of rising to greet the P.
K. I remain seated on the floor in my old soiled and ragged garments,
looking up at him without making a motion to shift my position. He is
evidently surprised at my attitude, or my lack of attitude. Bending
forward into my cell he whispers, "It's seven o'clock."

"Yes; thank you, sir." I am glad to find that I can still utter polite
words, although I am seething within and remain doggedly obstinate in my
seat on the floor. "But I think I will wait until Mr. Grant co