ater until to-morrow morning! Oh, what in Hell
shall I do?"

The speaker's voice dies away into inarticulate moaning. Quietly I reach
over for my own precious can of water and place it securely in a
corner--far removed from any probable activities of my feet. Then
presently as I lie quietly, awake and listening, I become aware of a
terrible thing. I hear Number Two talking to himself and then calling out
to Joe, "When he comes in here to-morrow morning, I'll just--I'll--I'll
throw my bucket at his head!" and I realize that he is talking of an
assault upon the keeper. Then he begins to mutter wild nothings to
himself. Gradually there dawns upon me a hideous thought--the poor lad is
going out of his mind.

What shall I do? What can I do? What can anyone do? If we could only get
some water to him! But the iron cage is solid on all sides. If we could
only arouse the keeper! But there is no possible way to make anyone hear.
We could all scream our lungs out and no one would come. We might all go
mad and die in our cells and no one would come.

But if I am helpless, not so Number Four. I soon hear Joe beginning to
talk with the boy; and I perceive that Joe also has realized the
situation, and with admirable patience and tact is applying the remedy.
Never have I witnessed a finer act of Christian charity toward suffering
humanity, never more skilful treatment of a sick and nervous
fellow-creature. The first thing an intelligent doctor would advise in
such a case is that the patient should confide in a sympathetic friend,
air his grievance, get it out of his system, let the dangerous gases
escape. A more sympathetic friend than Joe one could not find. Bit by bit
he draws Number Two's story from him and encourages him to vent his anger
at the prison officials and their whole infernal system, and in fact at
all things and persons related to his present situation.

Then having laid bare the wound Joe begins to apply antiseptic and
soothing treatment. "Now you mustn't worry too much about this thing," is
the advice of the sympathetic listener. "You've had a rotten deal, but
listen to this." And he relates some peculiarly atrocious case of
punishment--true or otherwise. He gradually soothes the boy's irritated
temper, and then at the appropriate moment says, "Now give us another
song!"

Number Two, after some demur, complies; sings a tender, sentimental
ballad, and evidently feels better.

Then Joe cracks a joke; chats with N