but up here in chapel the first ones in are the
last ones out. It is a very tiresome arrangement for the earlier ones; and
as we are well beyond the center, the delay seems interminable. Over
thirteen hundred men have to march down stairs in single file, and that
apparently takes a long time.

However, it gives a chance for my excitement to calm down, and my tired
senses to get a bit rested. So that by the time I have marched down
stairs, through the stone corridor, up the iron stairs and along the
gallery to Cell 15, second tier, north, north wing, I am in a more normal
condition than I have been since yesterday afternoon.

While I am packing my few belongings into the small handbag, Grant appears
at the door; and as soon as I am ready I accompany him for a last journey
along the gallery, down the iron stairs and through the stone corridor.
Then we turn up the stairway leading to the main office--the stairway down
which I descended into prison six days ago. At the head of the flight two
light taps on the iron door bring the face of the hall keeper to the pane
of glass set in the door, the key grates in the lock and the heavy barrier
swings open. I have passed the inner wall and breathe more freely.

Arrived in the Warden's rooms--he himself is unfortunately still away--I
lose no time in getting into a tub. After a most refreshing bath, I dress
in my ordinary citizen's clothes and am served with eggs and bacon and a
cup of coffee. It is real coffee, not bootleg.

I do full justice to the food and drink, and feel very sorry for any one
who has not had the experience of a first meal out of prison. I envy the
Warden his cook and his devoted attendants.

After being thus invigorated, I gird up my loins for the next duty, and go
to measure arguments with the Principal Keeper in his private office. I
begin by shaking hands with him warmly, for I wish to atone for any
rudeness of last night and make him understand that I have no hard
feelings toward him personally. Then I plunge at once into the subject.

"P. K., I don't wish to be unpleasant, nor do or say anything I am not
fully justified in doing or saying, but I must tell you plainly that I can
not go from this place, leaving that poor sick boy down in that second
cell in jail. There are others who, in my opinion, ought not to be there,
but his is the worst case. He should be in the hospital, not in such a
damnable hole as that. He's sick, and you are driving him crazy