xactly
the way I want to be treated."

Certainly nothing could be better than the attitude of the two men with
whom my work has brought me in contact. There has been not the slightest
tinge of self-consciousness; no trace of servility or currying favor,
absolutely nothing except Murphy's frank explanation to make me feel that
they are not treating me exactly as I asked them yesterday to do--as a new
man and one of themselves.

After we have sat around patiently and wearily for a considerable time,
the hour for return to the cell-house arrives. The Captain gives the
signal to fall in. "Good night, Brown!" "Good night, Murphy!" and I take
my place in the line. The Captain counts us with care while we stand
rigidly before him. Then the cripples, invalids and poor old broken-down
men start ahead of the main body to hobble wearily back to their cells.
Meanwhile we able-bodied men of the company march over to the stands where
the buckets are drying, pause for an instant, then swing up through the
yard, with a tramp, tramp, tramp, that is quite exhilarating after an
afternoon's work in the shop.

We march straight up the yard and into the basement door of the main
building where, just within the entrance, are placed some tables laden
with slices of bread. Following the example of the other men, I grab a
slice--some take two slices, there is apparently no restriction as to
amount--and then climb the slippery iron stairs in my heavy shoes. As we
go along the gallery the man just behind me whispers, "Well, Tom, how do
you like it?"

I turn and whisper laughingly, "All right, no kick coming," and turn into
my cell.

On the iron shelf outside stands my tin cup filled with a hot black
liquid--whether tea or coffee I don't know. What I do know is that the
odor is vicious. I hesitate about taking it into the cell.

The gallery boy arriving says, "Brown, I didn't know whether you wanted
tea or water, so I gave you tea."

"Thank you," I rejoin, "but I think I'll take water." So he brings back my
tin cup filled with a liquid which if mild is comparatively harmless, and
at least does not smell to heaven. I enter my cell, which is shut and
locked.

After a light breakfast, a lighter dinner, and the afternoon's work, I
feel ravenously hungry--so hungry that the bread and water actually taste
rather good, even if the bread is sour. To my surprise I make away with
the whole slice, dipping each mouthful into the water and eating as I