'en a man aint got no frien's, but kin lay aroun'
'im an' scoop tergedder a couple er hundred dollars, I mention him ter
my frien' wid a recommend, an' dat settles it, out he comes."

"Two hundret tollaire!" cried Tulitz, almost piteously. "Ven I efer
t'ink my liperty cost me two huntret tollaire and I haf not got him. Zis
blow kill all zat is to me of my self-respect! _Je suis hors de
moi-meme!_"

"Why, you orter be able to raise dat much tin," said the guard.

Tulitz jumped from his bed to the floor with a cry such as a wild beast
might have given as it sprang from peril into safety. He demanded pencil
and paper, and with them he scribbled a message. "Send for me zat note!"
he said. "Bring me a _filet de b[oe]uf_, a _pate de fois gras_, and a
bottle of Burgundy, and bring him all quick! Corinne! _La belle_
Corinne! _Cherie amie_, vot I haf svear I lofe and cherish! I haf not
remember you, Corinne!"

A throng of people, big and little, young and old, were waiting in the
corridors of the warden's office the next morning, eager for the bell to
strike the signal that would admit them into the prisons. They were
mostly women. Here and there in the crowd was a little boy carrying a
tin can with something in it good to eat, sent, doubtless, by his old
mother to her scamp of a son. The little beggar has his first
experiences of a prison administering to the comforts of his big,
ruffianly brother, probably a great hero in his eyes.

For the most part, the crowd is made up of young women. There, muffled
closely, is the wife of a defaulter, who was caught in the act. Three
days ago she held her head as high as any. Now it is bent low and hidden
with shame. Yonder, terrified and broken-hearted, is the sister of a man
who shot another. He is no criminal. There was a quarrel about a matter
of money. The lie was given, a blow followed, and then a shot. Her
brother a murderer! Her brother, all kindness, docility, and goodness,
locked up in a place like this with thieves and hardened convicts! It
was a fatal shot--ah, me, so very fatal, so widely fatal!

Many of them, though, are laughing and joking with each other. They have
got acquainted coming here to look after their husbands, lovers,
brothers, fathers, and sons. They bow cheerily as they come in, and say
what a fine day it is, and how they missed you yesterday, and they hope
nothing was the matter at home. Among them are brazen jades who chatter
saucily with the guards, an