Soon comes breakfast with its regular routine. I have laid off my cap; as the lever is pressed down I push open the grated door, let Stuhlmiller, Bell and the other two who march in front of me pass by; then fall in between them and the next man. We traverse the short gallery to the right, descend the iron steps and line up in the corridor; standing motionless, with folded arms. As the Captain's stick strikes the stone pavement the line begins to move. Then at a second rap we march rapidly to the mess-hall. Just within the door we salute the P. K.; then swing to the right, turn to the left, pass alongside the men who have already taken their seats and are eating, and reach our shelf or table. As we stand at our places, comes one rap; and we lean down and pull out our stools, standing again erect. A second rap; and we sit. Throughout the meal the Captain stands, rigid and silent, in the aisle at our right.

Our Saturday breakfast is rice; which I eat with relish. My appetite is in excellent working order this morning, after a good night's rest; and I am feeling in fine physical condition. There can be no question about the punishment cell; no one who feels as well as I do has any excuse for not misbehaving himself. In dressing this morning I took up my belt another notch. My youngest was quite right when he asserted that I should not be so fat when I came out; I must have lost several pounds.

I carefully avoid the coffee this morning; no more bootleg for me! I reserve my thirst for a good drink of water when I get back to the cell.

Already, while we are stowing away our breakfast, the companies in our rear are departing; and now our turn comes. One rap; and we rise and set back our stools. A second rap; and spoons in hand (no use for knives and forks at this breakfast) we march in double file down the middle aisle,--holding our spoons high for the officers to see and dropping them into the proper receptacles at the door. Then back through the stone corridor, up the iron stairs and along the gallery to the cells. In these, as there is the wait of half an hour or more before shop-time, we are double-locked.

And now comes Dickinson, to wish me a final good-bye. He is in his citizen's clothes, and can hardly wait to have the gate shut behind him.

He assures me again of his desire and intention to go straight and make good; and I put through the bars two fingers which he grasps as fervently as he would my whole hand, if he could get it. Another moment, and the brave, well-meaning fellow is gone. If a man like this does not succeed, it is not his fault; but the fault of the System which fails to strengthen his power of self-control and ability to bear responsibility.

After Dickinson's departure comes one of the trusties, bringing the information which I passed the word along yesterday to get for me. Then I write in my journal and read some of the kites which have reached me. The latest one I find under the blankets,--tucked into the strap which holds up my mattress--a most ingenious hiding place.

Then comes work-time. Again the captain unlocks the levers; and again I follow along the gallery to the iron stairway and the yard door. After a much shorter period of waiting than at our earlier march, we start off and go directly down the yard and around the corner to the basket-shop.

"Good morning, Tom!" "Good morning, Jack!" and we are off to work in good time.

"Well, old pal, how are you feeling to-day?"

I look up and catch an anxious look in my partner's eyes. I laugh as I answer: "Oh, I'm all right; and in fine fighting trim."

I know what he means; and he knows what I mean. It is the shadow of the jail that is between us.

"Come on now, Jack," I say; "don't worry about me. I shall get through it all right."

"But you don't know what it means," he insists anxiously. "One hour of that misery is worse than a week of the worst kind of pain. You'd better think it over."

"Well, I'll tell you, Jack; I have reconsidered it and I don't believe I shall stay so long as I intended. In fact I had planned to go down this morning but I shall wait until afternoon. I'll get all I want of it in about three or four hours."

"You can just bet you will," and Jack turns away with a discouraged air to pick up a fresh batch of rattan. I'm afraid he thinks me a very obstinate and unreasonable person.

The rattan seems to be worse than ever this morning. They've tried cold water, and they've tried hot water, and they've tried steam; but like the White Queen's shawl, "there's no pleasing it." It still remains quite unfit to work with; and for the sake of the future usefulness of my fingers I can't help thinking it's just as well that my prison bit is drawing to a close.

As we are working away, one of our shopmates comes over to me (the same who accused me yesterday of working too hard) and says: "Well, Brown, I think you must be taking in the jail to-day."

My surprise is great. No one, except Jack, Grant and the Warden, were aware of my intention, so far as I knew.

"What made you think of that?" I ask.

"Oh, they had a jail suit washed yesterday; so I guess they're getting ready for you," is the reply.

These men are certainly sharp. They can "see a church by daylight."

We work busily at our basket-making through the morning, Jack and I--our last day together. I am actually beginning to feel that, if it were not for the pressure of business in my office and some engagements in New York City next week, I should like to stay longer among these new friends. But it may not be. I have secured what I came for--far more than I expected.

And now the next question is: what can be done with this knowledge? How can it be utilized for the state? and incidentally to help these men who need help so badly?

The noon-hour approaches. "Is it good-bye, now, Tom?" says my partner, sadly.

"Oh, no," I answer. "You don't get rid of me so easily as that. I shall be back this afternoon."

Jack looks relieved; and we fall into line as usual--the last time I shall march out of the shop with these men, my close prison companions of six days.

Down to the bucket stands; up the yard; into the north wing; up the iron stairs; along the gallery; and around the corner to my cell. Then off with my cap and coat; some water on my face; a comb passed through my hair and I am ready for dinner. I have time to write a few paragraphs in my journal before we march to the mess-room.

For dinner roast beef, potatoes and some sort of preserve; quite the best meal we have had. I must eat enough to last over until to-morrow morning; although for that matter the supper in jail will be similar to those I've had every day--bread and water. But I feel as if the ordeal I am to pass through may need all my strength. So I make good use of my knife and fork; and again find the dinner time almost too short for a square meal.

Back to the cell, where I arrange everything for an indefinite absence.

Then, as I am writing in my journal, I am interrupted by the arrival of Grant. He comes to find out if there is any change of mind on my part regarding the jail; and, if not, to make final arrangements. I tell him I never felt in better health; and that I'm ready to carry out the plan made last night. "I will strike work," I tell him, "between half past three and four; and be sent to the jail. You had better come for me there about seven o'clock. Don't make it any later," I add, "because I certainly will have had a sufficient taste of it by that time; and I see no reason for remaining any longer than is necessary. So please be on time."

Somehow Jack's warnings and admonitions, while they have not turned me from my purpose, have produced a feeling of disinclination to stay in the jail beyond a reasonable time. What is to be feared I am sure I do not know; or even that I fear anything. It is certainly not the pleasantest place in the world; but--well! I simply cannot understand why these men all speak of it in the way they do.

So Grant goes away; and now I close my journal. To-morrow morning I shall be too busy to write in it, as I shall be preparing the remarks I want to make to the men in chapel; that is, if the chaplain holds to his suggestion of calling upon me. I never like to attempt a speech of any kind unprepared; even an extempore and unexpected speech is so much better for a little preliminary improvising.

So here I write the last page within the walls; and go forth from my cell to embark upon the last round of my great adventure. I never expected to end my prison term with regrets; and I am probably the first man who ever did.

At the end of the gallery I hear the familiar sound of the key turning in the locks; so here go for the last time my pencils and paper into the locker, as I put on my cap and coat and prepare to follow the Captain to my final hours in the basket-shop.

Thus far my prison journal carries us. From this time on, for reasons which will be apparent, I have to depend upon subsequent memory. It is only fair to say, however, that it is memory made peculiarly clear by the unusual character of the circumstances.

The Captain unlocks the levers; the cells are opened; and we march down to the shop. With a serious face and without his usual greeting Jack joins me at our work-table.

In fact Jack is not in very good spirits; and I have to do most of the cheerful part. This is not surprising; when one thinks it over. A rather exciting episode in Jack's life is coming to an end; while the most exciting part of my adventure is just beginning. After that, I am going out, my life enriched with an unusual and interesting experience; while he is going back to the old, dull, depressing routine. Is it any wonder that he feels gloomy?

For about two hours, from half past one to a quarter past three, we both work away faithfully on our basket-making; and then as I finish off my last bottom I turn to my partner. "Well, old man, the time will be here pretty soon; and I may as well get ready for it. I think I'll go over and wash up."

So I raise my hand for permission; and upon seeing the Captain nod, as I suppose, I take Jack's soap and towel which we still use in common and go to the sink. On my way back, as I pass the Captain's desk, he stops me.

"Brown, don't you know that you mustn't leave your place without permission?"

"Yes, sir," is my reply, "but I raised my hand."

"I didn't see it."

"Why, I thought I saw you nod, sir."

"I did not."

"Well, I am sorry, sir." Then it occurs to me that this reprimand gives a good chance to settle the jail matter at once. Feeling somewhat surprised at my own boldness, I assume a rather insolent air and remark, "But it makes very little difference; because I've decided that I'll not work any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the rattan has been very stiff and rotten, and my fingers are getting badly swollen and blistered. We have complained but it doesn't seem to make any difference. The rattan is as bad as ever; and I shall not go on with it."

"Do I understand that you refuse to work?"

"Well, that's about the size of it."