"Jimmy, Jimmy! Come on up here!"
"I'll jimmy you damn carcass for you," the old man bellows, angrily, "Where th' hell are you?"
"Here, on B, 20 B. Right over you."
The officer steps back to the wall, and looks up toward the second gallery.
"What in th' name of Jesus Christ do you want, Slim?"
"Awful cramps in me stomach. Get me some cramp mixture, Jim."
"Cramps in yer head, that's what you've got, you big bum you. Where the hell did you get your cramp mixture, when you was spilling around in a freight car, eh?"
"I got booze then," the prisoner retorts.
"Like hell you did! You were damn lucky to get a louzy hand-out at the back door, you ornery pimple on God's good earth."
"Th' hell you say! The hand-out was a damn sight better'n th' rotten slush I get here. I wouldn't have a belly-ache, if it wasn't for th' hogwash they gave us to-day."