His was one of the many instances of evil communication sapping and undermining all moral principle.
The train in which the convicts were did not go direct to Dartmoor.
They had to change on to another line.
Upon the arrival at the station they were ordered to get out, and here they were, as at the time of their starting, surrounded by a curious throng of gazers.
“Keep your peckers up,” cried a cab-driver, “and mind you are good boys for the future.”
“All right, cabby—when I come out I shall want you to drive me to the Hoperoor,” returned one of the prisoners.
“There, that will do; you are not brought here to chaff cabmen,” said one of the warders. “The less you have to say the better.”
“Give him his head for a little bit,” observed the cab-driver. “He’ll be reined up tight enough before long, I fancy.”
“You mind your own business,” said the warder.
“All right, guv’nor, sorry I spoke. Lord, you have got a crew under your charge, and no mistake,” and with these words the man drove off.