He was a quiet, orderly, unobtrusive man, and, from his general demeanour, many were under the impression that he was as mild as a lamb and as green as a middy; but those under his charge soon found out their mistake when they came playing pranks or trying on the hanky-panky business.
Mr. Dring was down upon them at once. There was no man in Dartmoor Prison better adapted to deal with convicts and command their respect than the old marine.
To those who were straightforward and well behaved he was the most considerate and kind master it is well possible to conceive.
But when he once found out a man playing him tricks, deceiving him, and disobeying the rules and regulations of the gaol, he would lead him a fine life. Peace reckoned up the chief warder with something like accuracy, and he did his best to propitiate him.
When he came his rounds he regarded our hero with a searching glance.
“Ah,” he observed, “you are new to the place. Well, here’s soap, salt, and cleaning rags.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Peace, touching his cap.
“But stay, you must give me your jacket to be badged,” said Mr. Dring.
Peace pulled off his jacket with the utmost alacrity. His janitor gave him another to wear in the meantime; he also gave him a clean pair of sheets, and told him where to place each article, and supplied him with a candle.
Peace thanked him again and again.