"So, you see, my boy, there's that. If you don't keep the law—"
"They can make you suffer for it," Teddy declared, excitedly. "Of course they can. They've made me suffer—God! how they've made me suffer—more, I believe, than anyone since Jesus Christ! But that's not what we were talking about. You started in to tell me that it's right for me to suffer the way they're making me. That's what I kick against, and I'll keep on kicking till they send me to the chair."
"If you could do yourself any good by that—"
But just here the dialogue was interrupted by the appearance of Boole, the dapper, debonair young guard who generally announced Teddy's afternoon visitors.
"Hello, old cuss! Gent to see you."
The chaplain prepared to move on to the neighboring cell. His leave-taking was kindly and with a great pity in it.
"We'll go on with this talk again, my boy. When you're able to get the right point of view—"
What would happen then was drowned in the clanging of the door behind him, as Teddy stepped out into the corridor.
"Who is it? Stenhouse?" he asked, as he walked along with the guard.
He had already dropped into the prisoner's habitual tone of hostile friendliness toward the officials with whom he came most in contact, recognizing the fact that had he met any of these men "on the outside" they would have hobnobbed together with the freemasonry of American young men everywhere. On their sides the keepers, apart from the fact that they considered Teddy "a tough lot," had ceased to show him animosity.