"Say, Gusta," he said, "you tell him I'm in wrong; will you? Honest to God, I am!"
He raised his face suddenly and held it close to the bars.
"I will, Archie," she said.
"And how's ma?"
"Oh, she's pretty well." Gusta could not say the things she wished; she felt the presence of Kouka.
"Say, Gusta," said Archie, "see Mr. Marriott; tell him to come down here; I want him to take my case. I'll work and pay him when I get out. Say, Gusta," he went on, "tell him to come down this afternoon. My God, I've got to get out of here! Will you? You know where his office is?"
"I'll find it," said Gusta.
"It's in the Wayne Building."
Gusta tried to look at Archie; she tried to keep her eyes on his face, on his tumbled yellow hair, on his broad shoulders, broader still because his coat and waistcoat were off, and his white throat was revealed by his open shirt. But she found it hard, because her eyes were constantly challenged by the sights beyond--the cell doors, the men sleeping off their liquor, the restless figures that haunted the shadows, the white faces peering out of the gloom. The smell that came from within was beginning to sicken her.
"Oh, Archie," she said, "it must be awful in there!"