As we are forbidden to keep knives or razors in our possession, those who require a daily shave climb to the circle above to the barber shop.
On the waiting line there is a familiar face, a young man who had been a waiter in a Broadway café. He has not lost his red cheeks and boyish manner while awaiting trial on the charge of seduction.
Those who can afford it and cannot eat the common prison fare have their meals ordered from outside restaurants. A young man with a capacious basket offers us our breakfast in the shape of bread, pies, coffee; and he also sells cigars, cigarettes, writing paper, stamps and various knickknacks.
About nine A. M. we are locked in and are allowed to buy newspapers from a boy. I scan the daily papers and notice that they are beginning to pay attention to this libel case. There are several editorials, one signed by William Randolph Hearst, whose championship in my case was a brave act, as it endangered his interests in Mexico. The mail is voluminous; scores of clippings come in from out of town papers. An unknown doctor in California sends a check, a laboring man in St. Louis sends a dollar bill, to help in the fight.
My first visitor appeared to me like a vision from a strange planet. I felt clumsy and impatient behind the cold and angular bars.
I am informed that two witnesses saw the president's brother and a prominent Mexican lawyer waiting for my verdict on the ground floor of the Criminal Court building. Those two lawyers were the king pins working the wires behind the scenes, and when the glad tidings were brought they hastened to telegraph it to Mexico.
After the visit we are let out of our cells for exercise, which takes place three times a day, morning, noon and evening.
All visitors are permitted to see the prisoners, but not twice in the same day. Keepers and matrons search the visitors, and I hear repeated complaints of the arrogant and rough behaviour of these men who seem to have no power of discrimination; they treat everybody on equal terms of brutality and incivility—those found guilty by the courts, those awaiting trial and the innocent visitors.
Newspapermen are almost daily visitors.
My friend and lawyer, K——, visits me every day in the barred chamber set apart for that purpose. As I descend to see him some one points out to me a special room wherein I recognize the banker Morse conferring with his lawyers. My friends on the New York World send an ambassador, in the person of a reporter, offering their good will and assistance. I am touched by their kindness and loyalty.