"After a while," Monet went on, "when I got almost to the snapping point, they sent me to Ward Six. You know how it is—like a clear, cold plunge … it wakes you up… There's a method in it all. They know that after a week in hell you find even purgatory desirable."
"And yet, once you got away, you traveled the same road that had brought you here in the first place… Was the game worth the candle?"
"It was an escape while it lasted, even though it did lead me to prison again… But isn't that where escape always leads? The world is a good deal like Fairview—a rule-ridden institution on a larger scale… We escape for a time in our work, in our play, in our loves, but the tether's pretty short. … And finally, one day, death swings the door open and we go farther afield."
"To another institution with a little more garden space?" Fred queried, pensively.
Monet shrugged. "Perhaps… Who knows?"
* * * * *
There followed another week of idleness, and one day, as Fred Starratt was dawdling in the sun, Harrison came up to him and said:
"The head waiter in the dining room at Ward Six goes out to-morrow.
Would you like his job?"
"Like it?" Fred found himself echoing, incredulously. "Can I begin at once … now?"
Harrison chuckled with rare good nature. "Well, to-morrow, anyway.
Just report in the kitchen after breakfast."