One day as Robinson happened to be washing the corridor with his beaver up, what he took for a small but aged man passed him, shambling stiffly, with joints stiffened by perpetual crucifixion and rheumatism, that had ensued from perpetually being wetted through. This figure had his beaver down. At sight of Robinson he started and instantly went down on his knee and untied both shoe strings; then while tying them again slowly he whispered:
“Robinson, I am Josephs; don't look toward me.”
Robinson, scrubbing the wall with more vigor than before, whispered, “How are they using you now, boy?”
“Hush! don't speak so loud. Robinson—they are killing me.
“The ruffians! They are trying all they know to kill me, too.”
“Fry coming.”
“Hist!” said Robinson as Josephs crept away; and having scraped off a grain of whitewash with his nail he made a little white mark on his trouser just above his calf, for Josephs to know him by, should they meet next time with visors both down. Josephs gave a slight and rapid signal of intelligence as he disappeared. Two days after this they met on the staircase. The boy, who now looked at every prisoner's trowsers for the white mark, recognized Robinson at some distance and began to speak before they met.
“I can't go on much longer like this.”
“No more can I.”
“I shall go to father.”