Reserved as Joe was disposed to be toward him, he expressed himself somewhat fully on the subject of the sheriff’s cuisine. The horse-thief suggested a petition to the county court or a letter to the sheriff’s political opponent. He said that his experience in jails had been that a complaint on the food along about election time always brought good results. Joe was not interested in the matter to that extent. He told the fellow that he did not expect to be a permanent occupant of the jail.
“You think you’ll go down the river for a double-nine?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Joe.
“To the pen for life, kid; that’s what I mean.”
“I don’t know,” said Joe gloomily.
“Well, say, I tell you, if they give you the other,” said the friendly thief, lifting his naturally high voice to make it carry along the echoing passage, “you’ll git plenty to eat, and three times a day, too. When they put a feller in the death-cell they pass in the finest chuck in the land. You know, if a feller’s got a smart lawyer he can keep up that line of eatin’ for maybe two or three years by appealin’ his case and dodges like that.”
“I don’t want to talk,” said Joe.
“Oh, all right, kid,” said the thief flippantly. Then he rattled his grated door to draw Joe’s attention.
“But, ’y God, kid, the day’s comin’ to you when you will want to talk, and when you’d give the teeth out of your mouth, and nearly the eyes out of your head, for the sound 194 of a friendly human voice aimed at you. Let ’em take you off down the river to Jeff’ City and put you behind them tall walls once, where the best you hear’s a cuss from a guard, and where you march along with your hands on the shoulders of the man in front of you; and another one behind you does the same to you, and their eyes all down and their faces the color of corpses, and then you’ll know!
“You’ll hear them old fellers, them long-timers, whisperin’ in the night, talkin’ to theirselves, and it’ll sound to you like wind in the grass. And you’ll think of grass and trees and things like that on the outside, and you’ll feel like you want to ram your head ag’in’ the wall and yell. Maybe you’ll do it–plenty of ’em does–and then they’ll give you the water-cure, they’ll force it down you with a hose till you think you’ll bust. I tell you, kid, I know, ’y God! I’ve been there–but not for no double-nine like they’ll give you.”