Wheels Bryant — Shifter Reeves — Hooks Borglund — Big Tom Bagshawe. Those were the men who had betrayed their trust. Steeped in ill-gotten wealth, despite their heavy setbacks, they were able to provide for the innocents who had suffered. But they had not done so.
The iron door clanked. Carpenter sat on his cot, dejected. Money! He knew where some could be gotten — a small amount that he had tucked away for emergency — that he had not imagined would be needed. It was in a savings fund, under an assumed name. To obtain it would be easy — if he were away from this place.
Iron bars and stone walls. How could he escape them? A deep groan came from the cell wherein Convict 9648 was imprisoned. Herbert Carpenter was tasting the dregs of anguish. He had learned — more deeply than ever — the futility of crime.
A NEW day dawned — a happy day for some persons, but not for Herbert Carpenter. That day passed. It was followed by a night of gloom.
Two days — three days — four days — the fifth found Herbert Carpenter, again in the prison workshop, pounding stolidly away at an unending task.
The men were finishing a consignment of large ash cans. The day’s work was nearing its close. This afternoon, these prison-made goods would be shipped away, and a new consignment would be started on the morrow.
Big trucks snorted in the prison yard. The keeper in charge ordered six men to line up. The others marched away. The six who remained were put to work carrying the huge containers to the trucks.
Herbert Carpenter was one of the half dozen detailed to this job. Mechanically, he picked up the cover of an ash can and placed it on the container. He carried his burden to a designated truck, where workmen stowed it aboard.
The work continued. The line of burdened convicts moved back and forth. Sweating under the glaring sun. No. 9648 trudged hopelessly. The truck was nearly loaded. It had no back — nothing but two iron chains that would stretch across to hold the load of ash cans.
No. 9648 stopped to wipe the perspiration from his forehead. He saw one truck pulling away. This one would go next. It was leaving for the outside world, carrying a crew of joking workmen. Envy governed 9648. If he could only be one of those men!