“Take it!” he urged, sibilantly.
For a dizzy instant Vaniman was moved by the expansive hope that his plight had appealed to this man; he hastened to take what Wagg offered. It was a small cube of something.
“Eat it!” said the guard.
Holding it close to his face, to make an inspection in the dim light, the young man caught the scent of the cube. It was a piece of soap. He made sure by putting it to his nose.
“Just a little at a time—what you can stomach,” Wagg urged. He passed on.
But Vaniman did not obey; he was unable to comprehend what this sort of fodder signified; he broke the cube into bits, thinking that a saw might be hidden. It was only soap—common soap. He put the bits away in the portfolio he was allow to have in his cell.
Wagg was a bit testy the next night when Vaniman confessed that he had not eaten any of the soap.
“You've got to show absolute confidence in me—do what I tell you to do,” insisted the guard.
“I can't eat that soap. It will make me sick!”
“You've said it! But eat that soap—a little at a time—and see what the prison doctor says. It isn't easy to fool prison doctors—but I've been on this job long enough to know how.”