"We hear lots of things like that," said he, resentfully. "People come here in gangs sometimes and talk their heads off, pitying men who can be handled only when they're locked up. If sheep could talk they'd say things just like these people; and these people, if the criminals weren't jailed, would be just as helpless among them as the sheep."
Bat Scanlon looked somewhat impressed.
"You've said something," said he, with a shake of the head, "but you haven't said it all."
"There was a woman here this morning," said the guard. "Was also in to see this fellow, Burton," as an afterthought. "And she talked that stuff, too."
"Came to see Burton, did she?" Ashton-Kirk looked interested. "Who was she?"
"Some kind of a relative, I think. It was Miss Cavanaugh, the actress."
Just then they came to a cell before which the guard stopped.
"Here you are," said he. "This is the man you want."
There was a shooting of bolts and the pressure of an opening door. The inner door was of close bars; they saw a narrow cell with unrelieved walls and a grated opening through which came a small trickle of daylight. A figure arose from the cot at the far end and stood looking uncertainly at the doorway.
"Want to go inside?" asked the guard. "The warden said it'd be all right."