"Liberty—liberty," she repeated, warningly. "A liberty that ends in a prison."
"You straight people make queer mistakes. I'm a better lot than my family. They don't live by rule as I do. They'll lie and pick at small truck. They haven't any ambition. I've got my life chalked out. I'm not going to get a prison face, I sha'n't go beyond the limit."
"The limit?"
"The fifteen or twenty year limit. If you keep out of jail, well and good. If you get too long sentences your health breaks down, and you get the shivers."
"What are they?"
"Nerves; you think, 'S'pose the cops catch me.' You may be in the midst of a fancy job. Everything in you trembles, even your eyeballs, and you'd best quit and run, for if the shivers get fastened on you, you're no good, and might as well take to the tomato can tramps. I'm going to knock off before I get 'em. I've been lucky about jails so far, and if you'll help me out of this now—"
He spoke suggestively, and Miss Gastonguay tried to bring back her strained and wandering attention to him. "When you go away, will you see this man,—this Gentleman George?"
"I'm sure to pretty soon."
"Will you give him a message from me?"
"Yes, ma'am."