He knew his business—this guard. He answered not a word. What has a prisoner to do with time—except "do" it. He handed me a broom—like a stable broom—and motioned me to sweep. It was done all too soon.
He then took me with him along the hall to the lavatory. At the far end of the hall and coming from the lavatory, another prisoner was being brought back with a guard behind him. His clothes hung loose on him, and he walked slowly. The light came from the end of the hall facing me, and I could not see very well.
When we drew near, a cry broke from him—
"Sim!" he cried. "Good God!... I thought you were in Holland."
It was Bromley!
Then the guard poked him in the back and sent him stumbling past me. I turned and called to him, but my guard pushed me on.
I put in as much time washing as I could, hoping that Ted would be brought out, but I did not see him that day or the next.
At last I had to go back, and as the guard shoved me in again to that infernal hole of blackness, he gave me a slice of bread. I had filled my pitcher at the tap.
This was my daily ration the first three days. I was hungry, but I was not sick, for I had considerable reserve to call upon, but when the fourth day came I was beginning to feel the weariness which is not exactly a pain, but is worse than any pain. I did not want to walk—it tired me, and my limbs ached as if I had la grippe. I soon learned to make my bread last as long as it would, by eating it in instalments, and it required some will-power to do this.