"I suppose so."
"And the hand itself went wrong before you indulged in the pretty little scrap that's landed you in this pestilential hole?" said Scott. It was not a speech he ought to have made to a prisoner; but Scott was far from always saying what he ought. Besides, he had had a long battle with the authorities about the condition of the old part of the prison in general and of the punishment cells in particular, a battle in which he had been worsted, and which had left a rankling grudge. The Governor had called him a meddlesome sentimentalist, which was true; and he had called the Governor a pig-headed martinet, which was about equally true.
Gardiner assented with a nod. It was all against the grain, every word that he said, and every drop of the suppressed sympathy which he detected lurking under the little doctor's extra aggressive manner. Nevertheless with another heroic effort, backed by another thought of Lettice, he constrained himself to add: "I think perhaps it's the indoor life, sir. I've been used to be out all day and all night. Here I'm in the printing shop; it's an interesting job, and I like it, but I think perhaps I might get on better on the farm."
"You do, do you? What do you suppose you know about it?"
"Nothing," said Gardiner, "only you asked me."
"H'm!" said the little doctor. "Well, I can't do anything more now. I'll see to you properly to-morrow." He picked himself up with his usual fierce alacrity. Going out of the door, he turned to add: "I'll send you round a dose in half-an-hour. Warder, you see he takes it. Young fool, going on for a month till he gets into this state—he'll throw it into the slops, if you give him half a chance!"
With that, exit Dr. Scott, still grumbling.
Gardiner threw himself down on his bare plank bed. "O Lord!" he said with half a chuckle and half a groan. "Oh, Lettice, it's a pity you weren't the fly on the wall, I think you'd have enjoyed the scene. Lord, how I do hate that little chap! and yet I don't, you know, I rather like him. I wish he'd prescribe me a cigarette, I bet that would put me to by-by better than all his boluses. I'm glad I said what I did about the farm. If he can only work that, I think, with luck, I may pull through. He's gone away breathing out mercies and indulgences. What an ass I am to dislike saying these things, but I certainly do. Oh, Lettice, mi prenda, alma de mi vida, luz de mis ojos—won't I make love to you in Spanish when my time comes, and won't you be not ductile!—if I do stick it out you ought to feel uncommonly proud of yourself, but you won't. Never, never in my life shall I succeed in persuading you that it's all your doing, but it is."