Eileen went over to him, laid a hand tenderly on his torn shirt-sleeve and led him over to the chair again, for he still showed signs of his physical exhaustion. He sat back and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Eileen spoke to him.
“And you ran away? Why, oh, why did you do that? Couldn’t you see that it would mean recapture; more imprisonment? And you were probably so near the end of it.”
Her whole soul was speaking compassionately.
“Near the end!” he said bitterly. “It was the end. I broke prison because they had no right to keep me there any longer.”
“But why? How could that possibly be?” she asked, closing her hands nervously.
He gave expression to a sound of surprise at her innocence.
“You don’t know them, miss. Anything, everything is possible in there. They are masters, kings, gods. My conduct was good. After three years and eight months I was due to get out in one month more. But I was useful to them in there. I had education. I was the only accountant; the greatest book-lover in jail. To keep me from thinking––for the thinking is what drives 24 men mad––I worked and slaved night and day. They had no one to take my place. I was trusted. I did the work of three men.
“One day I interfered in behalf of a fellow prisoner––a horse thief––who was wrongly accused at this particular time of breaking some trivial prison law. My good conduct sheet was cancelled. I was told that I must serve my full time. That’s what I got for trying, for the second time, to help my fellow-man.” He laughed. “That––and a peculiar-sounding word which that strange little jailbird gave to me, on condition that I would never sell it, stating it was all he had and that it might be useful to me some day if I ever had the handling of horses.
“Yes!––I should have been wise that time. It was my second offence of helping my neighbour. Three years and nine months in jail for a kindly act! Fifteen months more in hell in exchange for a word! What bargains!”
He grew bitter again.