He turns, and the tears are running down his cheeks. As for myself I have long since got beyond that stage. “Oh, Mr. Osborne——” he begins, but I stop him.
“Cut it out, partner, cut it out! You mustn’t meddle with my last name. It has been Tom and Jack now since Wednesday, and Tom and Jack it must continue to be. I am still your partner, and clothes are not going to make any difference with you and me.”
“Oh, Tom!” says the poor fellow. “What am I going to do now?”
For the first time I fully realize how deep this experience has cut into the hearts of these men. I thought I already understood it, but Jack reveals a new depth.
“What are you going to do?” I ask in answer. “You are going right ahead making baskets down in the old shop. But you are also going to help out our Commission. While I am working outside, you will be working inside. And together, Jack, we are going to assist in giving things a good shaking up. You’ve got the hardest part of the work to do, but I shall keep in close touch with you, and we will often consult together. And sometime, Jack, some day in the future when the right time has come, you can count upon me to go to the Governor for you.”
At this suggestion of a pardon, I expect to get from Jack a quick word of gratitude, some sort of indication that he is conscious of having attained his first step toward freedom, the interest of a friend who may be able to secure fair consideration, at least, of an application for pardon.
To my surprise he turns to me almost roughly. “Put that right out of your mind, Tom,” he says. “Don’t you bother your head about that, one single minute. I am ready to stay behind these walls all my life if I can help you and the Commission bring about some of these reforms you have in mind. That’s all I want!”
I try to answer, but there is nothing to say. What can one do except to humble oneself before such a spirit of self-sacrifice? Moreover, while my whole being is thrilled with the wonder of all this new revelation of the essential nobility of mankind, my physical condition is approaching very near to complete collapse. Silently therefore I clasp Jack’s hand in mine, and silently we stand looking out of the window while each of us masters his emotion. Then with a brief “Good-bye, Jack!” “Good-bye, Tom!” in the back office, I watch the heavy iron door close with a clang behind him, as he descends the iron staircase back into the prison; and so to his stone cage, four feet by seven and a half, in the damp basement of the north wing.
Then, with one last look through the grated window of the back office, I turn and make my way down the front steps of the prison. The guard at the gate unlocks and opens the outer barrier. I am free.
No, not free. Bound evermore by ties that can never be broken, to my brothers here within the walls. My sentence, originally indeterminate, is now straight life, without commutation or parole.