“Well, my advice to you is to give it a wide berth,” is his evasive answer. Then there is silence between us for a moment, and when he begins again it is evident that his thoughts have turned into a still more serious channel. “Yes, you can learn a great deal, but let me tell you this, Brown: no one can realize what this place really is like, until—until—well, until there is someone he cares about who is sick and he can’t get away.” There is a tremor in his voice. Poor fellow! The Chaplain told me last night that Murphy had recently lost his mother and felt her death very deeply.
This talk occurs at the end of the day’s work when we are waiting for the Captain’s signal of return, and Murphy is sitting on the edge of the table talking quietly, turning his head away from the Captain and toward me as I stand on my regular side of the table.
I place a hand on my partner’s broad shoulder. “Yes,” I say, “it must indeed be terrible in such a case.”
“Oh, nobody can know how bad it is,” he goes on, my evident sympathy opening up the depths. “My mother was sick in the hospital, very sick, and I knew that she was going to die; and I—and I couldn’t get to her. Oh God! if they could only have let me go! I’d have come back! I’d have come back. Honest I would. And now—and now——”
“Yes,” I say, “I understand. And I know myself what it means. It’s something we never get over—in prison or out.”
For a moment I fear that he is going to break down; but he is strong and schooled in self-repression, and quickly regains control of himself. To give him time I tell him something of my own experience; and he grasps my hand fervently. Whatever may come out of my prison experiment, I have made at least one warm friend in Jack Murphy. The barriers are down between us two at least. Death, for all its cruelty, is after all the one great unifying force; it forges the one great bond of human brotherhood.
As I have said, this last talk takes place toward the end of the afternoon. Before it occurred Jack had said, “Now it’s my turn to sweep up to-night.” And he proceeded to do it, while I took a bit of exercise, walking up and down the short space permitted by the rules—about ten steps each way across and back.
The order comes to fall in. “Well, good night, Brown!” “Good night, Jack!” and off we go; first back to the bucket stands, for the benefit of those who did their housecleaning this afternoon instead of this morning. Then we march up through the yard to the main building, where, with the others, I snatch my slice of bread, mount the iron stairs, traverse the gallery, and lock myself in my cell for the night.
Captain Lamb comes to bid me good-bye. He is off on his vacation to-morrow and his place is to be filled temporarily by one of the night officers. I am sorry to have him go as I have taken a liking to him and wanted to discuss with him further his views on the Prison Problem. However, I shall be interested to find out how we get along with his successor.
The armchair, which George has secured for me in place of the stool, is unfortunately much too large for the cell. When my shelf table is hooked up there is not room enough for the chair to be placed anywhere conveniently. When I sit back in it my head bumps against the locker; and how I’m going to manage when the bed is let down I don’t know. The chair is not my only acquisition; when I came in to-night I found three tempting apples on the shelf above my door. I suspect my friend in the blue shirt, who asked me this noon if I didn’t want an apple, as his Captain had given him some. I shall save them for to-morrow, although I find my bread and water rather tasteless and unsatisfactory to-night.