As he has not spoken to anyone in particular, I look at Jack and wait for him or somebody else to answer; but Jack is bending over his work and no one seems inclined to say anything.
“Thank you, sir,” I begin politely; “as far as I am concerned I don’t mind it, for I like fresh air. It doesn’t trouble me any.”
“Well now,” says the portly and dignified dispenser of law and order, “I don’t want you men to catch cold. I think you’d better have that door shut and perhaps the windows farther open. I’ll just speak to the Captain about it. You mustn’t work in a draught if you feel it too much.”
As the P. K. steps back to the Captain I glance over at Murphy and catch an answering gleam in his eye. “It’s all right, Jack,” I remark, in a cautious undertone, “I’m wise.”
He grins. “Well, did you ever see anything so raw as that?”
I chuckle, and glance sarcastically over toward our highly respected officers. Jack continues, “Does he think he can put that over on us?”
“Not this time,” is my reply; and when the Captain, upon the P. K.’s departure, comes over to shut the door I tell him that if he doesn’t mind we should prefer to have it left open, to which suggestion he kindly yields. It is a large double door and gives light as well as fresh air to all our part of the shop.
This little episode has not gone unnoticed by the rest of the men; I almost instantly feel that I have risen several pegs in the esteem of my comrades. Several of them who have hitherto held aloof come over for an introduction to Tom Brown. If I am on the side of the convicts against the officers, in short if I am “ag’in the government,” I must be all right. I am perfectly conscious of the barriers giving way. Of course the game I am playing has its dangers, but I believe it is the wise one. If I am really to gain these men’s confidence, I must be on the convicts’ side and act the part completely. I must look at matters from the convicts’ point of view; and scorn of all forms of hypocrisy and double dealing on the part of those in authority as well as good faith with your pals seems to be the platform upon which all the best men stand. And these are mighty fine qualities outside prison; why then are they not equally fine inside? Are not truth and courage and devotion to be welcomed wherever found? And are not falsehood and hypocrisy always hateful? A certain man who is serving time here, although innocent of the crime for which he was sent, because he could not escape conviction without implicating two of his friends is a type. “But then,” he once explained to me, “you see, I had done a good many things for which I had not served time. And our code of ethics is based upon the rule that you must never squeal on a pal.” It was the same man who, when he once started to complain of the injustice of some term he had served and I had said, “Yes, but you must consider the other side of it,” broke into a smile and answered:
“You are entirely right. I’ve calculated that I still owe the state of New York two or three hundred years.”