“Mind! I should like it; and I wish you would.” As a matter of fact I had been intending to ask him to do so.
So now it is “Good night, Tom,” “Good night, Jack!” when the time comes to fall in.
As we turn into the yard, I see a group of men gathered about the entrance of the main building. I suspect it to be the same party of rubbernecks the Warden conducted through the shop this afternoon—including my friends. They are evidently waiting for us to march by. As we draw nearer I find that my suspicions are confirmed. I conclude that they failed to discover me in the shop, and so are taking this means of gratifying their curiosity. They are welcome to do so. I look as unconscious as possible; go swinging by the group, eyes front; pick up a slice of bread and regain my cell as usual.
It seems that this time two or three of them, recognizing my walk, spotted me at last. I should think it was about time.
Soon after I am in the cell my friend Joe, the gallery boy, comes along with the hot beverage called tea, which is a little later than usual to-night. He halts at the door.
“Tea, Tommy?”
One of the prisoners has sent me a letter in which he addresses me as “old pal.”
I think there is no doubt that the barriers are down now.