Again in my cell I address myself to sleep; and succeed in getting a brief nap, which is broken by my good friend Joe, who comes to make anxious inquiries after my health. He has heard that I am sick and is much concerned. I suppose he has learned it in the mysterious way so much news travels—by prison wireless.
I relieve Joe’s anxiety; and then comes Landry with whom I have a pleasant talk on things in general, ending with religion. We are interrupted by the arrival of Captain Martin; and I am considerably amused at the deft way in which Landry has effaced himself and vanished before the officer regains his breath after climbing the stairs. Captain Martin comes from the Doctor to know whether I should like some milk.
“Thank you, sir, I think not now.” I am on the point of adding that it would be extremely welcome this evening—well or ill; but the Captain does not offer it, and I do not quite like to ask for it. So I vouchsafe the information that I’m feeling better now and think I shall be all right in a very short while.
The Captain takes his departure; and my next caller is Dickinson, who is still radiant over the idea of leaving to-morrow. I give him the note I have written, which will enable him to get his clothes; and, when he tells me that owing to the late fine weather the authorities have refused to give him an overcoat, I add that item to his list.
When the time comes to go back to work I am feeling refreshed by my brief nap and the hour’s rest after dinner. So I fall into line as usual with the company—I wonder what would happen if I stayed behind in my cell—and we march down the yard as usual. When I arrive at the shop, Jack is at my side in an instant.
“How are you feeling, Tom?” he inquires, anxiously.
I tell him that I am doing fairly well, and we set to work. In a very short time, however, the feeling of nausea returns; and Jack then gives me a remedy of his own which he says is often taken in the prison, where indigestion is only too common. It consists of bicarbonate of soda in vinegar and water. To show me that it is quite safe Jack takes a dose himself, I follow suit, and the result is satisfactory in both cases. I am also provided with plenty of hot water by my young Greek friend, who is apparently ready to take any amount of trouble for me.
While I am trying to do my fair share of the basket-making this afternoon one of my shopmates passes behind me and then pauses in the shadow of the post. “Say, Brown,” he says, “you don’t seem to realize that you are violating one of the fundamental laws of this institution, you’re working too hard,” and he goes off chuckling. I don’t know that I am working too hard, but I do know that there seems to be about as little incentive to do a good, honest day’s work as could well be devised. At a cent and a half a day the financial result is farcical, and my surprise is great that the state gets as good work as it does. Certainly it is far better than the state deserves. Looking about the shop I see a great many men who are doing their allotted tasks faithfully and well. Yet they have absolutely nothing to gain by it except the satisfaction of work well done.
In the course of the afternoon Jack and I resume our discussion about Sunday afternoons and the Good Conduct League. Further consideration has rendered both of us enthusiastic over the plan.
“Why, I know it would work, Tom,” is Jack’s decided statement. “The big majority of fellows in this prison the Warden don’t have any trouble with. Well, just keep the rest of ’em out of the League. There’s no reason why the men who are tryin’ to make good should suffer because those miserable degenerates won’t stand for what’s right.”