“Are you asleep yet, Tom?” It is Joe’s voice again.
“No, not yet.”
“Well, you know, we don’t do much of that down here; but it’s a mighty sociable place.” Then, as if the idea of sociability had suggested it, “Any bedbugs yet?”
Horrors!
“Bedbugs!” I gasp, then laugh at the suggestion. “I don’t see any bed; how can there be any bedbugs?”
“Well, I guess you’ll have plenty visiting you before the night’s over,” says Joe.
Number Two’s plaintive voice is heard again, “I’ve just killed two.”
Good Lord! it only needed this!
Immediately I begin to feel myself attacked by vermin from all directions. I know of no other instance where the power of suggestion can give so much discomfort. Once mention vermin, and all repose of mind is gone for me until I can reach a bathtub. Just at present, however, I should feel grateful if I could even wash my hands.
Stretched on the floor at the back of the cell I try to find a comfortable position, but without success. I toss and turn on the hard boards, and finally give a groan of discouragement.