Jennings (deeply moved): Bill, you can’t imagine what I’ve been through in this place, it’s been a blazing hell. They’ve starved me for months on end. We outdoor men, we fade away and shrivel in a place like this. Look at me, Bill—what would I do on a horse? When I first came in, and learned that you were here, and you never came to see me, my heart died. Three weeks passed, and you didn’t come; I thought, Well, he’s got a safe berth in the hospital, he’s not going to risk it. Then, you were giving out the Sunday quinine, and you slipped me a word under the guard’s nose—then I thought it over, and realized the truth: Bill had always been so dignified, so reserved—he couldn’t bear to have a friend see him in prison garb!
Porter: Colonel, I have buried the corpse of my grief; let us not dig it up.
Jennings: All right; but let me say this: What you’re here for I’ve never asked, but I’ve a suspicion they framed you.
Porter: Colonel, you have seen my incompetence when it comes to matters of money, whether to gain it or to keep it. It is safe to say that such a man would not be wisely placed in a bank.
Jennings: Somebody put it over on you! And now they’ve put the brand upon you, they’ve made you a convict!
Porter (with excitement): Don’t say it!
Jennings: But it’s true.
Porter: It is not true! I am not a convict!
Jennings: What do you mean, Bill?
Porter: I refuse to wear the brand!