Jennings: But how can you help it?
Porter: When I go from here I shall change my name, and no one shall know me.
Jennings: Men have tried that, many and many a time, but they never get away with it; the story leaks, and then it’s worse than ever—some scoundrel comes along and blackmails you, and you’re at his mercy. Face it out, Bill, live it down.
Porter: Never, never! A man might as well die in this place, and have the bumping of the wheelbarrow down that corridor for his requiem. I will not go through life with that brand upon my forehead.
Jennings: Well, Bill, our paths are different; I’m going to keep my own name and be what I am.
Porter: That’s the way for you, Colonel; you’re a great man, a celebrity; you’ve had your picture in the papers, you can go upon the stage, they’ll put you in that new device they’ve invented, the pictures that move, and that they throw upon a screen. You’re a historical figure—you’ll go down to the future with Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. But me—what am I? A drug-clerk, a newspaper scribbler, a bank-teller who didn’t find as much money in his drawer as he should have had. (a pause) Come over and see me, Colonel, when you can get off, and tell me stories for me to write up.
Jennings: I’ll tell you stories of this prison! (lowering his voice) For example, how I burned down the bolt-works!
Porter (startled): Oh, my God, man!
Jennings: It’s a fact.
Porter: Don’t say anything like that to me! I don’t want to know things like that! If it should leak, you might think I was to blame.