ath.

As we seated ourselves in a row on one of the benches, I imagine that
our aspect was anything but cheerful. Adams and Harris looked very
anxious, and Harry Blake, whose nose had just stopped bleeding, was
mournfully carving his name, by sheer force of habit, on the prison
bench. I don't think I ever saw a more "wrecked" expression on any
human countenance than Pepper Whitcomb's presented. His look of natural
astonishment at finding himself incarcerated in a jail was considerably
heightened by his lack of eyebrows.

As for me, it was only by thinking how the late Baron Trenck would
have conducted himself under similar circumstances that I was able to
restrain my tears.

None of us were inclined to conversation. A deep silence, broken now
and then by a startling snore from the cells, reigned throughout the
chamber. By and by Pepper Whitcomb glanced nervously towards Phil Adams
and said, "Phil, do you think they will--hang us?"

"Hang your grandmother!" returned Adams, impatiently. "What I'm afraid
of is that they'll keep us locked up until the Fourth is over."

"You ain't smart ef they do!" cried a voice from one of the cells. It
was a deep bass voice that sent a chill through me.

"Who are you?" said Jack Harris, addressing the cells in general; for
the echoing qualities of the room made it difficult to locate the voice.

"That don't matter," replied the speaker, putting his face close up to
the gratings of No. 3, "but ef I was a youngster like you, free an' easy
outside there, this spot wouldn't hold me long."

"That's so!" chimed several of the prison-birds, wagging their heads
behind the iron lattices.

"Hush!" whispered Jack Harris, rising from his seat and walking on
tip-toe to the door of cell No. 3. "What would you do?"

"Do? Why, I'd pile them 'ere benches up agin that 'ere door, an' crawl
out of that 'erc winder in no time. That's my adwice."

"And werry good adwice it is, Jim," said the occupant of No. 5,
approvingly.

Jack Harris seemed to be of the same opinion, for he hastily placed the
benches one on the top of another under the ventilator, and, climbing up
on the highest bench, peeped out into the passage-way.

"If any gent happens to have a ninepence about him," said the man in
cell No. 3, "there's a sufferin' family here as could make use of it.
Smallest favors gratefully received, an' no questions axed."

This appeal touched a new silver quarter of a dollar in my
trousers-pocket;