raying his soul out that he'll hit on the shortest
one. Good Lord! I'm glad I'm not a judge.

WENTWORTH (drily). Yes; that isn't quite the way the Law works.

GERALD. Oh, I'm not blaming the Law. (Smiling) Stick to it, Wentworth,
by all means. But I should make a bad judge. I should believe everything
the prisoner said, and just tell him not to do it again.

[BOB comes in awkwardly and stops at the door.]

WENTWORTH (getting up). Come along, Bob. (Taking out his case) Have a
cigarette.

BOB (gruffly). No, thanks. (He takes out his pipe.)

GERALD (brightly but awkwardly). Hullo, Bob, old boy.

BOB. Where's Pamela? She said she'd be here. (He sits down in the large
armchair.)

GERALD. If she said she'd be here, she will be here.

BOB (with a grunt). 'M! (There is an awkward silence.)

BOB (angrily to GERALD). Why don't you say something? You came here to
say good-bye to me, I suppose--why don't you say it?

WENTWORTH. Steady, Bob.

GERALD (eagerly). Look here, Bob, old son, you mustn't take it too
hardly. Wentworth thinks it will only be three months--don't you,
Wentworth? You know, we none of us think any the worse of you for it.

BOB. Thanks. That will console me a lot in prison.

GERALD. Oh, Bob, don't be an old fool. You know what I mean. You have
done nothing to be ashamed of, so what's the good of brooding in prison,
and grousing about your bad luck, and all that sort of thing? If you had
three months in bed with a broken leg, you'd try and get some sort of
satisfaction out of it--well, so you can now if you try.

WENTWORTH (after waiting for BOB to say something). There's a good deal
in that, Bob, you know. Prison is largely what you make it.

BOB. What do either of you know about it?

GERALD. Everything. The man with imagination knows the best and the
worst of everything.

BOB (fiercely). Imagination? You think _I_ haven't imagined it?

GERALD. Wentworth's right. You can make what you like of it. You can be
miserable anywhere, if you let yourself be. You can be happy anywhere,
if you try to be.

WENTWORTH (to lead him on). I can't quite see myself being actually
happy in prison, Gerald.

GERALD. I could, Wentworth, I swear I could.

BOB. He'd get popular with the warders; he'd love that.

GERALD (smiling). Silly old ass! But there are lots of things one can do
in prison, only no one ever seems to think of them. (He gets interested
and begins to walk up and down the room.) Now take this