wed there in my presence.

"Well, I shall appreciate it if I can have a clean suit," I said. "There's
no reason, I suppose, why I should not accept that exception."

So it is arranged. The Warden's visit comes to an end, and another day of
my voluntary exile from society is closed.

Now for another long and restless night.

I shall not mind so much the periods of wakefulness to-night. Jack
Murphy's Good Conduct League will give me plenty of food for thought. I
believe he has struck the path for which I have been groping.

CHAPTER XI

FRIDAY

In my cell, Friday evening, October 3.

This morning breaks gray and cloudy again. I wake early and hear the night
officer, some time before six o'clock, come and wake my neighbor in the
next cell. He and I tap each other "Good night" regularly now; and this
morning I send through the stone wall a greeting for the day. He returns
my message; and when the keeper comes again at six o'clock, this time to
open his cell, he waits, apparently, until that officer's back is turned
and then, putting his head only just so far past the opening of my cell
that his voice can reach me, utters a hoarse and hasty "Good morning" and
vanishes. This puts me in thorough good humor, and as I hear the factory
bells and whistles greet the new morn I turn over to take just one final
nap before beginning my own preparations for the day's work, wondering
what new turn my adventure will take before night again falls.

Is it imagination, or is there more friendliness than usual in the nods
and smiles which greet me from the faces upturned in the corridor below,
as I traverse the gallery with my heavy bucket? It was extensively
questioned among the convicts, in advance of my coming, whether I would do
this particular part of the prison duty. As one of them told me, it was
thought I would find some way to escape it; and the fact that I did not
try to escape it, but assumed it cheerfully and as a matter of course, has
much impressed them. As Joe put it to me three days ago, it was proof that
I "meant business," and took the thing seriously, meaning to do exactly
what I said--live the actual life of a convict up to the possible limit.

Bucket duty performed and while I wait in my cell for the breakfast hour,
Dickinson comes running to my door. The good fellow has heard from the
Chaplain that his job is ready for him and he can go out to-morrow. "And I
can never be grateful enough to you, sir," he