distance with the pail
of hot water which he has just secured. Waving my hand to him and stepping
off in front of the officer, I make my way out of the shop in the face of
its surprised inmates.

In this order we traverse the yard; and again, as on the day of my advent,
I feel strangely conscious of many sharp eyes looking out from the various
buildings. It is about half past three o'clock.

Just at the end of the south wing is a low building faced with stone, upon
the ground floor of which is the jail office. The keeper who has me in
charge guides me in and orders me to sit down. I do so. He then exchanges
a few words with Captain Martin, who presides at the desk; hands him a
yellow slip of paper and disappears up the yard toward the main building.

As I have said before, the one necessary virtue of prison life seems to be
patience. I sit, and sit; and my sitting continues, as Mark Twain says
about the circular staircase at Niagara Falls, "long after it has ceased
to be a novelty and terminates long before it begins to be a pleasure."

In the meantime, the members of the coal gang, returning from work to
their cells in the south wing, pass by the door and, looking in, see me
awaiting my doom. There is deep surprise on the faces of most of them. The
young negro who offered me his mittens, the day we moved the coal
cars--Tuesday morning, I think it was, but it seems a long time ago--gives
me a cheering nod as he begins to climb the stairs. Then Captain Martin,
noticing the attention I am attracting, shuts the door. But it is too
late. Undoubtedly the wireless has flashed the message, "Tom Brown's
pinched," into every nook and corner of the prison by this time.

At last the P. K. makes his appearance. He takes his seat with an
assumption of great dignity in an arm chair; and I rise and stand silently
before him. He examines at leisure the yellow slip of paper which Captain
Martin has handed to him, and clears his throat. "Thomas Brown," he
begins, "you are reported for refusing to work"; and he looks up
interrogatively.

"Yes, sir."

"What have you to say for yourself?"

"Well, sir, the rattan has been so stiff and rotten that we couldn't do
good work, sir; and you can see for yourself that my fingers are getting
swollen and blistered."

"You should have made a complaint to the Captain."

"So we did, sir; but it didn't make any difference. So I just told him
that I wouldn't work any more."

There is a moment