what he wants," was the Warden's reply.

It is true, I do want to make acquaintance with the worst as well as the
best; but I can't help feeling just a trifle uneasy at the prospect of
close relations with the toughest bunch in the Prison; to say nothing of
my query as to just how the toughest bunch in the Prison is going to meet
me. What will they be like at close range? And, if they do not look with
favor upon my action, in what way will their resentment be shown? These
questions keep rising to the surface. At the same time, I begin to be
aware of an ache in one of my teeth where a filling came out some time
ago. Luckily I did not say on just what day my term would begin, although
of course I've had to-morrow in mind right along. If my toothache gets
worse, I can wait over another day and have it attended to. Perhaps, on
the whole it would be best to wait over another day. On the other hand, I
have an idea that the toothache is nothing but plain cowardice.

As we sit down to dinner, I attempt to be jocular with my youngest. "Well,
Golfer," I remark; "this is my last good meal. To-morrow your father goes
to prison for a week!"

"Hm!" responds the interesting youth, "it'll do you good."

I recover myself with some difficulty. "Now what in thunder do you mean by
that?"

"Oh, you won't be so fat when you come out."

I'm inclined to think he's right, but it is evident that I need expect no
sentimental sympathy from my own family.

Here I close my journal for to-night. I feel decidedly solemn. I wonder
how I shall be feeling at this time to-morrow night.

"To-morrow! Why, to-morrow I may be
Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years."

CHAPTER III

MONDAY MORNING

Cell 15, second tier, north, north wing, Auburn Prison. September 29.
It is noon hour; somewhere about 12:45 I should think.

I am a prisoner, locked, double locked. By no human possibility, by
no act of my own, can I throw open the iron grating which shuts me
from the world into this small stone vault. I am a voluntary
prisoner, it is true; nevertheless even a voluntary prisoner can't
unlock the door of his cell--that must be done by someone from
outside. I am perfectly conscious of a horrible feeling of
constraint--of confinement. It recalls an agonized moment of my
childhood when I accidentally locked myself into a closet.

My cell is exactly four feet wide by seven and a half