scouraging others who are willing to try. This, at least, is the
impression I had of him last July when the Warden persuaded me to talk
with him. Now, as he bends over his desk with his eyes on his work I pass
him by; for he evidently has no interest in me and I can not see where I
can be of any service to him.

There remains now but one more thing to do--bid farewell to my partner, my
dear and loyal friend, Jack Murphy. He has been sent for; and, as I
reenter the Warden's office, he stands looking out of the window.

"Jack, old fellow, I couldn't leave here without saying good-bye to you."

He turns, and the tears are running down his cheeks. As for myself I have
long since got beyond that stage. "Oh, Mr. Osborne----" he begins, but I
stop him.

"Cut it out, partner, cut it out! You mustn't meddle with my last name. It
has been Tom and Jack now since Wednesday, and Tom and Jack it must
continue to be. I am still your partner, and clothes are not going to make
any difference with you and me."

"Oh, Tom!" says the poor fellow. "What am I going to do now?"

For the first time I fully realize how deep this experience has cut into
the hearts of these men. I thought I already understood it, but Jack
reveals a new depth.

"What are you going to do?" I ask in answer. "You are going right ahead
making baskets down in the old shop. But you are also going to help out
our Commission. While I am working outside, you will be working inside.
And together, Jack, we are going to assist in giving things a good shaking
up. You've got the hardest part of the work to do, but I shall keep in
close touch with you, and we will often consult together. And sometime,
Jack, some day in the future when the right time has come, you can count
upon me to go to the Governor for you."

At this suggestion of a pardon, I expect to get from Jack a quick word of
gratitude, some sort of indication that he is conscious of having attained
his first step toward freedom, the interest of a friend who may be able to
secure fair consideration, at least, of an application for pardon.

To my surprise he turns to me almost roughly. "Put that right out of your
mind, Tom," he says. "Don't you bother your head about that, one single
minute. I am ready to stay behind these walls all my life if I can help
you and the Commission bring about some of these reforms you have in mind.
That's all I want!"

I try to answer, but there is nothing to say. What can one do e