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The old man walked away, and Cowperwood heard his steps dying down the cement-paved
hall. He stood and listened, his ears being greeted occasionally by a distant cough, a faint
scraping of some one's feet, the hum or whir of a machine, or the iron scratch of a key in a lock.
None of the noises was loud. Rather they were all faint and far away. He went over and looked
at the bed, which was not very clean and without linen, and anything but wide or soft, and felt it
curiously. So here was where he was to sleep from now on--he who so craved and appreciated
luxury and refinement. If Aileen or some of his rich friends should see him here. Worse, he was
sickened by the thought of possible vermin. How could he tell? How would he do? The one
chair was abominable. The skylight was weak. He tried to think of himself as becoming
accustomed to the situation, but he re-discovered the offal pot in one corner, and that
discouraged him. It was possible that rats might come up here--it looked that way. No pictures,
no books, no scene, no person, no space to walk--just the four bare walls and silence, which he
would be shut into at night by the thick door. What a horrible fate!
He sat down and contemplated his situation. So here he was at last in the Eastern Penitentiary,
and doomed, according to the judgment of the politicians (Butler among others), to remain here
four long years and longer. Stener, it suddenly occurred to him, was probably being put through
the same process he had just gone through. Poor old Stener! What a fool he had made of
himself. But because of his foolishness he deserved all he was now getting. But the difference
between himself and Stener was that they would let Stener out. It was possible that already they
were easing his punishment in some way that he, Cowperwood, did not know. He put his hand
to his chin, thinking--his business, his house, his friends, his family, Aileen. He felt for his watch,
but remembered that they had taken that. There was no way of telling the time. Neither had he
any notebook, pen, or pencil with which to amuse or interest himself. Besides he had had
nothing to eat since morning. Still, that mattered little. What did matter was that he was shut up
here away from the world, quite alone, quite lonely, without knowing what time it was, and that
he could not attend to any of the things he ought to be attending to--his business affairs, his
future. True, Steger would probably come to see him after a while. That would help a little. But
even so--think of his position, his prospects up to the day of the fire and his state now. He sat
looking at his shoes; his suit. God! He got up and walked to and fro, to and fro, but his own
steps and movements sounded so loud. He walked to the cell door and looked out through the
thick bars, but there was nothing to see--nothing save a portion of two cell doors opposite,
something like his own. He came back and sat in his single chair, meditating, but, getting weary
of that finally, stretched himself on the dirty prison bed to try it. It was not uncomfortable entirely.
He got up after a while, however, and sat, then walked, then sat. What a narrow place to walk,
he thought. This was horrible--something like a living tomb. And to think he should be here now,
day after day and day after day, until--until what?
Until the Governor pardoned him or his time was up, or his fortune eaten away--or--
So he cogitated while the hours slipped by. It was nearly five o'clock before Steger was able to
return, and then only for a little while. He had been arranging for Cowperwood's appearance on
the following Thursday, Friday, and Monday in his several court proceedings. When he was
gone, however, and the night fell and Cowperwood had to trim his little, shabby oil-lamp and to
drink the strong tea and eat the rough, poor bread made of bran and white flour, which was
shoved to him through the small aperture in the door by the trencher trusty, who was
accompanied by the overseer to see that it was done properly, he really felt very badly. And
after that the center wooden door of his cell was presently closed and locked by a trusty who
slammed it rudely and said no word. Nine o'clock would be sounded somewhere by a great bell,
he understood, when his smoky oil-lamp would have to be put out promptly and he would have
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