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"Look out you don't get locked up yourself sometime, you little runt," the man had replied,
savagely, only half recovered from his debauch of the day before.
He had not thought of this particular scene in years, but now suddenly it came back to him.
Here he was on his way to be locked up in this dull, somber prison, and it was snowing, and he
was being cut out of human affairs as much as it was possible for him to be cut out.
No friends were permitted to accompany him beyond the outer gate-- not even Steger for the
time being, though he might visit him later in the day. This was an inviolable rule. Zanders being
known to the gate-keeper, and bearing his commitment paper, was admitted at once. The
others turned solemnly away. They bade a gloomy if affectionate farewell to Cowperwood, who,
on his part, attempted to give it all an air of inconsequence--as, in part and even here, it had for
him.
"Well, good-by for the present," he said, shaking hands. "I'll be all right and I'll get out soon.
Wait and see. Tell Lillian not to worry."
He stepped inside, and the gate clanked solemnly behind him. Zanders led the way through a
dark, somber hall, wide and high-ceiled, to a farther gate, where a second gateman, trifling with
a large key, unlocked a barred door at his bidding. Once inside the prison yard, Zanders turned
to the left into a small office, presenting his prisoner before a small, chest-high desk, where
stood a prison officer in uniform of blue. The latter, the receiving overseer of the prison--a thin,
practical, executive-looking person with narrow gray eyes and light hair, took the paper which
the sheriff's deputy handed him and read it. This was his authority for receiving Cowperwood. In
his turn he handed Zanders a slip, showing that he had so received the prisoner; and then
Zanders left, receiving gratefully the tip which Cowperwood pressed in his hand.
"Well, good-by, Mr. Cowperwood," he said, with a peculiar twist of his detective-like head. "I'm
sorry. I hope you won't find it so bad here."
He wanted to impress the receiving overseer with his familiarity with this distinguished prisoner,
and Cowperwood, true to his policy of make-believe, shook hands with him cordially.
"I'm much obliged to you for your courtesy, Mr. Zanders," he said, then turned to his new master
with the air of a man who is determined to make a good impression. He was now in the hands of
petty officials, he knew, who could modify or increase his comfort at will. He wanted to impress
this man with his utter willingness to comply and obey--his sense of respect for his
authority--without in any way demeaning himself. He was depressed but efficient, even here in
the clutch of that eventual machine of the law, the State penitentiary, which he had been
struggling so hard to evade.
The receiving overseer, Roger Kendall, though thin and clerical, was a rather capable man, as
prison officials go--shrewd, not particularly well educated, not over-intelligent naturally, not over-
industrious, but sufficiently energetic to hold his position. He knew something about
convicts--considerable--for he had been dealing with them for nearly twenty-six years. His
attitude toward them was cold, cynical, critical.
He did not permit any of them to come into personal contact with him, but he saw to it that
underlings in his presence carried out the requirements of the law.
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