Full Text Archive

Full Text Archive
https://www.fulltextarchive.com
"You hain't got far to go now," the voice said, "and then I'll take that bag off," and Cowperwood
felt for some reason a sense of sympathy, perhaps--as though he would choke. The further
steps were not many.
A cell door was reached and unlocked by the inserting of a great iron key. It was swung open,
and the same big hand guided him through. A moment later the bag was pulled easily from his
head, and he saw that he was in a narrow, whitewashed cell, rather dim, windowless, but lighted
from the top by a small skylight of frosted glass three and one half feet long by four inches wide.
For a night light there was a tin-bodied lamp swinging from a hook near the middle of one of the
side walls. A rough iron cot, furnished with a straw mattress and two pairs of dark blue, probably
unwashed blankets, stood in one corner. There was a hydrant and small sink in another. A small
shelf occupied the wall opposite the bed. A plain wooden chair with a homely round back stood
at the foot of the bed, and a fairly serviceable broom was standing in one corner. There was an
iron stool or pot for excreta, giving, as he could see, into a large drain-pipe which ran along the
inside wall, and which was obviously flushed by buckets of water being poured into it. Rats and
other vermin infested this, and it gave off an unpleasant odor which filled the cell. The floor was
of stone. Cowperwood's clear-seeing eyes took it all in at a glance. He noted the hard cell door,
which was barred and cross-barred with great round rods of steel, and fastened with a thick,
highly polished lock. He saw also that beyond this was a heavy wooden door, which could shut
him in even more completely than the iron one. There was no chance for any clear, purifying
sunlight here. Cleanliness depended entirely on whitewash, soap and water and sweeping,
which in turn depended on the prisoners themselves.
He also took in Chapin, the homely, good-natured, cell overseer whom he now saw for the first
time--a large, heavy, lumbering man, rather dusty and misshapen-looking, whose uniform did
not fit him well, and whose manner of standing made him look as though he would much prefer
to sit down. He was obviously bulky, but not strong, and his kindly face was covered with a short
growth of grayish-brown whiskers. His hair was cut badly and stuck out in odd strings or wisps
from underneath his big cap. Nevertheless, Cowperwood was not at all unfavorably
impressed--quite the contrary--and he felt at once that this man might be more considerate of
him than the others had been. He hoped so, anyhow. He did not know that he was in the
presence of the overseer of the "manners squad," who would have him in charge for two weeks
only, instructing him in the rules of the prison, and that he was only one of twenty-six, all told,
who were in Chapin's care.
That worthy, by way of easy introduction, now went over to the bed and seated himself on it. He
pointed to the hard wooden chair, which Cowperwood drew out and sat on.
"Well, now you're here, hain't yuh?" he asked, and answered himself quite genially, for he was
an unlettered man, generously disposed, of long experience with criminals, and inclined to deal
kindly with kindly temperament and a form of religious belief--Quakerism--had inclined him to be
merciful, and yet his official duties, as Cowperwood later found out, seemed to have led him to
the conclusion that most criminals were innately bad. Like Kendall, he regarded them as
weaklings and ne'er-do-wells with evil streaks in them, and in the main he was not mistaken.
Yet he could not help being what he was, a fatherly, kindly old man, having faith in those
shibboleths of the weak and inexperienced mentally--human justice and human decency.
"Yes, I'm here, Mr. Chapin," Cowperwood replied, simply, remembering his name from the
attendant, and flattering the keeper by the use of it.
273 / 312

---