When Hank went up to this door someone inside pushed back a little slide, showed his face at the peep-hole, and asked him who he was and what he wanted. Hank shoved the alderman’s letter through the little window and the door opened without delay. This was not the first time that the gloomy gate had turned on its hinges under the magic of that name, both for coming in and going out. Inside the little office was the same motley, helpless crowd of people, the same sad-faced women and weary children standing dazed and dejected with their poor baskets and bundles in their arms. Some were waiting to be taken through this barred door, while others had just returned and were stopping until the turnkey should open the outside gate and let them go. In a few minutes a guard came to Hank and asked if he was the man who brought the alderman’s note. On receiving the reply, the guard told him that the alderman was all right and it was worth while to be his friend. That was the way he got his job and he always stuck by his friends. Then the guard unlocked another door and took Hank to the elevator where he was carried to the fourth story. Here he was let off on an iron floor directly in front of a great door made of iron bars. The turnkey quickly unlocked and opened this door and let Hank and the guard into what seemed a long hall with iron floor, ceiling and walls. Nothing but iron all around. Along one side of the hall were more iron bars, and a wire netting ran from the ceiling to the floor. Along the whole length of this wire netting was a row of the same kind of people Hank had seen below. They were packed close to the grating, and crowding and pushing to get up to the screening. Most of these were women, here and there one of them holding a little child by the hand and one with a baby in her arms. On the other side Hank saw a row of men pressing just as closely to the netting, most of these looking pale and ill. The evening was hot and not a breath of fresh air was anywhere about. The peculiar odor of the prison, more sickening that the stock yards stench which Hank always, breathed, was so strong that he could not tell whether he smelled it or tasted it. The guards were rushing noisily around among the visitors and inmates, passing bundles and baskets out and in, calling the names of the prisoners to be taken from their cells inside and brought down to the wire netting to get a glimpse of some relative or friend. Hank was bewildered by it all and for a few minutes stood almost dazed, wondering what it meant and what good purpose it all served.