Sunday evening came. I had heard frequently of a certain clergyman since coming to Seattle, and believing a change of thought and scene would rest my tired heart and brain, I climbed the hill. I passed one Romanist Church on the very crown of the hill so large and elaborate that I fancied it must have cost a million. At last I reached the object of my search. This church, too, looked down on Seattle's best and worst. I entered. It was a large church. I think perhaps three thousand people were in attendance. The minister, in surplice, was giving out his notices. One was that the Prison Association wanted more clothing. (I afterward read that this same minister recommended more and harsher discipline in our jails, especially commending the whipping-post.) As the service continued, however, I found that I could not intelligently receive a word. Between the sentences I could plainly hear: "They are trying to make him tell something they think he knows!" CHAPTER XVIII SPOKANE "_Justifiæ partes sunt non violare homines; verecundiæ non offendere._"--CICERO. "_Justice consists in doing no injury to men,--decency in giving them no offence._" "He passed the prison. At the door hung an iron chain attached to a bell. He rang. The door opened. 'Turnkey,' he said, politely removing his cap, 'will you have the kindness to admit me and give me lodging for the night?' A voice replied, 'The prison is not an inn. Get yourself arrested and you will be admitted.'" These words were spoken to Jean Val Jean at the prison door in the village of D---- in France, in 1815. All who have read the Victor Hugo masterpiece know the wonderful story. In April, 1910, nearly one hundred years afterward, in the city of Spokane, I stepped up to a police officer whom I met on the streets and asked where I could get a free bed, having no money, nor friends, nor home in the city. He answered, "You can't find anything like a free bed in this town." Then I asked if I could sleep in the city jail. He replied, "No, you cannot. We have received instructions to send no one to the jail." Then he added, "Get yourself run in and you can lodge there." Here was a condition of things I had met with nowhere else. Even the shelter of the prison was denied a penniless wayfarer. Nothing daunted, I resolved to try to the fullest what Spokane might offer one like me. I was told that one of the missions had a lodging house. They perhaps would take me in for charity. I determined to try. I met a man on the street and asked him where it was. He said he believed they once had such an institution. He thought it was closed, but he was uncertain. "Ask a cop," he said. "You will find one on the next block." I went as directed and soon saw an officer of the Spokane police force. Stepping up to him, I asked for the mission lodging house. Instead of replying, he said, "What do you want to know for?"