His grim guardian chose to consider this query as extremely facetious. His leathern face wrinkled to cavernous gashes, indicative of mirth of a rather appalling sort; he emitted a low rumble that might be construed, in a liberal translation, as laughter; his words took on a more Scottish twist. “You might try it on Borrowman,” he said. “Man, you’ve a taking way with you! ’Tis fair against my advice and sober judgment that ye are here at all--but I am begeening to feel your fasceenations! Now that ye’re here I e’en have the hope that ye will be weel advisit. I own it, I would be but loath to feed so gay and so plain-dealing a man to the feeshes!” These two had many such skirmishes as the days went by: slow, dragging days, perpetually lamp-lit, their passage measured only by the irregularly-changing guards and the regular bringing in of the daily papers. Jeff timed his sleeping hours to come on Borrowman’s trick; finding that jailer dull, ferocious and unendurable. His plan was long since perfected, and now he awaited but the opportunity of putting it into execution. The Judge had called--as a medical adviser, he said--pronounced Jeff’s progress all that could be desired, and touched upon their affair with argument, cajolery and airy badinage. Jeff had asked permission to write to his wife, to send some message, which the Judge might dictate; any sort of a story, he implored, to keep her from alarm and anxiety; which petition the Judge put merrily by, smiling at the absurdity of such request. In his waking hours Jeff read the papers. Tillotson was mending, his trial would be soon. He read his books, sometimes aloud; he chaffed his jailer; he practised on the typewriter, but never, in his practice, wrote off any appeal for aid to good men and true, or even the faintest suggestion that a quick move by the enemy would jeopardize any possible number of gunboats. Instead, Jeff undertook to produce another “speed sentence.” He called Mac to his assistance, explaining his wants; and between them, with great glee, they concocted the following gem: _He kept vexing me with frantic journeys hidden by quiet zeal._ They showed this effusion to the Judge with much pride, defying him to better it. Jeff pounded it off by the hour; he mingled fragments of it with his remarks in season and out. There were long visits from the Judge. In his own despite Jeff grew to enjoy them and to look forward to them--so strange a thing is man! The Judge was witty, cynical, informed, polished, keen, satirical. At times Jeff almost forgot what thing he was besides. Their talk ranged on many things, always in the end coming back to the same smiling query, the same unfaltering reply. Once, Patterson came with him--a younger man, with a brutal and bloated face--and urged the closing of the incident in clear and unmistakable terms.