"'Oly Moses!" ejaculated the valet. He regarded his former master with renewed interest. But the dinner had wrought a change in that hitherto subdued individual. With a valet and running water he was beginning to feel his oats a little. He checked off mentally the names of his acquaintances. There was not one left in town. He repressed a yawn, and looked at his watch. One o'clock. Just then the gong rang again. "What in thunder is this, now?" "Afternoon service, sir. City Mission from one to two-thirty." "Ye gods!" ejaculated McAllister. A band of young girls came and stood with their hymn-books along the opposite tier, while a Presbyterian clergyman took the place on the bridge recently vacated by his Episcopal brother. Prayers alternated with hymns until the sermon, which lasted sixty-five minutes. McAllister, almost desperate, fretted and fumed until half past two, when the choir and missionary finally departed. "Only a 'arf 'our, sir, an' we can get some more hexercise," said Wilkins encouragingly. But McAllister did not want exercise. He swung to his feet, and peering disconsolately through the bars was suddenly confronted by an anæmic young woman holding an armful of flowers. Before he could efface himself she smiled sweetly at him. "My poor man," she began confidently, "how sorry I am for you this beautiful Christmas _Day_! Please take some of these; they will brighten up your cell wonderfully; and they are so fragrant." She pushed a dozen carnations and asters through the bars. McAllister, utterly dumfounded, took them. "What is your name?" continued the maiden. "Welch!" blurted out our bewildered friend. There was a stifled snort from the bunk behind. "Good-by, Welch. I know you are not _really_ bad. Won't you shake hands with me?" She thrust her hand through the bars, and McAllister gave it a perfunctory shake. "Good-by," she murmured, and passed on. "Lawd!" exploded Wilkins, rolling from side to side upon his cot. "O Lawd! O Lawd! O--" and he held his sides while McAllister stuck the carnations into the wash-basin. The gong again, and once more that endless tramp along the hot tiers. The prison grew darker. Gas-jets were lighted here and there, and the air became more and more oppressive. With five o'clock came supper; then the long, weary night. Next morning the valet seemed nervous and excited, eating little breakfast, and smiling from time to time vaguely to himself. Having fumbled in his pocket, he at last pulled out a dirty pawn-ticket, which he held toward his master. "'Ere, sir," he said with averted head. "It's for the pin. I'm sorry I took it." McAllister's eyes were a little blurred as he mechanically received the card-board. "Shake hands, Wilkins," was all he said. A keeper came walking along the tier rattling the doors and telling those who were wanted in court to get ready.