Folks will call this a destructive criticism, yet I do not mean it so. In place of the “homes” as at present conducted, I would place the discharged prisoners in private homes. Surely, there are people big enough, and with mind broad enough to give the man a chance? The associations would find little trouble in finding such homes. Of course I realize that there is a certain type of man to whom the “home” as at present conducted is the ideal thing. But for the majority I would suggest my private-family idea. The discharged prisoner makes an almost hopeless fight for regeneration unless he has a friend of the Big Brother type to fall back on in times of despondency and gloom. In the private family he would have the advice and counsel of a friend. In the environment, colored by love, he would get glimpses of the happiness to be derived from an honest life. All this would be as a spur to his endeavors, for the thing the prisoner needs most of all is simply friendship. It must be friendship that is active and optimistic, a friendship that is not discouraged by an occasional failure. If the ex-prisoner can get this on leaving prison, his chances for making good are increased a hundredfold. CHAPTER XXI REFORMATION The underworld weaves about its citizens a sort of magic spell. I little thought, determined as I was to lead a different life, that I would ever again listen to its call. But I underestimated its influence over me. I had been out some seven or eight weeks when in company with a “stir” (prison) acquaintance I took to the road again. A fast freight took us away from the city back again toward the shadows of the underworld. I stopped just short of its boundaries. We lay the following evening in the “jungles” (outside the city) waiting to continue our journey. The train was late in coming and to while away the time I took some letters from my pocket and began to read them. They were old letters, one from my friend the minister, and another from my pal in prison. They were letters such as an old and true friend would write to one in trouble. They were so proud of the fight I was making; they knew that I would succeed in my endeavor to make good. They were anxious for the time when I could once again hold up my head with the rest of them. I read the letters and then I re-read them. As I did so I realized the folly of the course that I was taking. The call of the road I found was not as inviting as I had supposed. The road itself lost its magic. The underworld ceased to beckon. I was sincerely unhappy. I saw the two lives from the right angle, and the life of the shadows was not for me. I determined to go back. To show them, my friends, that I was not unappreciative of their friendships, I resolved to make the fight at any cost and win out.