The little yellow door led into a room of which the chief piece of furniture was a chair vaguely suggestive of an armchair in a smoking room, though with some singular attachments. Around it in a semicircle were some eight or ten other chairs similar to those in the corridor. In one corner was a walled-off space that might have housed a dynamo; in the other a stack of brooms and mops. As a passageway gave access to this room, and the yellow door was carefully kept closed, Bob was not required to see within. Of the seven little rooms four were empty, and three had occupants. At one end was a negro; at the other an Italian; Teddy was in the center. Outside, there was a guard for the Italian, another for the negro, while for Teddy there were two. They were big, husky fellows, three Irishmen and a Swede, genial, good-natured souls to whom their duties had become a matter of course. There was something of the matter of course in the whole situation, even to Teddy and Bob. The human mind being ready to accept anything to which it is led by steps sufficiently graded, both young men were attuned to finding themselves as they were. As they were meant that Teddy clung to one of the bars from within, and Bob to the same bar from without. They talked through the open spaces, being able to do it quietly because they were so close. "You don’t think I’m afraid, do you, Bob? I should have been afraid if it hadn’t been for you. You’ve bucked me up something—well, there are no words for it." "Let it go without words, Teddy. Don’t try to say it." "I like to say it," he grinned. "Or, rather, I’d like to say it if I could. I like trying to say it, even when I can’t." That was all for the time; but after some minutes, Teddy’s hand stole over Bob’s big paw as it held to the bar, so that they held to it together. It was Bob who broke the silence next. "I didn’t tell you, Teddy—I’ve only just found it out—that dad’s been taking care of Mrs. Flynn and her kiddies and means to go on doing it." "That’s good," the boy sighed. "It takes about the last thing off my mind." So they talked spasmodically, never saying much, and yet saying all the things for which language has no words. At intervals the Italian showed his sympathy by groaning heavily, which was generally a signal for the negro to begin singing, in a cottony voice, the first verse of "Safe in the Arms of Jesus." Teddy apologized for them as a host for unseemly members of his household. "They’re good guys, all right. That’s just their way of letting me know they feel for me. It’s funny how kind hearted some mutt will be who’s committed a cold-blooded murder." He had probably been following this train of thought for some minutes when he said, in a reasoning tone: