One of the gentlemen looked into the cell opposite Lemuel's. “There seems to be only one bunk. Do you ever put more into a cell?” “Well, hardly ever, if they're men. Lot o' women brought in 'most always ask to be locked up together for company.” “I don't see where they sleep,” said the visitor. “Do they lie on the floor?” The officer laughed. “Sleep? _They_ don't want to sleep. What they want to do is to set up all night, and talk it over.” Both of the visitors laughed. “Some of the cells,” resumed the officer, “have two bunks, but we hardly ever put more than one in a cell.” The visitors noticed that a section of the rail was removed in each door near the floor. “That's to put a dipper of water through, or anything,” explained the officer. “There!” he continued, showing them Lemuel's door; “see how the rails are bent there? You wouldn't think a man could squeeze through there, but we found a fellow half out o' that one night--backwards. Captain came down with a rattan and made it hot for him.” The visitors laughed, and Lemuel, in his cell, shuddered. “I never saw anything so astonishingly clean,” said one of the gentlemen. “And do you keep the gas burning here all night?” “Yes; calculate to give 'em plenty of light,” said the officer, with comfortable satisfaction in the visitor's complimentary tone. “And the sanitary arrangements seem to be perfect, doctor,” said the other visitor. “Oh, perfect.” “Yes,” said the officer, “we do the best we can for 'em.” The visitors made a murmur of approbation. Their steps moved away; Lemuel heard the guide saying, “Dunno what that fellow's in for. Find out in the captain's room.” “He didn't look like a very abandoned ruffian,” said one of the visitors, with both pity and amusement in his voice. VI. Lemuel stood and leaned his head against the wall of his cell. The tears that had come to his relief in the morning when he found that he was robbed would not come now. He was trembling with famine and weakness, but he could not lie down; it would be like accepting his fate, and every fibre of his body joined his soul in rebellion against that. The hunger gnawed him incessantly, mixed with an awful sickness. After a long time a policeman passed his door with another prisoner, a drunken woman, whom he locked into a cell at the end of the corridor. When he came back, Lemuel could endure it no longer. “Say!” he called huskily through his door. “Won't you give me a cup of that coffee upstairs? I haven't had anything but an apple to eat for nearly two days. I don't want you to _give_ me the coffee. You can take my clasp button----” The officer went by a few steps, then he came back, and peered in through the door at Lemuel's face. “Oh! that's you?” he said: he was the officer who had arrested Lemuel. “Yes. Please get me the coffee. I'm afraid I shall have a fit of sickness if I go much longer.”