Criminals -- Fiction; Social problems -- Fiction; United States -- Social conditions -- 1865-1918 -- Fiction
Archie could not understand this, nor had he then time to wonder about
it, for he was being turned into the prison, and there, he knew, his
companions were waiting to know the news. Most of them were in their
cells. Two of them, the English thief and Mosey--he could tell it was
Mosey by the striped sweater--were standing in the far end of the
corridor, but they did not even look. He caught a snatch of their
conversation.
"What was the rap, the dip?"
"No, penny weightin’."
They appeared to be talking indifferently and were no more curious--so
one would say--than they would have been if some dinge had been vagged.
And yet Archie knew that every motion, every word, every gesture of his
was important. He tried to walk just as he had always walked. They
waited till Archie was at his cell door, and then some one called in a
tone of suspense that could be withheld no longer:
"What’s the word, Archie?"
"Touched off," he called, loud enough for them all to hear. He spoke
the words carelessly, almost casually, with great nonchalance. There
was silence, sinister and profound. Then gradually the conversation was
resumed between cell and cell; they were all calling out to him, all
straining to be cheerful and encouraging.
"That mouthpiece of yours ’ll spring you yet," some one said, "down
below."
Archie listened to their attempts to cheer him, all pathetic enough,
until presently the English thief passed his door, and said in a low
voice:
"Be gime, me boy."
That was it! Be game! From this on, that must be his ideal of conduct.
He knew how they would inquire, how some day Mason and old Dillon, how
Gibbs and all the guns and yeggs would ask about this, how the old gang
would ask about it--he must be game. He had made, he thought, a fair
beginning.
Danner brought the breakfast himself, and good as his word he had got
the cook to put some cream and sugar in his coffee. Not only this, but
the cook had boiled him two eggs--and he hadn’t eaten eggs in months.
The last time, he recalled, was when Curly had boiled some in a can--had
Curly, over in another part of the prison, been told?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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