After a time, announcing my intention of going to sleep, I stretch out full length on the hard floor--and it certainly is hard. However, it will not be the first time I've spent a night on the bare boards; although I've never done so in a suicide's cell, with the death chamber close at hand. I don't wonder men go crazy in these cells; that dynamo, with its single insistent note, slowly but surely boring its way into one's brain, is enough to send anyone out of his mind, even if there were no other cause. This is the place where I had expected to meet the violent and dangerous criminals; but what do I find? A genial young Irishman, as pleasant company as I have ever encountered, and a sweet-voiced boy singing "Carmen." Is this Prison System anything but organized lunacy? I fail to see where ordinary common sense or a single lesson of human experience has been utilized in its development. "Are you asleep yet, Tom?" It is Joe's voice again. "No, not yet." "Well, you know, we don't do much of that down here; but it's a mighty sociable place." Then, as if the idea of sociability had suggested it, "Any bedbugs yet?" Horrors! "Bedbugs!" I gasp, then laugh at the suggestion. "I don't see any bed; how can there be any bedbugs?" "Well, I guess you'll have plenty visiting you before the night's over," says Joe. Number Two's plaintive voice is heard again, "I've just killed two." Good Lord! it only needed this! Immediately I begin to feel myself attacked by vermin from all directions. I know of no other instance where the power of suggestion can give so much discomfort. Once mention vermin, and all repose of mind is gone for me until I can reach a bathtub. Just at present, however, I should feel grateful if I could even wash my hands. Stretched on the floor at the back of the cell I try to find a comfortable position, but without success. I toss and turn on the hard boards, and finally give a groan of discouragement. "What's the matter, Tom?" Number Four is alert as usual. "Oh, nothing, only I can't find a soft spot in this confounded place. It wouldn't be so bad if I had a pillow." "Guess you don't know how to sleep on the floor," says Joe, and he proceeds to give useful instructions as to the best means of arriving at a minimum of discomfort. Following Joe's advice, I remove my felt shoes, and with my shirt rolled up on top of them have a very fair pillow. My coat must be taken off and thrown over the body as a coverlet, for one gets more warmth and comfort in this way than when it is worn. As I make these changes I also shift my place in the cell, moving over toward the door; for just as Joe is giving me his suggestions, a suspicious crawling on my neck gives the chance to remove a large-sized bedbug which, in spite of the special cleaning the cell had undergone just before my arrival, has found its way in.