The plan determined upon with the Warden is that I shall be placed with the Idle Company for the first day or two--those poor fellows whom I have often seen in the prison yard during the past summer, taking their melancholy exercise by marching aimlessly up and down, and occasionally resting by sitting on their buckets; then along about the third day to go to one of the shops--which one to be determined later. But the Warden told me this afternoon that upon mentioning this plan to one of the officials he had protested. "I shouldn't like to have Mr. Osborne put with that Idle Company. They're the toughest bunch of fellows in the Prison." "That's just what he wants," was the Warden's reply. It is true, I do want to make acquaintance with the worst as well as the best; but I can't help feeling just a trifle uneasy at the prospect of close relations with the toughest bunch in the Prison; to say nothing of my query as to just how the toughest bunch in the Prison is going to meet me. What will they be like at close range? And, if they do not look with favor upon my action, in what way will their resentment be shown? These questions keep rising to the surface. At the same time, I begin to be aware of an ache in one of my teeth where a filling came out some time ago. Luckily I did not say on just what day my term would begin, although of course I've had to-morrow in mind right along. If my toothache gets worse, I can wait over another day and have it attended to. Perhaps, on the whole it would be best to wait over another day. On the other hand, I have an idea that the toothache is nothing but plain cowardice. As we sit down to dinner, I attempt to be jocular with my youngest. "Well, Golfer," I remark; "this is my last good meal. To-morrow your father goes to prison for a week!" "Hm!" responds the interesting youth, "it'll do you good." I recover myself with some difficulty. "Now what in thunder do you mean by that?" "Oh, you won't be so fat when you come out." I'm inclined to think he's right, but it is evident that I need expect no sentimental sympathy from my own family. Here I close my journal for to-night. I feel decidedly solemn. I wonder how I shall be feeling at this time to-morrow night. "To-morrow! Why, to-morrow I may be Myself with yesterday's sev'n thousand years." CHAPTER III MONDAY MORNING Cell 15, second tier, north, north wing, Auburn Prison. September 29. It is noon hour; somewhere about 12:45 I should think.