"What is the use," I say to all of them, "of letting your tempers get the better of you when it hurts nobody but yourselves?" My preaching is directed rather toward a cultivation of self-interest than of lofty idealism, but I believe it hits the mark. They none of them admit the justice of their jail sentences, and on that point I can not argue with them. I acknowledge the injustice, but ask them to face the facts. So one and all admit they have been wrong and express themselves ready to make all amends for the present and try their best for the future. And so, in a much pleasanter frame of mind than when I last left this place, I retrace my steps to the Warden's rooms. Returning through the back office I shake hands all around--with both officers and prisoners--all but one man. A slight, pale figure in glasses is bending over his desk in a corner of the office. He is one of the Warden's stenographers. Last July I had an extended conversation with him, at the Warden's suggestion, and a more hopeless and discouraging proposition I never struck. He is an old-timer, knows all the ropes, has been through the game, and has settled down to hopeless cynicism. He seems to have no belief in himself or others, and I have no doubt is utterly uninterested in my whole experience, and will be one of the greatest stumbling blocks to any attempted reforms. He will condemn them at the outset, discouraging others who are willing to try. This, at least, is the impression I had of him last July when the Warden persuaded me to talk with him. Now, as he bends over his desk with his eyes on his work I pass him by; for he evidently has no interest in me and I can not see where I can be of any service to him. There remains now but one more thing to do--bid farewell to my partner, my dear and loyal friend, Jack Murphy. He has been sent for; and, as I reenter the Warden's office, he stands looking out of the window. "Jack, old fellow, I couldn't leave here without saying good-bye to you." He turns, and the tears are running down his cheeks. As for myself I have long since got beyond that stage. "Oh, Mr. Osborne----" he begins, but I stop him. "Cut it out, partner, cut it out! You mustn't meddle with my last name. It has been Tom and Jack now since Wednesday, and Tom and Jack it must continue to be. I am still your partner, and clothes are not going to make any difference with you and me." "Oh, Tom!" says the poor fellow. "What am I going to do now?" For the first time I fully realize how deep this experience has cut into the hearts of these men. I thought I already understood it, but Jack reveals a new depth.