He then enters upon a long rigmarole, the gist of which is how necessary it is for a man to do his duty; with which novel sentiment I express my entire agreement. Then he adds that he has always been careful to do his own duty; upon which I make the startling comment that it is in the long run the best course to pursue. Then he casually turns the conversation around to show how closely connected he is to various admirers of my father and myself, and gracefully insinuates that he also shares these feelings; to which I can answer nothing, as this sort of thing always reduces me to embarrassed and wrathful silence. I hate to tell a man that he's a fool, and I hate quite as much to have him take me for one. As the officer stands there talking, it is borne in upon me that he not only knows all about last night's disturbance, but that he was probably concerned in it, and is now deliberately trying to switch me off the track. He would not answer my question last night, and he avoids all reference to the matter this morning, substituting for the explanation which he knows I want, for he heard me speak to the Warden about it last evening, all this stuff I have outlined. Instead of being frank and telling the plain truth about last night's occurrence, he is trying to flatter me and pull the wool over my eyes. He walks away and the taste in my mouth is not pleasant. Soon Captain Kane unlocks the levers, and George presses them down to release us for a new day. I regret to say that I again create some confusion on the gallery by being late; but, as there is trouble with the lock on the tier around the corner, I catch up while the front of the line is held back by the delay. Marching down the yard, my interest is aroused by a long, whispered conversation between Roger Landry at my side and Jack Bell who is immediately in front of him. Neither is farther than a foot or so away, yet my ears are not sensitive enough to catch a single word of what they say; and when I glance toward Landry I am unable to detect the faintest motion of his lips, although the talk is still going on. Upon return from bucket duty I sweep out the cell, finding it for some reason especially dirty. Soon after I have finished this task, I come into possession, through a channel it is best not to specify, of an account of last night's performance, including the names of most of the actors. I judge that it is a bad business. This is the story as it comes to me.[9] Three of the officers, among them X (just as I suspected), went into the cell of a young prisoner on one of the upper tiers of the south side, hit him over the head, handcuffed and dragged him downstairs very roughly. His offense seems to have been that he is bughouse through confinement in the jail. So in their enlightened wisdom they have sent him back there; to cure him, I suppose, on the homeopathic principle, _similia similibus curantur_.