"Yes, more so than ever," I answer, "for I must find out why the prisoners all speak of it with such horror. When you showed me the place last June, I thought it a very uncomfortable hole, and it was not pleasant to think about afterward. But there must be some such place to put men who defy all authority; and it didn't strike me as so very terrible. These fellows all speak of it with bated breath and a queer look in the eyes, as though it held some ghastly recollection. What can it be?" "I'm sure I don't know," answers the Warden. "Well, neither do I, and I want to find out. Of course," I add, "I'm not going to be foolish about the thing. If I find I don't feel well enough for any reason, when Saturday comes, I shall just cut it out. But if my physical condition continues as good as it is now, I mean to try it." "All right," says the Warden. "I wanted to know, so that I can give orders to have one of those jail suits washed. There is no need of your running any unnecessary risk in the matter, and those dirty old clothes I don't like." This is my first knowledge of the custom of giving the prisoners who are sent to the punishment cells clothes especially reserved for the jail; and my thoughts travel at once to the filthy and disreputable garments I had seen on a prisoner the Warden had once interviewed there in my presence. "Well, I shall appreciate it if I can have a clean suit," I said. "There's no reason, I suppose, why I should not accept that exception." So it is arranged. The Warden's visit comes to an end, and another day of my voluntary exile from society is closed. Now for another long and restless night. I shall not mind so much the periods of wakefulness to-night. Jack Murphy's Good Conduct League will give me plenty of food for thought. I believe he has struck the path for which I have been groping. CHAPTER XI FRIDAY In my cell, Friday evening, October 3. This morning breaks gray and cloudy again. I wake early and hear the night officer, some time before six o'clock, come and wake my neighbor in the next cell. He and I tap each other "Good night" regularly now; and this morning I send through the stone wall a greeting for the day. He returns my message; and when the keeper comes again at six o'clock, this time to open his cell, he waits, apparently, until that officer's back is turned and then, putting his head only just so far past the opening of my cell that his voice can reach me, utters a hoarse and hasty "Good morning" and vanishes. This puts me in thorough good humor, and as I hear the factory bells and whistles greet the new morn I turn over to take just one final nap before beginning my own preparations for the day's work, wondering what new turn my adventure will take before night again falls.