“In a few months I found myself back in jail in San Francisco. Then something occurred that surprised me more than I can tell. I was told that there was a possibility of my getting credit for the time that I had served in the county jail, that I might get a sentence I would see the end of, instead of one that would see the end of me, and that it might be possible for me to get out and lead a different kind of life. “This made a greater impression upon me than the twenty-five-year sentence, this offer of help from such a surprising source. At first I thought I was getting the double-cross, but I investigated and found it was true, and what little doubts I had were completely shattered. I did not admit the possibility of any kindness from judges, district attorneys, prosecutors, or anybody who represents the people. “I now saw that I was wrong, and that it was up to me to build new rules to regulate my conduct in the future, that I would have to formulate a philosophy that would admit the possibility of kindness from such sources; from people who desired to help me if I would help myself. “I have promised myself, and I promise the court, that when I finish this sentence I shall look for the best instead of the worst, that I shall look for kindness instead of cruelty, and that I shall look for the good instead of the bad, and when I find them I shall return them with interest. “I am confident when I promise the court this that I will not fail. I imagine I have enough character left as a foundation on which to build a reformed life. If I had no character, no will power, no determination, I would have been broken long ago by the years of imprisonment and punishment; and I would have been useless and harmless and helpless, a force for neither good nor bad.” Judge Dunne asked me if I had any choice of prisons, and I said I preferred San Quentin because I had already been in every other prison in the state, and I would like to go over there and see what that place was like. I left the courtroom with that one-year sentence feeling as if I had received a Christmas gift; it was the twenty-fourth of December. At San Quentin I had a hard time to convince friends that my sentence was cut to one year. The atmosphere there surprised me. There was none of that smoldering hatred of officers; no hopeless, despairing prisoners; no opium and no scheming to get it in. Everybody was looking forward to parole. There was no brutal punishment. A man’s credits were safe. All those changes worked for the best. Prisoners had a chance to shorten their time by good conduct, and their conduct was good. One of the first “cons” to reach me was my friend, Soldier Johnnie, doing a short sentence.