Part 20 (1/2)

[24] Yeast

”The bread is generally stale, Wingie And the coffee tastes like tepid water”

”Coffee you call it? He, he, coffee hell It ain't no da, Aleck, bootleg Kno't's made?”

”No”

”Well, I been three months in th' kitchen You c'llect all the old punk that the cons dump out with their dinner pans Only the crust's used, see Like as not soh to do't, you know Makes no diff, though Orders is, cut off th' crusts an' burn 'e water over it an' du, you know, an' throw a little dirty chic'ry in--there's your _coffee_ I never touch th' rotten stuff It rooins your stuhtn't drink th'

swill”

”I don't care if it kills ot a tough bit, I know, but don' take it so hard Don' think of your tiet it Oh, yes, you can; you jest take my word for't Make some friends Think who you wan'

to see to-morrow, then try t' see 'm That's what you wan' to do, Aleck

It'll keep you hustlin' Best thing for the blues, kiddie”

For a moment he pauses in his hurried whisper The soft eyes are full of syainst the door, glances quickly around, hesitates an instant, and then deftly slips a slender, delicate hand between the bars, and gives my cheek a tender pat

Involuntarily I step back, with the instinctive dislike of a ie must have noticed ly Presently picking up the brooht, Aleck I like you for 't Jest wanted t' try you, see?”

”How 'try ie?”

”Oh, you ain't next? Well, you see--” he hesitates, a faint flush stealing over his prison pallor, ”you see, Aleck, it's--oh, wait till I pipe th' screw”

Poor Wingie, the ruse is too transparent to hide his embarrassment I can distinctly follow the step of the Block Captain on the upper galleries He is the sole officer in the cell-house during church service The unlocking of the yard door would apprise us of the entrance of a guard, before the latter could observe Wingie at ie leavespeech of the usually loquacious rangee employed to ”sneak off,”--as he himself would characterize his hasty departure,--all see” me? But before I have tiie tiptoeing back

”It's all right, Aleck They won't coood while yet”

”What did you ie?”

”Oh, well,” he staht You don't belong here, that's what _I_ say”

”Well, I _am_ here; and the chances are I'll die here”

”Now, don't talk so foolish, boy I 'lowed you looked down at the mouth

Now, don't you fill your head with such stuff an' nonsense Croak here, hell! You ain't goin' t'do nothin' of the kind Don't you go broodin', now You listen t', why, you're just a kid Twenty-one, ain't you? An' talkin' about dyin'! Shary, but the tremor in his voice sends a ray of warmth to my heart Impulsively I put my hand between the bars His firm clasp assures me of returned appreciation

”You must brace up, Aleck Look at the lifers You'd think they'd be black as night Nit, my boy, the jolliest lot in th' duht' see 'im He's the oldest man here; in fifteen years A lifer, an' hasn't a friend in th' woild, but he's happy as th' day's long An' you got plenty friends; true blue, too I know you have”

”I have, Wingie But what could they do for ot rich friends, I know