The assistant superintendent, who received me upon my arrival, judged me by my behavior.  He assigned me to one of two connecting wards—­the best in the hospital—­where about seventy patients led a fairly agreeable life.  Though no official account of my case had accompanied my transfer, the attendant who had acted as escort and guard had already given an attendant at the State Hospital a brief account of my recent experiences.  Yet when this report finally reached the ears of those in authority, they wisely decided not to transfer me to another ward so long as I caused no trouble where I was.  Finding myself at last among friends, I lost no time in asking for writing and drawing materials, which had so rudely been taken from me three weeks earlier.  My request was promptly granted.  The doctors and attendants treated me kindly and I again began to enjoy life.  My desire to write and draw had not abated.  However, I did not devote my entire time to those pursuits, for there were plenty of congenial companions about.  I found pleasure in talking—­more pleasure by far than others did in listening.  In fact I talked incessantly, and soon made known, in a general way, my scheme for reforming institutions, not only in my native State, but, of course, throughout the world, for my grandiose perspective made the earth look small.  The attendants had to bear the brunt of my loquacity, and they soon grew weary.  One of them, wishing to induce silence, ventured to remark that I was so “crazy” I could not possibly keep my mouth shut for even one minute.  It was a challenge which aroused my fighting spirit.

“I’ll show you that I can stop talking for a whole day,” I said.  He laughed, knowing that of all difficult tasks this which I had imposed upon myself was, for one in my condition, least likely of accomplishment.  But I was as good as my boast.  Until the same hour the next day I refused to speak to anyone.  I did not even reply to civil questions; and, though my silence was deliberate and good-natured, the assistant physician seemed to consider it of a contumacious variety, for he threatened to transfer me to a less desirable ward unless I should again begin to talk.

That day of self-imposed silence was about the longest I have ever lived, for I was under a word pressure sufficient to have filled a book.  Any psychiatrist will admit that my performance was remarkable, and he will further agree that it was, at least, an indication of a high degree of self-control.  Though I have no desire to prove that at this period I was not in an abnormal condition, I do wish to show that I had a degree of self-control that probably would have enabled me to remain in the best ward at this institution had I not been intent —­abnormally intent, of course, and yet with a high degree of deliberation—­upon a reformative investigation.  The crest of my wave of elation had been reached early in October.  It was now (November) that the curve representing