“’Pears to me it’s no way to run a penal institution any way.  There’s Botts; he’s in jail for perjury for nine years, and Murphy’s actually turned that convict out so often and made him run ’round after his meals that Botts has lost heart, and has gone to canvassin’ for a life insurance company—­gone to perambulatin’ all over the country tryin’ to do a little somethin’ to keep clothes on his back, when he ought to be layin’ serenely in that jail.  But I ain’t goin’ to do that.  If the law keeps me in custody, it’s got to support me; and that’s what Simpson says, too.  Ketch him workin’ for his livin’.  He’s in for four years for assault and battery; and when they turn him out of the jail, he puts up at a hotel and has the bills sent in to Murphy.

“Murphy don’t have consideration for the prisoners, any way.  You know he raises fowls in the jail-yard; and just after Christmas he had a big lot of turkeys left on his hands, and do you believe that man actually kept feedin’ us on those turkeys for more than a month?  Positively refused to allow us anything else until they was gone.  I had half a notion to quit for good.  I was disgusted.  And Simpson said if that is the way they were goin’ to treat convicts, why, civilization is a failure.  All through Lent, too, wouldn’t allow us an oyster; kept stuffin’ us with beef and such trash, although Botts said he’d never been used to such wickedness, for his parents were very particular.  Wouldn’t even give us fish-balls twice a week.  But what does Murphy care?  He’s perfectly enthusiastic when he can tread on a man’s feelin’s and stamp all the moral sensibility out of him.

“And Mrs. Murphy, she’s not much better.  All the warm days she’s home she hustles that baby of hers onto me.  Makes me take the little sucklin’ out in his carriage for an airin’, and then gets mad if he falls out while I’m conversin’ for a few minutes with a friend.  I’d a slid him into the river long ago, only I know well enough they’d sentence me for life, and then I’d maybe have to stand Murphy’s persecution for about forty years; and that’d kill me.  It would indeed.  He’s so inconsiderate.

“He used to give me the key of the jail to keep while he’d go over to Barnes’ to fight roosters or to play poker, and one day I lost it.  He raised an awful fuss, and even Botts was down on me because they couldn’t keep the boys out, and they used to come in and tickle Botts with straws while he was sleepin’ in his cell.  I believe they expect Murphy back day after to-morrow, but I know mighty well I’m not goin’ to have much satisfaction when he does come.  He’ll find some excuse for shufflin’ me out ’bout as soon as I get stowed away in my old quarters.  If he does, I’ve got a notion to lock him out some night and run the jail myself for a while, so’s I kin have some peace.  There’s such a thing as carryin’ abuses a little too far.  Excuse me for a minute.  I think I have a bite.”

Then I left to hunt for another man.  I feel that the Society for the Alleviation of the Sufferings of Prisoners has a great work to perform in our town.