He broke off in despair.  What could this mad giant tell him?  But almost before the thought had escaped him his companion read his thought with uncanny precision.

“You think I don’t know!” the man said, tapping his head significantly.  “But everybody ... they all ask me the same question.  Yes ... you’ll take your turn, my friend.  Don’t be afraid.  They’ll give you the air in the bull pen, all right!  Ha, ha, ha!” And with that he picked up the dishpan of untasted breakfast and hurried from the room.

Fred Starratt sank down upon the bed.  His temples were throbbing and his body wet with an icy sweat.

* * * * *

He was roused by a vigorous but not ungentle tap upon the shoulder.  He stumbled to his feet, shaking himself into a semblance of courage.  But instead of the malevolent giant of the breakfast hour, a genial man of imposing bulk stood before him.  “My name is Harrison,” his visitor began, kindly; “I’m an assistant to the superintendent...  Perhaps you’d like to tell me something about yourself?”

Fred drew back a trifle.  “Must I?...”

Harrison smiled as he seated himself in the chair.

“No ... but they usually do ... after the first night...  It helps, sometimes, to talk.”

“I am afraid there’s nothing to tell...  I’m here, and I’ll make the best of it...”

Fred wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead with a gesture of despair.

Harrison leaned forward.  “Don’t you feel well?” he inquired.

“It’s nothing...  I looked out into the yard this morning...  I dare say one gets used to it—­but for the moment...  You have other yards, I suppose...  That is, I sha’n’t have to take the air there ... shall I ... in the bull pen?”

“It’s usual ... for the first day or two.  But perhaps in your case—­” Harrison broke off.  “However, I can’t promise anything...  If you’ll come to the office I’ll give you back your clothes.”

They went into the office together and Fred received his clothing duly marked with his name and ward.  But his shoes were withheld and in their place he was given a pair of mismated slippers which proved too large.  Harrison handed him two rag strips with which he tied them on.  Looking down at the shapeless, flapping footgear, Fred Starratt felt his humiliation to be complete.  He walked slowly back to his room.

The noise from the bull pen was deafening.  He went to the window and steeled himself against the sight below...  At first he shuddered, but gradually his hands became clenched, in answer to a rising determination.  Why should he flinch from anything God himself could look upon?...  He was still standing by the window when the gong for the midday meal sounded.  The bull pen had long since been deserted and, with the foreground swept clean of its human excrescence, his purposeless gaze had wandered instinctively toward the promise of the forest-green hills in the distance.