“After I’d paid my respects at Bow Street, and was back at Holloway, I just stamped on everything they offered me, and wrote a petition to the Governor asking to be treated as a political prisoner.  Instead of granting the petition he kept sending me more and more beautiful food, and I kept stamping on it.  Then three magistrates arrived and sat on my case, and sentenced me to the punishment cells.  They ran off as soon as they’d sentenced me.  I said I wouldn’t go to their punishment cells.  I told everybody again how lame I was.  So five wardresses carried me there, but they dropped me twice on the way.  It was a very interesting cell, the punishment cell was.  If it had been in the Tower, everybody would go to look at it because of its quaintness.  There were two pools of water near to the bed.  I was three days in the cell, and those pools of water were always there; I could see them because from where I lay on the bed the light glinted on them.  Just one gleam from the tiny cobwebby window high up.  I hadn’t anything to read, of course, but even if I’d had something I couldn’t see to read.  The bed was two planks, just raised an inch or two above the water, and the pillow was wooden.  Never any trouble about making beds like that!  The entire furniture of this cosy drawing-room was—­you’ll never guess—­a tree-stump, meant for a chair, I think.  And on this tree-stump was an india-rubber cup.  I could just see it across the cell.

“At night the wardresses were struck with pity, or perhaps it was the Governor.  Anyhow, they brought me a mattress and a rug.  They told me to get up off the bed, and I told them I couldn’t get up, couldn’t even turn over.  So they said, ‘Very well, then; you can do without these things,’ and they took them away.  The funny thing was that I really couldn’t get up.  If I tried to move, my leg made me want to shriek.

“After three days they decided to take me to the prison hospital.  I shrieked all the way—­couldn’t help it.  They laughed.  So then I laughed.  In the hospital, the doctor decided that my left ankle was sprained and my right thigh broken.  So I had the best of them, after all.  They had to admit they were wrong.  It was most awkward for them.  Then I thought I might as well begin to eat.  But they had to be very careful what they gave me.  I hadn’t had anything for nearly six days, you see.  They were in a fearful stew.  Doctor was there day and night.  And it wasn’t his fault.  I told him he had all my sympathies.  He said he was very sorry I should be lame for life, but it couldn’t be helped, as the thigh had been left too long.  I said, ‘Please don’t mention it.’”

“But did they keep you after that?”

“Keep me!  They implored my friends to take me away.  No man was ever more relieved that the poor dear Governor of Holloway Prison, and the Home Secretary himself, too, when I left in a motor ambulance.  The Governor raised his hat to two of my friends.  He would have eaten out of my hand if I’d had a few more days to tame him.”