Wooder.  In his mattress, sir.  Haven’t come across such a thing for two years now.

The governor. [With curiosity] Had he any set plan?

Wooder.  He’d sawed his window-bar about that much. [He holds up his thumb and finger a quarter of an inch apart]

The governor.  I’ll see him this afternoon.  What’s his name?  Moaney!  An old hand, I think?

Wooder.  Yes, sir-fourth spell of penal.  You’d think an old lag like him would have had more sense by now. [With pitying contempt] Occupied his mind, he said.  Breaking in and breaking out—­that’s all they think about.

The governor.  Who’s next him?

Wooder.  O’Cleary, sir.

The governor.  The Irishman.

Wooder.  Next him again there’s that young fellow, Falder—­star class—­and next him old Clipton.

The governor.  Ah, yes!  “The philosopher.”  I want to see him about his eyes.

Wooder.  Curious thing, sir:  they seem to know when there’s one of these tries at escape going on.  It makes them restive—­there’s a regular wave going through them just now.

The governor. [Meditatively] Odd things—­those waves. [Turning to look at the prisoners exercising] Seem quiet enough out here!

Wooder.  That Irishman, O’Cleary, began banging on his door this morning.  Little thing like that’s quite enough to upset the whole lot.  They’re just like dumb animals at times.

The governor.  I’ve seen it with horses before thunder—­it’ll run right through cavalry lines.

     The prison chaplain has entered.  He is a dark-haired, ascetic
     man, in clerical undress, with a peculiarly steady, tight-lipped
     face and slow, cultured speech.

The governor. [Holding up the saw] Seen this, Miller?

The chaplain.  Useful-looking specimen.

The governor.  Do for the Museum, eh! [He goes to the cupboard and opens it, displaying to view a number of quaint ropes, hooks, and metal tools with labels tied on them] That’ll do, thanks, Mr. Wooder.

Wooder. [Saluting] Thank you, sir. [He goes out]

The governor.  Account for the state of the men last day or two,
Miller?  Seems going through the whole place.

The chaplain.  No.  I don’t know of anything.

The governor.  By the way, will you dine with us on Christmas Day?

The chaplain.  To-morrow.  Thanks very much.

The governor.  Worries me to feel the men discontented. [Gazing at the saw] Have to punish this poor devil.  Can’t help liking a man who tries to escape. [He places the saw in his pocket and locks the cupboard again]