“I have done myself that honor.”

“Well, if he wags his tail you know it is all right; but say he puts his tail between his legs, what will he do if you pat him?”

“Bite me.  Experto crede.”

“No! if you are ever so expert he will bite you or try.  Now putting of his tail between his legs, that passes for a sign of fear in a dog, all one as trembling does in a man.  Do you see what I am driving at?”

“Yes.”

“Then you had better leave the spiteful brute to himself?”

“No! that would be to condemn him to the worst companion he can have.”

“But if he should pitch into you, sir?”

“Then he will pitch into a man twice as strong as himself, and a pupil of Bendigo.  Don’t be silly, Evans.”

SUNDAY.

Hodges.  Pity you wasn’t in chapel, Mr. Fry.

Fry.  Why?

Hodges.  The new chaplain!

Fry.  Well, what did he do?

Hodges.  He waked ’em all up, I can tell you.  Governor couldn’t get a wink all the sermon.

Fry.  What did he tell you?

Hodges.  Told us he loved us.

Fry.  Loved who?

Hodges.  All of us.  Governor, turnkeys, and especially the prisoners, because they were in trouble.  “My Master loves you, though He hates your sins,” says he; and “I love every mother’s son of you.”  What d’ye think of that?  He loves the whole biling!  Told ’em so, however.

Fry.  Loves ’em, does he?  Well, that’s a new lay!  After all, there’s no accounting for tastes, you know.  Haw! haw!

Hodges.  Haw! haw! ho!

This same Sunday afternoon, soon after service, the chaplain came to Robinson’s cell.  Evans unlocked it, looking rather uneasy, and would have come in with the reverend gentleman; but he forbade him and walked quickly into the cell, as Van Amburgh goes among his leopards and panthers.  He had in his hand a little box.

“I have brought you some ointment—­some nice cooling ointment,” said he, “to rub on your neck.  I saw it was frayed by that collar.”

(Pause.) No answer.

“Will you let me see you use it?”

No answer.

“Come!”

No answer.

The chaplain took the box off the table, opened it and went up to Robinson and began quietly to apply some of the grateful soothing ointment to his frayed throat.  The man trembled all over.  The chaplain kept his eye calm but firm upon him, as on a dog of doubtful temper.  Robinson put up his hand in a feeble sort of way to prevent the other from doing him good.  His reverence took the said hand in a quiet but powerful grasp, and applied the ointment all the same.  Robinson said nothing, but he was seized with this extraordinary trembling.