“Eh!  Oh, I see.  Go ahead.”

Mr. Smilk put his right foot back into its drawer and withdrew the left.

“Gets you right across this tendon on the back of your ankle,” he said.  “Now, you take the daily life of the average laboring man,” he went on earnestly.  “What does he get out of it?  Nothin’ but expenses.  The only thing that don’t cost him something is work.  And all the time he’s at work his expenses are goin’ on just the same, pilin’ up durin’ his absence from home.  Rent, food, fuel, light, doctor, liquor, clothes, shoes,—­everything pilin’ up on him while he’s workin’ for absolutely nothin’ between pay days.  The only time he gets anything for his work is on pay day.  The rest of the time he’s workin’ for nothin’, week in and week out.  Say he works forty-four hours a week.  When does he get his pay?  While he’s workin’?  Not much.  He has to work over time anywhere from fifteen minutes to half an hour—­on his own time, mind you—­standin’ in line to get his pay envelope.  And then when he gets it, what does he have to do?  He has to go home and wonder how the hell he’s goin’ to get through the next week with nothin’ but carfare to go on after his wife has told him to come across.  Now you take a convict.  He hasn’t an expense in the world.  Free grub, free bed, free doctor, free clothes,—­he could have free liquor if the keepers would let his friends bring it in,—­and his hours ain’t any longer than any union man’s hours.  He don’t have to pay dues to any labor union, he don’t have to worry about strikes or strike benefits, he don’t give a whoop what Gompers or anybody else says about Gary, and he don’t care a darn whether the working man gets his beer or whether the revenue officers get it.  He—­”

“Wait a second, please.  Just as a matter of curiosity, Cassius, I’d like to know what your views are on prohibition.”

“Are you thinkin’ of askin’ me if I’ll have something to drink?” inquired Mr. Smilk craftily.

“What has that to do with it?”

“A lot,” said Mr. Smilk, with decision.

“Do you approve of prohibition?”

“I do,” said the rogue.  “In moderation.”

“Well, as soon as the police arrive I’ll open a bottle of Scotch.  In the meantime go ahead with your very illuminating dissertation.  I am beginning to understand why crime is so attractive, so alluring.  I am almost able to see why you fellows like to go to the penitentiary.”

“If you could only get shut up for a couple of years, Mr. Wollop, you’d appreciate just what has been done in the last few years to make us fellers like it.  You wouldn’t believe how much the reformers have done to induce us to come back as soon as possible.  They give us all kinds of entertainment, free of charge.  Three times a week we have some sort of a show, generally a band concert, a movin’ picture show and a vaudeville show.  Then, once a month they bring up some crackin’ good show right out of a Broadway theater to make us forget that it’s Sunday and we’ll have to go to work the next morning.  Scenery and costumes and everything and—­and—­” Here Mr. Smilk showed signs of blubbering, a weakness that suddenly gave way to the most energetic indignation.  “Why, doggone it, every time I think of what that woman done to me, I could bite a nail in two.  If it hadn’t been for—­”