a few days only, of a few hours? It will be enough for my purpose. Heavens! Two years in this hole, caged like a wild beast, the companion of worse than beasts—a life wrecked at 28. But I'll be revenged! As surely as there is a heaven above me, I'll be repaid for my months of misery. An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!"
He throws his prison suit from him with loathing. Then he sinks back into his apathy and the simple toilet is completed in silence.
A suit of light gray, of stylish cut, a pair of well-made boots, a neglige shirt and a straw hat, make considerable change in his appearance. He smiles faintly as he dons them.
He ties his personal effects in a small package. They are few—half a dozen letters, all with long-ago post-*marks, a couple of photographs, and a small volume of Shakespeare given him by the warden, who is an admirer of Avon's bard.
"Off?" asks Mr. Chase, as he shakes hands. "Well, you look about the same as when I received you. A little older, perhaps"—surveying him critically—"and minus what I remember to have been a handsome mustache. Good-by, my boy, and good luck. And, I say," as Stanley strides toward the door, "take my advice and the afternoon train for New York. Get some honest employment and make a name for yourself. You've got the right stuff in you. By the way, do you know what day it is?"
"I have not followed the calendar with reference to any particular days."
"The 30th day of May—Memorial day," says Mr. Chase.
"It will be a memorial day for me," responds Stanley. "Good-by, Mr. Chase, and thank you for your many kindnesses."
"I'm rather sorry to have him go," soliloquizes the warden, as his late charge walks slowly away from the institution. "Bright fellow, but peculiar—very peculiar."
Stanley proceeds leisurely along the road leading to
