sentence minus his copper minus the days served, and thus, by a laborious and circuitous path, would arrive to his result—the number of days remaining to be served—with a pleasant sense of surprise.
He had kept rigidly to his line of conduct. He had communicated with no man—convict, trusty, or guard. He had spoken only once, to his cell-mate.
“What makes your face so black?” he had asked in a sudden access of childish curiosity.
“I work at the emery wheel in the foundry,” the little striped man had answered.
“And what makes you cough that way, so dry and hard like?” 9009 had continued.
“It’s the emery dust a-cutting away me lungs,” said the little man.
“Umph—that’s what’s the matter with your eyes,” said 9009, looking at the drooping lower lids, showing red. Then, remembering, he had returned to his determined silence.
The yellow patch of light detached itself from the feet of 9009 and began to crawl toward the
