shifted, showing green light. He held a cigar between his long white fingers; now and then he flicked off the ashes nervously.
The blue-clad captain was shaking his head as he listened, and a frown, cutting the narrow space between his shaggy brows, told of worry. He was built on square lines, and his jaw was heavy, but he showed now no decision in his manner. It was the thin-faced trusty who was deciding through the persuasive hiss of his whispering. Fragments of sentences reached 9009. They were discussing the punishment of some convict, some convict other than himself.
“Dangerous man—these two breaks, remember—not broken,” in detached hissing bits from the trusty, whose eyes flickered green.
Then the subdued but big growling voice of the captain: “A long talk with him—talked right—willing to be a good dog—two years’ solitary—broken now.”
Again the detached hisses: “Yes, but—remember—bad one—more.”
The whispering sunk still lower; an assur-
