J. S. MACHAR
blers containing tooth brushes in their hands,—thus did they wait. I stood between Declich and Budi.
"I could have slept another two hours" declared Budi sorrowfully. He was 22 years old.
"Attention" commanded Dušek. Keys rattled and turned in the lock, at the doorway stood the superintendent, a warder and an infantry-man in walking-out dress and elegant riding-breeches. He had fixed his moustache in order with a network arrangement—at the first glance it looked as if he had lathered his face for shaving and had been disturbed without being able to dry himself.
In the military manner Dusek reported the "number present", and that nobody was ill. The superintendent counted, the infantry-man made a note of it and announced to us new arrivals, that the medical inspection was at half past nine, and that at ten o'clock we should be taken before the prison commandant.
They went away, the door was left open and the whole of number 60 scrambled out.
"Come on, come on" Dušek urged me, "we will have a wash. Here is a towel and a piece of soap!"
We went along a passage past the open doors of several rooms. All were empty. At a turn in the passage there was a large rectangular recess with washing basins in it. In the wall were a few taps and under them broad lead pipes—man alive, turn on the tap, put your head under it and wash yourself.
Of course—not until there was a little more room. In the meantime there was a squeezing and pushing of a crowd of bodies stripped to the waist, water was splashing on all sides, men were bending over, puffing and brawling; those who had washed, were themselves in the passage or hurrying off to their rooms, and through this bustle a number of convicts pushed their way dragging the night
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