hours, but seemed much longer, the wicket snapped open and, together with a pallor of day, there entered a half loaf of bread and a pitcher of water. He ate; he slept much, in short frequent periods, irregularly, stretched upon the cold steel floor. But the larger part of the time he thought. He saw the confidence-man shoot the burglar, he saw himself leaping into the ring of the guards’ ambush, he saw the leer of the safe-cracker, the shocked expression of his cell-mate—and he did not understand.
On the twenty-fifth day the door opened and clanged shut again, and he was conscious of a presence there with him in the compressed darkness. He waited, silent, crouching; and after a while he heard a short, hard, dry cough.
“That you, pal?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s me,” answered the piping voice of his cell-mate.
They were silent in the darkness. “What made you come in?” at length asked 9009.
“Got five days for talking in the line,” said the invisible cell-mate.
