J. S. MACHAR
had no method, but the doctor took the view that it would come in time.
Warder Sponner came and asked who wanted to have his things fumigated. Papa Declich and Karl took their blankets and went.
Warder Sponner called for me to go to the Street of the Tigers.
I did not go gladly, I did not feel well, and the sun and the people in the streets were repugnant to me. "But they will say unto thee: Gird thyself, and thou wilt gird thyself; and they will say unto thee; thou shalt go, and thou wilt go" as it says in Holy Writ, or words to that effect.
A defence-corps man in front, a defence-corps man behind, I between them,—so we went through the objectionable street.
In the Tigergasse, number 11, on the third storey, was the well-known room. Dr. Frank was sitting there with Dr. Šámal. We exchanged hearty greetings with this man of gold,—so he was still a free man and had not forgotten . . .
"How are you?"
"Friend, as might be expected in jail."
"And are you well?" and my friend gave a searching glance at my face.
No, I will not lie to him . . . "I am not, as you see".
"And he refuses to go to the doctor" intervened Dr. Frank reproachfully.
"I don't want your doctors. I don't want anything from you whatever" I answered him with irritation.
"Perhaps, though, you ought—" suggested Dr. Šámal.
"Don't let's speak about it; it's a pity to waste our time, we have only the officially prescribed allowance."
"Come, come" said Dr. Frank nettled.
"And what do you do the whole day?" asked Dr. Šámal.
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