become almost second nature, men who would stop at nothing. I can bring a hundred of them into this office one at a time, open that window there, lay a knife on the desk, my clerk being, of course, for the moment absent, turn around, say, to glance toward the safe, and, desperate as their chances would be, there's not one of the hundred but would take them—and leave the knife in the small of my back!" The warden smiled, and flung out his hand deprecatingly. "That sounds overdrawn perhaps you think." He turned to his clerk. "Stall," said he, "would you take a chance?"
"I would not!" said the clerk with a promptness and emphasis that left no doubt of his sincerity.
Warden Rand laughed; then growing serious again:
"You see, Mr. Merton, why discipline can never for an instant be relaxed. But if I am severe, I try to be just. Their lot is a hard one—it has to be or there would be no punishment in it—and what leniency or favour I can show I do, but it is shown impartially what one man gets, they all get."
"I see," said Merton—he had barely heard what the warden was saying. He was screwing up his courage to the request that he dreaded both to make and to have granted. "I see. But, at least, they are allowed to have visitors, aren't they?"
"Oh, yes," responded the warden, "a limited number."
"Then, if I can't do anything else"—Merton spoke suggestively—"perhaps I could see Varge?"
"Why, yes," said the warden promptly. "Would you like to see him now?"
"Yes," said Merton.
