"Why, dad!" exclaimed Janet. "What a thing to say—you don't mean that."
"Well," said the warden, "I'm only taking his own say-so for it—the other seven hundred and ninety-two are ready to swear they're innocent until they're black in the face."
Janet laughed; then she slipped her arm through her father's.
"What else is there, dad? You know I'm chief confidant. The man is worrying you."
"No; not worrying me, dear—he's puzzling me," said the warden. "There's nothing else, except, curiously enough, while he's a model prisoner in every other respect, he seems to be taking up with the worst element in the shop, according to Wenger's report."
"Wenger!" Janet burst out. "I—I think I hate that man."
"Tut, tut," chided Warden Rand. "I know you dislike him, but—"
"He's brutal and overbearing," insisted Janet. "You needn't shake your head, dad. I wish he wasn't here. Some day there'll be trouble. I believe he nags and picks at the prisoners and that's probably what he's doing now—he's taken a grudge against this man, and that's at the bottom of it."
"I've never found anything wrong with Wenger," said Warden Rand gravely.
"No," said Janet, "and for a very good reason—Wenger is a sublime hypocrite."
