but he's conscious again and doing well. I want you to come into the hospital, Rand, next time I do his dressings—I give you my professional word you'll see something that you don't need any special knowledge of anatomy to be amazed at. He's the most marvellous specimen of the human animal I ever heard of. I don't know how to express it any other way than to tell you to imagine the normal development of a man twice the ordinary size, and then imagine that development with all its strength and power compressed with the utmost harmony and delicate adjustment into this man's body. He's an absolutely perfect man—his skin is as smooth as satin, not a spot or blemish on it, and the muscles under it play like steel knobs in well-oiled grooves. It's no surprise to me he bent that bar that convicted him—his strength, fully exerted, would be something terrific."
Warden Rand nodded his head and looked at the doctor a little whimsically.
"It would seem as though he had given us some evidence of it this afternoon from your report," he said grimly.
"So he did, so he did," jerked out the little doctor. "And do you know. Rand, that's what gets me. How do you account for him doing what he did?—not only in keeping Twisty and his pals from making their escape, but trying to save Wenger's life as well? He surely hadn't any love for Wenger. Wasn't it Wenger who got him the black hole last week?—and wanted to get him the lash?"
"Yes," said the warden quietly; "it was Wenger."
"Well then," urged the doctor, "what do you make of him?"
