who lived their life and wore their stripes and knew their gall and bitterness, he saw their side as well; and pity for the wretched souls around him stole into his heart, and grew as the days went by. Endorsement he could never give them—they were guilty men, hard and vicious for the most part, unreclaimed, and it was right and it was just that they should be there; but pity, sympathy, was now where once there had been aversion and repugnance. Great heart of Varge, so heavily weighted, so nearly broken—there was room there for compassion for others!
"Seven-seven-seven," said Twisty Connors, and he leaned in close, furtive, confidence toward Varge across the workbench in the carpenter shop. "Say, take it from me, youse are de lucky one. Youse are a lifer, ain't youse? Well, mine's ten spaces; but say, so help me, I'd swop wid youse quick. Any guy dat can pull dat number in de bull-pen lottery don't lose, an' he's got de luck wid him fer fair." Twisty Connors dropped his already low, guarded tones to a whisper. "Say, mabbe there's something I'll let youse in on one of these days if—" Twisty Connors' shrewd, cunning, pinched little face drew suddenly back; he cast a sullen look sideways and slunk away.
Wenger, the guard, had taken Twisty's place—he looked at Varge for nearly a minute before he spoke, and there was a half-sneer, half-threat upon his curled lips.
"We've got something for them that haven't any good-conduct time to lose," he snarled. "I marked you that first day—remember? I ain't surprised to see you
