lever which locked this gate also double-locked every cell in that corridor. All over the prison one could hear the bolts shooting like the rattle of musketry.
"Now for the hardest time," Jessie thought with a shiver. "It's hours too soon to sleep. What shall I do; lie down on my bed, and tell myself a story?"
But it transpired that the real life of the prison was just commencing. Jessie had no sooner thrown herself down on her hard couch than she became aware of a whispering creeping towards her like mice amongst leaves. At first it seemed as if it was in the cell. The disembodied voice was horribly disquieting. Jessie leaped from her bed, and clutching the door of her cell, pressed her body hard against it. Then she comprehended that it was not a single voice, but many whisperings up and down the corridor.
"Are they all mad?" she thought in horror. The impulse to shriek was strong in her throat, and her arms trembled with the desire to rattle the door.
Of one voice close to her—a hurrying, toneless voice, she was presently able to distinguish the words: "... Got him down. He was lying on his back with his neck twisted, and the blood running back into his curly hair. And him on'y a lad with his smooth skin and his red mouth. And they began kickin' him, the whole four of them, with their thick-soled shoes; kickin' his helpless body this way and that; kickin' his face with their dirty, cruel feet; and kickin' his head till he was all twisted up. I knew where the gun was. Would you blame me for snatching it up and firing it at them butchers? Would you blame me? Would you blame me? I'm only human. Yet they give me ten years. A-ah! poor people's got no right to be livin' anyhow.... Him? Yes, he got over it all right. And not a mark on him. Same sly grin. A woman can't stand out against it. And he's free to go about amongst them; that's what I'm thinking. And I'm here...."
Jessie wrapped her arms about her ears. It was too pitiful.
Yet she had to listen. She understood by this time that the women were not talking to themselves but conversing from cell to cell. As the keepers presumably retired to the rotunda, and there was no danger of interruption, the voices became louder. Prisoners were not content with talking to their next door neighbours, but raised their voices to hail friends at a little distance. With dozens of conversations going on at once it was like a babel, yet with long practice each seemed able to pick out her particular voice and answer it.
Jessie presently distinguished a voice close to her, saying: "Hey, there! ... Hey, there! ... Hey, there! You girl in the next cell! Hey, you that was brought in this afternoon. Yella hair! ..."
Jessie realised that this had been going on for some moments. But the voice seemed to come out of the air; she could not localise it. "Do you mean me?" she asked astonished.
"Sure, I mean you. You're next to me, ain't you? You're on my right, I'm on your left. Come over close to that side, and we kin talk easy."
Jessie sat on the end of her bed. Leaning her head against the stone, and putting her lips to the lattice work she was within a foot of her unseen neighbour.
"I don't suppose you got a cigarette," said the voice wistfully.
"Yes, I got a couple." said Jessie.
"No!" said the voice full of delight. "How did you get by with it?"
"Hid 'em in my hair."
"They made me take mine down."
"Mine's already down. It's bobbed. But it's bushy."
"Yes, I seen you when you went by. Have you got a match, too?"
"Yep. In the same place. But how can I pass it to you?"
"You're a first offender, eh? Take a hairpin and unbend it——"
"I don't wear hairpins."
"Well, stick your thumb and forefinger through, and throw it best way you can. It's on'y a few inches. I got three hairpins I can twist together. I'll make out to hook it in."
Here there was a long pause in the conversation, while the girl next door fished for her prizes. At last there was an exclamation of satisfaction, and
"Now for the hardest time," Jessie thought with a shiver. "It's hours too soon to sleep. What shall I do; lie down on my bed, and tell myself a story?"
But it transpired that the real life of the prison was just commencing. Jessie had no sooner thrown herself down on her hard couch than she became aware of a whispering creeping towards her like mice amongst leaves. At first it seemed as if it was in the cell. The disembodied voice was horribly disquieting. Jessie leaped from her bed, and clutching the door of her cell, pressed her body hard against it. Then she comprehended that it was not a single voice, but many whisperings up and down the corridor.
"Are they all mad?" she thought in horror. The impulse to shriek was strong in her throat, and her arms trembled with the desire to rattle the door.
Of one voice close to her—a hurrying, toneless voice, she was presently able to distinguish the words: "... Got him down. He was lying on his back with his neck twisted, and the blood running back into his curly hair. And him on'y a lad with his smooth skin and his red mouth. And they began kickin' him, the whole four of them, with their thick-soled shoes; kickin' his helpless body this way and that; kickin' his face with their dirty, cruel feet; and kickin' his head till he was all twisted up. I knew where the gun was. Would you blame me for snatching it up and firing it at them butchers? Would you blame me? Would you blame me? I'm only human. Yet they give me ten years. A-ah! poor people's got no right to be livin' anyhow.... Him? Yes, he got over it all right. And not a mark on him. Same sly grin. A woman can't stand out against it. And he's free to go about amongst them; that's what I'm thinking. And I'm here...."
Jessie wrapped her arms about her ears. It was too pitiful.
Yet she had to listen. She understood by this time that the women were not talking to themselves but conversing from cell to cell. As the keepers presumably retired to the rotunda, and there was no danger of interruption, the voices became louder. Prisoners were not content with talking to their next door neighbours, but raised their voices to hail friends at a little distance. With dozens of conversations going on at once it was like a babel, yet with long practice each seemed able to pick out her particular voice and answer it.
Jessie presently distinguished a voice close to her, saying: "Hey, there! ... Hey, there! ... Hey, there! You girl in the next cell! Hey, you that was brought in this afternoon. Yella hair! ..."
Jessie realised that this had been going on for some moments. But the voice seemed to come out of the air; she could not localise it. "Do you mean me?" she asked astonished.
"Sure, I mean you. You're next to me, ain't you? You're on my right, I'm on your left. Come over close to that side, and we kin talk easy."
Jessie sat on the end of her bed. Leaning her head against the stone, and putting her lips to the lattice work she was within a foot of her unseen neighbour.
"I don't suppose you got a cigarette," said the voice wistfully.
"Yes, I got a couple." said Jessie.
"No!" said the voice full of delight. "How did you get by with it?"
"Hid 'em in my hair."
"They made me take mine down."
"Mine's already down. It's bobbed. But it's bushy."
"Yes, I seen you when you went by. Have you got a match, too?"
"Yep. In the same place. But how can I pass it to you?"
"You're a first offender, eh? Take a hairpin and unbend it——"
"I don't wear hairpins."
"Well, stick your thumb and forefinger through, and throw it best way you can. It's on'y a few inches. I got three hairpins I can twist together. I'll make out to hook it in."
Here there was a long pause in the conversation, while the girl next door fished for her prizes. At last there was an exclamation of satisfaction, and
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