_ In the meanwhile Cowperwood had been transferred to a new overseer
and a new cell in Block 3 on the ground door, which was like all
the others in size, ten by sixteen, but to which was attached the
small yard previously mentioned. Warden Desmas came up two days
before he was transferred, and had another short conversation with
him through his cell door.
"You'll be transferred on Monday," he said, in his reserved, slow
way. "They'll give you a yard, though it won't be much good to
you--we only allow a half-hour a day in it. I've told the overseer
about your business arrangements. He'll treat you right in that
matter. Just be careful not to take up too much time that way, and
things will work out. I've decided to let you learn caning chairs.
That'll be the best for you. It's easy, and it'll occupy your
mind."
The warden and some allied politicians made a good thing out of
this prison industry. It was really not hard labor--the tasks set
were simple and not oppressive, but all of the products were
promptly sold, and the profits pocketed. It was good, therefore,
to see all the prisoners working, and it did them good. Cowperwood
was glad of the chance to do something, for he really did not care
so much for books, and his connection with Wingate and his old
affairs were not sufficient to employ his mind in a satisfactory
way. At the same time, he could not help thinking, if he seemed
strange to himself, now, how much stranger he would seem then,
behind these narrow bars working at so commonplace a task as caning
chairs. Nevertheless, he now thanked Desmas for this, as well as
for the sheets and the toilet articles which had just been brought
in.
"That's all right," replied the latter, pleasantly and softly, by
now much intrigued by Cowperwood. "I know that there are men and
men here, the same as anywhere. If a man knows how to use these
things and wants to be clean, I wouldn't be one to put anything in
his way."
The new overseer with whom Cowperwood had to deal was a very
different person from Elias Chapin. His name was Walter Bonhag,
and he was not more than thirty-seven years of age--a big, flabby
sort of person with a crafty mind, whose principal object in life
was to see that this prison situation as he found it should furnish
him a better income than his normal salary provided. A close study
of Bonhag would have seemed to indicate that he was a stool-pigeon
of Desmas, but this was really not true except in a limited way.
Because Bonhag was shrewd and sycophantic, quick to see a point
in his or anybody else's favor, Desmas instinctively realized
that he was the kind of man who could be trusted to be lenient on
order or suggestion. That is, if Desmas had the least interest
in a prisoner he need scarcely say so much to Bonhag; he might
merely suggest that this man was used to a different kind of life,
or that, because of some past experience, it might go hard with
him if be were handled roughly; and Bonhag would strain himself
to be pleasant. The trouble was that to a shrewd man of any
refinement his attentions were objectionable, being obviously
offered for a purpose, and to a poor or ignorant man they were
brutal and contemptuous. He had built up an extra income for
himself inside the prison by selling the prisoners extra allowances
of things which he secretly brought into the prison. It was
strictly against the rules, in theory at least, to bring in anything
which was not sold in the store-room--tobacco, writing paper, pens,
ink, whisky, cigars, or delicacies of any kind. On the other hand,
and excellently well for him, it was true that tobacco of an
inferior grade was provided, as well as wretched pens, ink and
paper, so that no self-respecting man, if he could help it, would
endure them. Whisky was not allowed at all, and delicacies were
abhorred as indicating rank favoritism; nevertheless, they were
brought in. If a prisoner had the money and was willing to see
that Bonhag secured something for his trouble, almost anything
would be forthcoming. Also the privilege of being sent into the
general yard as a "trusty," or being allowed to stay in the little
private yard which some cells possessed, longer than the half-hour
ordinarily permitted, was sold.
One of the things curiously enough at this time, which worked in
Cowperwood's favor, was the fact that Bonhag was friendly with the
overseer who had Stener in charge, and Stener, because of his
political friends, was being liberally treated, and Bonhag knew of
this. He was not a careful reader of newspapers, nor had he any
intellectual grasp of important events; but he knew by now that
both Stener and Cowperwood were, or had been, individuals of great
importance in the community; also that Cowperwood had been the
more important of the two. Better yet, as Bonhag now heard,
Cowperwood still had money. Some prisoner, who was permitted to
read the paper, told him so. And so, entirely aside from Warden
Desmas's recommendation, which was given in a very quiet, noncommittal
way, Bonhag was interested to see what he could do for Cowperwood
for a price.
The day Cowperwood was installed in his new cell, Bonhag lolled
up to the door, which was open, and said, in a semipatronizing way,
"Got all your things over yet?" It was his business to lock the
door once Cowperwood was inside it.
"Yes, sir," replied Cowperwood, who had been shrewd enough to get
the new overseer's name from Chapin; "this is Mr. Bonhag, I presume?"
"That's me," replied Bonhag, not a little flattered by the recognition,
but still purely interested by the practical side of this encounter.
He was anxious to study Cowperwood, to see what type of man he was.
"You'll find it a little different down here from up there," observed
Bonhag. "It ain't so stuffy. These doors out in the yards make
a difference."
"Oh, yes," said Cowperwood, observantly and shrewdly, "that is the
yard Mr. Desmas spoke of."
At the mention of the magic name, if Bonhag had been a horse, his
ears would have been seen to lift. For, of course, if Cowperwood
was so friendly with Desmas that the latter had described to him
the type of cell he was to have beforehand, it behooved Bonhag to
be especially careful.
"Yes, that's it, but it ain't much," he observed. "They only allow
a half-hour a day in it. Still it would be all right if a person
could stay out there longer."
This was his first hint at graft, favoritism; and Cowperwood
distinctly caught the sound of it in his voice.
"That's too bad," he said. "I don't suppose good conduct helps
a person to get more." He waited to hear a reply, but instead
Bonhag continued with: "I'd better teach you your new trade now.
You've got to learn to cane chairs, so the warden says. If you
want, we can begin right away." But without waiting for Cowperwood
to acquiesce, he went off, returning after a time with three
unvarnished frames of chairs and a bundle of cane strips or withes,
which he deposited on the floor. Having so done--and with a
flourish--he now continued: "Now I'll show you if you'll watch me,"
and he began showing Cowperwood how the strips were to be laced
through the apertures on either side, cut, and fastened with little
hickory pegs. This done, he brought a forcing awl, a small hammer,
a box of pegs, and a pair of clippers. After several brief
demonstrations with different strips, as to how the geometric
forms were designed, he allowed Cowperwood to take the matter in
hand, watching over his shoulder. The financier, quick at anything,
manual or mental, went at it in his customary energetic fashion,
and in five minutes demonstrated to Bonhag that, barring skill and
speed, which could only come with practice, he could do it as well
as another. "You'll make out all right," said Bonhag. "You're
supposed to do ten of those a day. We won't count the next few
days, though, until you get your hand in. After that I'll come
around and see how you're getting along. You understand about
the towel on the door, don't you?" he inquired.
"Yes, Mr. Chapin explained that to me," replied Cowperwood. "I
think I know what most of the rules are now. I'll try not to
break any of them."
The days which followed brought a number of modifications of his
prison lot, but not sufficient by any means to make it acceptable
to him. Bonhag, during the first few days in which he trained
Cowperwood in the art of caning chairs, managed to make it perfectly
clear that there were a number of things he would be willing to
do for him. One of the things that moved him to this, was that
already he had been impressed by the fact that Stener's friends
were coming to see him in larger numbers than Cowperwood's,
sending him an occasional basket of fruit, which he gave to the
overseers, and that his wife and children had been already permitted
to visit him outside the regular visiting-day. This was a cause
for jealousy on Bonhag's part. His fellow-overseer was lording
it over him--telling him, as it were, of the high jinks in Block
4. Bonhag really wanted Cowperwood to spruce up and show what he
could do, socially or otherwise.
And so now he began with: "I see you have your lawyer and your
partner here every day. There ain't anybody else you'd like to
have visit you, is there? Of course, it's against the rules to
have your wife or sister or anybody like that, except on visiting
days--" And here he paused and rolled a large and informing eye
on Cowperwood--such an eye as was supposed to convey dark and
mysterious things. "But all the rules ain't kept around here by
a long shot."
Cowperwood was not the man to lose a chance of this kind. He
smiled a little--enough to relieve himself, and to convey to Bonhag
that he was gratified by the information, but vocally he observed:
"I'll tell you how it is, Mr. Bonhag. I believe you understand
my position better than most men would, and that I can talk to you.
There are people who would like to come here, but I have been
afraid to let them come. I did not know that it could be arranged.
If it could be, I would be very grateful. You and I are practical
men--I know that if any favors are extended some of those who help
to bring them about must be looked after. If you can do anything
to make it a little more comfortable for me here I will show you
that I appreciate it. I haven't any money on my person, but I can
always get it, and I will see that you are properly looked after."
Bonhag's short, thick ears tingled. This was the kind of talk he
liked to hear. "I can fix anything like that, Mr. Cowperwood,"
he replied, servilely. "You leave it to me. If there's any one
you want to see at any time, just let me know. Of course I have
to be very careful, and so do you, but that's all right, too. If
you want to stay out in that yard a little longer in the mornings
or get out there afternoons or evenings, from now on, why, go ahead.
It's all right. I'll just leave the door open. If the warden or
anybody else should be around, I'll just scratch on your door with
my key, and you come in and shut it. If there's anything you want
from the outside I can get it for you--jelly or eggs or butter or
any little thing like that. You might like to fix up your meals a
little that way."
"I'm certainly most grateful, Mr. Bonhag," returned Cowperwood in
his grandest manner, and with a desire to smile, but he kept a
straight face.
"In regard to that other matter," went on Bonhag, referring to
the matter of extra visitors, "I can fix that any time you want
to. I know the men out at the gate. If you want anybody to come
here, just write 'em a note and give it to me, and tell 'em to
ask for me when they come. That'll get 'em in all right. When
they get here you can talk to 'em in your cell. See! Only when
I tap they have to come out. You want to remember that. So just
you let me know."
Cowperwood was exceedingly grateful. He said so in direct, choice
language. It occurred to him at once that this was Aileen's
opportunity, and that he could now notify her to come. If she
veiled herself sufficiently she would probably be safe enough.
He decided to write her, and when Wingate came he gave him a letter
to mail.
Two days later, at three o'clock in the afternoon--the time appointed
by him--Aileen came to see him. She was dressed in gray broadcloth
with white-velvet trimmings and cut-steel buttons which glistened
like silver, and wore, as additional ornaments, as well as a
protection against the cold, a cap, stole, and muff of snow-white
ermine. Over this rather striking costume she had slipped a long
dark circular cloak, which she meant to lay off immediately upon
her arrival. She had made a very careful toilet as to her shoes,
gloves, hair, and the gold ornaments which she wore. Her face was
concealed by a thick green veil, as Cowperwood had suggested; and
she arrived at an hour when, as near as he had been able to
prearrange, he would be alone. Wingate usually came at four,
after business, and Steger in the morning, when he came at all.
She was very nervous over this strange adventure, leaving the
street-car in which she had chosen to travel some distance away
and walking up a side street. The cold weather and the gray walls
under a gray sky gave her a sense of defeat, but she had worked
very hard to look nice in order to cheer her lover up. She knew
how readily he responded to the influence of her beauty when
properly displayed.
Cowperwood, in view of her coming, had made his cell as acceptable
as possible. It was clean, because he had swept it himself and
made his own bed; and besides he had shaved and combed his hair,
and otherwise put himself to rights. The caned chairs on which
he was working had been put in the corner at the end of the bed.
His few dishes were washed and hung up, and his clogs brushed with
a brush which he now kept for the purpose. Never before, he thought
to himself, with a peculiar feeling of artistic degradation, had
Aileen seen him like this. She had always admired his good taste
in clothes, and the way he carried himself in them; and now she
was to see him in garments which no dignity of body could make
presentable. Only a stoic sense of his own soul-dignity aided him
here. After all, as he now thought, he was Frank A. Cowperwood,
and that was something, whatever he wore. And Aileen knew it.
Again, he might be free and rich some day, and he knew that she
believed that. Best of all, his looks under these or any other
circumstances, as he knew, would make no difference to Aileen.
She would only love him the more. It was her ardent sympathy that
he was afraid of. He was so glad that Bonhag had suggested that
she might enter the cell, for it would be a grim procedure talking
to her through a barred door.
When Aileen arrived she asked for Mr. Bonhag, and was permitted
to go to the central rotunda, where he was sent for. When he
came she murmured: "I wish to see Mr. Cowperwood, if you please";
and he exclaimed, "Oh, yes, just come with me." As he came across
the rotunda floor from his corridor he was struck by the evident
youth of Aileen, even though he could not see her face. This now
was something in accordance with what he had expected of Cowperwood.
A man who could steal five hundred thousand dollars and set a
whole city by the ears must have wonderful adventures of all kinds,
and Aileen looked like a true adventure. He led her to the little
room where he kept his desk and detained visitors, and then bustled
down to Cowperwood's cell, where the financier was working on one
of his chairs and scratching on the door with his key, called:
"There's a young lady here to see you. Do you want to let her
come inside?"
"Thank you, yes," replied Cowperwood; and Bonhag hurried away,
unintentionally forgetting, in his boorish incivility, to unlock
the cell door, so that he had to open it in Aileen's presence.
The long corridor, with its thick doors, mathematically spaced
gratings and gray-stone pavement, caused Aileen to feel faint at
heart. A prison, iron cells! And he was in one of them. It
chilled her usually courageous spirit. What a terrible place for
her Frank to be! What a horrible thing to have put him here! Judges,
juries, courts, laws, jails seemed like so many foaming ogres
ranged about the world, glaring down upon her and her love-affair.
The clank of the key in the lock, and the heavy outward swinging
of the door, completed her sense of the untoward. And then she
saw Cowperwood.
Because of the price he was to receive, Bonhag, after admitting
her, strolled discreetly away. Aileen looked at Cowperwood from
behind her veil, afraid to speak until she was sure Bonhag had
gone. And Cowperwood, who was retaining his self-possession by
an effort, signaled her but with difficulty after a moment or two.
"It's all right," he said. "He's gone away." She lifted her veil,
removed her cloak, and took in, without seeming to, the stuffy,
narrow thickness of the room, his wretched shoes, the cheap,
misshapen suit, the iron door behind him leading out into the
little yard attached to his cell. Against such a background,
with his partially caned chairs visible at the end of the bed,
he seemed unnatural, weird even. Her Frank! And in this condition.
She trembled and it was useless for her to try to speak. She could
only put her arms around him and stroke his head, murmuring: "My
poor boy--my darling. Is this what they have done to you? Oh, my
poor darling." She held his head while Cowperwood, anxious to
retain his composure, winced and trembled, too. Her love was so
full--so genuine. It was so soothing at the same time that it was
unmanning, as now he could see, making of him a child again. And
for the first time in his life, some inexplicable trick of chemistry--
that chemistry of the body, of blind forces which so readily
supersedes reason at times--he lost his self-control. The depth
of Aileen's feelings, the cooing sound of her voice, the velvety
tenderness of her hands, that beauty that had drawn him all the
time--more radiant here perhaps within these hard walls, and in
the face of his physical misery, than it had ever been before--
completely unmanned him. He did not understand how it could; he
tried to defy the moods, but he could not. When she held his head
close and caressed it, of a sudden, in spite of himself, his breast
felt thick and stuffy, and his throat hurt him. He felt, for him,
an astonishingly strange feeling, a desire to cry, which he did
his best to overcome; it shocked him so. There then combined and
conspired to defeat him a strange, rich picture of the great world
he had so recently lost, of the lovely, magnificent world which
he hoped some day to regain. He felt more poignantly at this
moment than ever he had before the degradation of the clog shoes,
the cotton shirt, the striped suit, the reputation of a convict,
permanent and not to be laid aside. He drew himself quickly away
from her, turned his back, clinched his hands, drew his muscles
taut; but it was too late. He was crying, and he could not stop.
"Oh, damn it!" he exclaimed, half angrily, half self-commiseratingly,
in combined rage and shame. "Why should I cry? What the devil's
the matter with me, anyhow?"
Aileen saw it. She fairly flung herself in front of him, seized
his head with one hand, his shabby waist with the other, and held
him tight in a grip that he could not have readily released.
"Oh, honey, honey, honey!" she exclaimed, pityingly feverishly.
"I love you, I adore you. They could cut my body into bits if it
would do you any good. To think that they should make you cry!
Oh, my sweet, my sweet, my darling boy!"
She pulled his still shaking body tighter, and with her free hand
caressed his head. She kissed his eyes, his hair, his cheeks. He
pulled himself loose again after a moment, exclaiming, "What the
devil's got into me?" but she drew him back.
"Never mind, honey darling, don't you be ashamed to cry. Cry here
on my shoulder. Cry here with me. My baby--my honey pet!"
He quieted down after a few moments, cautioning her against
Bonhag, and regaining his former composure, which he was so ashamed
to have lost.
"You're a great girl, pet," he said, with a tender and yet apologetic
smile. "You're all right--all that I need--a great help to me;
but don't worry any longer about me, dear. I'm all right. It
isn't as bad as you think. How are you?"
Aileen on her part was not to be soothed so easily. His many woes,
including his wretched position here, outraged her sense of justice
and decency. To think her fine, wonderful Frank should be compelled
to come to this--to cry. She stroked his head, tenderly, while
wild, deadly, unreasoning opposition to life and chance and untoward
opposition surged in her brain. Her father--damn him! Her family--
pooh! What did she care? Her Frank--her Frank. How little all
else mattered where he was concerned. Never, never, never would
she desert him--never--come what might. And now she clung to him
in silence while she fought in her brain an awful battle with
life and law and fate and circumstance. Law--nonsense! People--
they were brutes, devils, enemies, hounds! She was delighted, eager,
crazy to make a sacrifice of herself. She would go anywhere for
or with her Frank now. She would do anything for him. Her family
was nothing--life nothing, nothing, nothing. She would do anything
he wished, nothing more, nothing less; anything she could do to
save him, to make his life happier, but nothing for any one else. _