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The
old
man
walked
away
,
and
Cowperwood
heard
his
steps
dying
down
the
cement-paved
hall
.
He
stood
and
listened
,
his
ears
being
greeted
occasionally
by
a
distant
cough
,
a
faint
scraping
of
some
one
's
feet
,
the
hum
or
whir
of
a
machine
,
or
the
iron
scratch
of
a
key
in
a
lock
.
None
of
the
noises
was
loud
.
Rather
they
were
all
faint
and
far
away
.
He
went
over
and
looked
at
the
bed
,
which
was
not
very
clean
and
without
linen
,
and
anything
but
wide
or
soft
,
and
felt
it
curiously
.
So
here
was
where
he
was
to
sleep
from
now
on
--
he
who
so
craved
and
appreciated
luxury
and
refinement
.
If
Aileen
or
some
of
his
rich
friends
should
see
him
here
.
Worse
,
he
was
sickened
by
the
thought
of
possible
vermin
.
How
could
he
tell
?
How
would
he
do
?
The
one
chair
was
abominable
.
The
skylight
was
weak
.
He
tried
to
think
of
himself
as
becoming
accustomed
to
the
situation
,
but
he
re-discovered
the
offal
pot
in
one
corner
,
and
that
discouraged
him
.
It
was
possible
that
rats
might
come
up
here
--
it
looked
that
way
.
No
pictures
,
no
books
,
no
scene
,
no
person
,
no
space
to
walk
--
just
the
four
bare
walls
and
silence
,
which
he
would
be
shut
into
at
night
by
the
thick
door
.
What
a
horrible
fate
!
He
sat
down
and
contemplated
his
situation
.
So
here
he
was
at
last
in
the
Eastern
Penitentiary
,
and
doomed
,
according
to
the
judgment
of
the
politicians
(
Butler
among
others
)
,
to
remain
here
four
long
years
and
longer
.
Stener
,
it
suddenly
occurred
to
him
,
was
probably
being
put
through
the
same
process
he
had
just
gone
through
.
Poor
old
Stener
!
What
a
fool
he
had
made
of
himself
.
But
because
of
his
foolishness
he
deserved
all
he
was
now
getting
.
But
the
difference
between
himself
and
Stener
was
that
they
would
let
Stener
out
.
It
was
possible
that
already
they
were
easing
his
punishment
in
some
way
that
he
,
Cowperwood
,
did
not
know
.
He
put
his
hand
to
his
chin
,
thinking
--
his
business
,
his
house
,
his
friends
,
his
family
,
Aileen
.
He
felt
for
his
watch
,
but
remembered
that
they
had
taken
that
.
There
was
no
way
of
telling
the
time
.
Neither
had
he
any
notebook
,
pen
,
or
pencil
with
which
to
amuse
or
interest
himself
.
Besides
he
had
had
nothing
to
eat
since
morning
.
Still
,
that
mattered
little
.
What
did
matter
was
that
he
was
shut
up
here
away
from
the
world
,
quite
alone
,
quite
lonely
,
without
knowing
what
time
it
was
,
and
that
he
could
not
attend
to
any
of
the
things
he
ought
to
be
attending
to
--
his
business
affairs
,
his
future
.
True
,
Steger
would
probably
come
to
see
him
after
a
while
.
That
would
help
a
little
.
But
even
so
--
think
of
his
position
,
his
prospects
up
to
the
day
of
the
fire
and
his
state
now
.
He
sat
looking
at
his
shoes
;
his
suit
.
God
!
He
got
up
and
walked
to
and
fro
,
to
and
fro
,
but
his
own
steps
and
movements
sounded
so
loud
.
He
walked
to
the
cell
door
and
looked
out
through
the
thick
bars
,
but
there
was
nothing
to
see
--
nothing
save
a
portion
of
two
cell
doors
opposite
,
something
like
his
own
.
He
came
back
and
sat
in
his
single
chair
,
meditating
,
but
,
getting
weary
of
that
finally
,
stretched
himself
on
the
dirty
prison
bed
to
try
it
.
It
was
not
uncomfortable
entirely
.
He
got
up
after
a
while
,
however
,
and
sat
,
then
walked
,
then
sat
.
What
a
narrow
place
to
walk
,
he
thought
.
This
was
horrible
--
something
like
a
living
tomb
.
And
to
think
he
should
be
here
now
,
day
after
day
and
day
after
day
,
until
--
until
what
?
Until
the
Governor
pardoned
him
or
his
time
was
up
,
or
his
fortune
eaten
away
--
or
--
So
he
cogitated
while
the
hours
slipped
by
.
It
was
nearly
five
o'clock
before
Steger
was
able
to
return
,
and
then
only
for
a
little
while
.
He
had
been
arranging
for
Cowperwood
's
appearance
on
the
following
Thursday
,
Friday
,
and
Monday
in
his
several
court
proceedings
When
he
was
gone
,
however
,
and
the
night
fell
and
Cowperwood
had
to
trim
his
little
,
shabby
oil-lamp
and
to
drink
the
strong
tea
and
eat
the
rough
,
poor
bread
made
of
bran
and
white
flour
,
which
was
shoved
to
him
through
the
small
aperture
in
the
door
by
the
trencher
trusty
,
who
was
accompanied
by
the
overseer
to
see
that
it
was
done
properly
,
he
really
felt
very
badly
.
And
after
that
the
center
wooden
door
of
his
cell
was
presently
closed
and
locked
by
a
trusty
who
slammed
it
rudely
and
said
no
word
.
Nine
o'clock
would
be
sounded
somewhere
by
a
great
bell
,
he
understood
,
when
his
smoky
oil-lamp
would
have
to
be
put
out
promptly
and
he
would
have
to
undress
and
go
to
bed
.
There
were
punishments
,
no
doubt
,
for
infractions
of
these
rules
--
reduced
rations
,
the
strait-jacket
,
perhaps
stripes
--
he
scarcely
knew
what
.
He
felt
disconsolate
,
grim
,
weary
.
He
had
put
up
such
a
long
,
unsatisfactory
fight
.
After
washing
his
heavy
stone
cup
and
tin
plate
at
the
hydrant
,
he
took
off
the
sickening
uniform
and
shoes
and
even
the
drawers
of
the
scratching
underwear
,
and
stretched
himself
wearily
on
the
bed
.
The
place
was
not
any
too
warm
,
and
he
tried
to
make
himself
comfortable
between
the
blankets
--
but
it
was
of
little
use
.
His
soul
was
cold
.
"
This
will
never
do
,
"
he
said
to
himself
.
"
This
will
never
do
.
I
'm
not
sure
whether
I
can
stand
much
of
this
or
not
.
"
Still
he
turned
his
face
to
the
wall
,
and
after
several
hours
sleep
eventually
came
.
Those
who
by
any
pleasing
courtesy
of
fortune
,
accident
of
birth
,
inheritance
,
or
the
wisdom
of
parents
or
friends
,
have
succeeded
in
avoiding
making
that
anathema
of
the
prosperous
and
comfortable
,
"
a
mess
of
their
lives
,
"
will
scarcely
understand
the
mood
of
Cowperwood
,
sitting
rather
gloomily
in
his
cell
these
first
days
,
wondering
what
,
in
spite
of
his
great
ingenuity
,
was
to
become
of
him
.
The
strongest
have
their
hours
of
depression
.
There
are
times
when
life
to
those
endowed
with
the
greatest
intelligence
--
perhaps
mostly
to
those
--
takes
on
a
somber
hue
.
They
see
so
many
phases
of
its
dreary
subtleties
.
It
is
only
when
the
soul
of
man
has
been
built
up
into
some
strange
self-confidence
,
some
curious
faith
in
its
own
powers
,
based
,
no
doubt
,
on
the
actual
presence
of
these
same
powers
subtly
involved
in
the
body
,
that
it
fronts
life
unflinchingly
.
It
would
be
too
much
to
say
that
Cowperwood
's
mind
was
of
the
first
order
.
It
was
subtle
enough
in
all
conscience
--
and
involved
,
as
is
common
with
the
executively
great
,
with
a
strong
sense
of
personal
advancement
.
It
was
a
powerful
mind
,
turning
,
like
a
vast
searchlight
,
a
glittering
ray
into
many
a
dark
corner
;
but
it
was
not
sufficiently
disinterested
to
search
the
ultimate
dark
.
He
realized
,
in
a
way
,
what
the
great
astronomers
,
sociologists
,
philosophers
,
chemists
,
physicists
,
and
physiologists
were
meditating
;
but
he
could
not
be
sure
in
his
own
mind
that
,
whatever
it
was
,
it
was
important
for
him
.
No
doubt
life
held
many
strange
secrets
.
Perhaps
it
was
essential
that
somebody
should
investigate
them
.
However
that
might
be
,
the
call
of
his
own
soul
was
in
another
direction
.
His
business
was
to
make
money
--
to
organize
something
which
would
make
him
much
money
,
or
,
better
yet
,
save
the
organization
he
had
begun
.
But
this
,
as
he
now
looked
upon
it
,
was
almost
impossible
.
It
had
been
too
disarranged
and
complicated
by
unfortunate
circumstances
.
He
might
,
as
Steger
pointed
out
to
him
,
string
out
these
bankruptcy
proceedings
for
years
,
tiring
out
one
creditor
and
another
,
but
in
the
meantime
the
properties
involved
were
being
seriously
damaged
.
Interest
charges
on
his
unsatisfied
loans
were
making
heavy
inroads
;
court
costs
were
mounting
up
;
and
,
to
cap
it
all
,
he
had
discovered
with
Steger
that
there
were
a
number
of
creditors
--
those
who
had
sold
out
to
Butler
,
and
incidentally
to
Mollenhauer
--
who
would
never
accept
anything
except
the
full
value
of
their
claims
.
His
one
hope
now
was
to
save
what
he
could
by
compromise
a
little
later
,
and
to
build
up
some
sort
of
profitable
business
through
Stephen
Wingate
.
The
latter
was
coming
in
a
day
or
two
,
as
soon
as
Steger
had
made
some
working
arrangement
for
him
with
Warden
Michael
Desmas
who
came
the
second
day
to
have
a
look
at
the
new
prisoner
.
