The Jacket (The Star-Rover)

f the guards, and by the alternation of day and night. Day was only a little light, but it was better than th

nd think and think. And I was a lifer, and it seemed certain, if I did not do a miracle, make thirty-f

busy-brained man. In solitary one grows sick of oneself in his thoughts, and the only way to escape oneself is to sleep. For years I had averaged five hours' sleep a night. I now cultivated sleep. I made a science of it. I became able to sleep ten

ressions. I even dallied with the squaring of the circle . . . until I found myself beginning to believe that that possibility could be accomplished. Whereupon, realizing that there, to

emory the exercise palled on me. Exercise it was, for there could be no real contest when the same player played both sides. I tried, and tried vainly, to split my personality into t

and imaginary line along the wall some three feet above the floor. When they rested on the wall above this line they were left in peace. The instant they lighted on the wall below the line I tried to catch them. I was careful never to hurt them, and, in time,

g below the line, very carefully avoided the unsafe territory. That fly was a sullen, disgruntled creature. As the convicts would say, it had a "grouch" against the world.

d markings, strength, and speed of flight, and in the manner and fancy of flight and play, of dodge and dart, of wheel and swiftly repeat or wheel and reverse, of touch and go

e from sheer excess of vitality and spirits? Well, there was one fly-the keenest player of them all, by the way-who, when it had alighted three or four times in rapid succession on my taboo wall and succeeded each time in eluding the velvet-care

though these details did serve to keep me from being bored too utterly during that first period in solitary. But one thing I must tell you. To me it is most memorable-the time when the on

s trained and active, stuffed with culture and science, and always geared to a high tension of eagerness to do. And there was nothing to do, and my thoughts ran abominably on in vain speculations. There was my pentose and methyl-pent

had been carrying out in his laboratory. Also, Professor Schleimer had similarly been collaborating with me in the detection of phytosterol in mixtures of animal and vegetable fats. The work surely was going on, but with what results?

ther away I also heard fainter and lower tappings. Continually these tappings were interrupted by the snarling of the guard. On occasi

that the two men in solitary were Ed Morrell and Jake Oppenheimer. And I knew that the

could not make head nor tail of it. And simple it proved to be, when I learned it; and simplest of all proved the trick they employed which had so baffled me. Not o

, listened to two clear sentences of conversation, and, the next t

-brown-papers-and-a-sack-of-Bull-Durham!"

re was companionship! I listened eagerly, and the nearer

rs-strait-in-the-jacke

nterruption of the guard

en sentenced to solitary for life, and therefore that a mere guar

Thirst remains. Man-handling remains. Truly,

ngement they had changed the initial letter of the code. But I had caught the clue, and, in the matt

o," I

apped back; and, from Oppenh

the code initial. After I had this clear, we talked. It was a great day, for the two lifers had become three, although they accepted me only on probation. As they told me long after, the

e through my record as an incorrigible. Even into the living grave Oppenheim

ynamite, and all the treacherous frame-up of Cecil Winwood was news to them. As they told me, news did occasionally dribble into solitary by way

uld not refrain. The two of the living dead had become three, and we had so much to say, while the

Morrell rapped to me. "He sleeps most

ng bothered his sleep and irritated him so that he reprimanded us repeatedly. And by the other night guards we were roundly cursed. In the morning all reported much tapping during the night, and we paid for our little holiday; for, at ni

calloused hands. Hard guards make hard prisoners. We continued to talk, and, on occasion, to be jacketed for punish

while steadily, with faint, far taps, Oppenheimer slowly spelled out his life-story, from the early years in a San Francisco slum, through his gang-training, through his initiation into all that was vicious, when as a lad of f

as faithful and loyal. I know of the times he has taken punishment in preference to informing on a comrade. He was brave. He was patient. He was capable of self-sacrifice-I could tell a story of this, but shall not take the time

n were the three that rotted there together in solitary. And here at the end of my days, reviewing all that I have known of life, I am compelled to the conclusion that strong minds are never docile. The stupid men,